A Tide of Beasts

Chapter 1: Jas

Hands gripped her arms and a hessian bag was tossed over her head. The scent of mildew smothered her senses. She kicked backwards, but her boots made no contact with her assailant. A small, sharp pain stabbed her arm below the elbow, followed by a cold sensation tingling through her veins. Her body felt heavy. No, she tried to cry, but no sound came out. Her assailants were cheering, speaking words she couldn't make out; the Rhajan was lost on her murky brain. One of them shoved her between her shoulder blades, and though she couldn't understand their words, she understood the command: walk. But before she could take a step, her body collapsed beneath her.

The man across the tavern slammed his glass down, the rum sloshing onto the hardwood table. His laughter barely warranted the name, the sound croaky and harsh. The bar wench on his lap ran her nails down his chest in a way that would get them both kicked out of the places Jas had grown up dining in.

If his father ever discovered he was here, in Tarry Tavern, Jas would never be allowed to leave the palace again. But Jas had been frequenting places like Tarry far longer than he cared to admit - long enough to earn a reputation. A reputation he liked more than the one bestowed on him by his father.

Gehna sighed, leaning back on the wall. "How long are we gonna stare at him?"

"We're not staring, we're gathering information," Jas reminded her.

"The only information I'm gathering is that we'll hear nothing about his plans here," she grumbled, but despite her pout, her green eyes shone in the dim light. She'd come for a fight, he knew, and she'd be damned if she left without one.

"Stop twitching, Gehna, you'll give Jas a heart attack," Vin said, his eyes flickering constantly around the room. Just like Gehna, he was weighing up possible opponents - only Vin did it to assess who was a danger, where Gehna did it to assess who she could leave crying. "Your knives needn't come out tonight."

"Don't tell her that," Jas laughed, "she'll walk out now and leave us so she can find someone else to stab."

"I swear on the Fates," she said, her voice low, "if you keep at it, the blood my knives spill will belong to the two of you."

Jas smothered his laugh by taking a drink. When he had to force himself not to cringe at the taste of watered-down rum, he realised he'd been at the palace for too long, been too spoilt with the gin and brandy his father kep gallons of. He'd known, of course. He'd been feeling the itch to escape the court for months, but he'd stayed so long for a reason; the man across the bar also frequented the King's palace.

"Are you absolutely sure we're tracking the right guy?" Gehna asked.

Jaspar's eyes slid to the girl sitting diagonally from him at the table, her back pressed to the wall, her fingers twitching by the sheath at her belt. Her dark hair was covered with a black headscarf, her face disguised with a thin grey veil. Amidst the dimness of her colouring, her eyes shone brightly. Her words were weary, but she was the opposite.

It had been a few weeks since the man had been at court. His hair was matted, his face unshaven, but the too-bushy greying eyebrows, the crease between them, and the way he sat gave him away. Even in Kandesh, Lord Vashim had the posture of a rich man. Everyone in the tavern could see it on him - it was why the owner had wiped the grit from the table as Vashim sat down, why the bar wench was practically breaking her back in her desperate attempt to show off her cleavage, why the card dealers had moved their games closer and closer to his table. Money had a scent beyond the walled streets of Fair, and the patrons of the tavern were wolves ready to pounce.