The gamblers screamed. Chips scattered like startled birds. But Valentin just picked up one ivory card: the Hanged Man.
Silas’s smile flickered. “Fold? You’ve got half the pot in already.”
“The king keeps the board,” Silas said, sliding another stack of chips into the pot. “Your call, Val.”
Inside: a second deck. Not paper. Thin ivory plates, carved with symbols no faro table had ever seen. A skull with dice for eyes. A tower struck by lightning. A moon dripping like wax.
Silas Crane opened his mouth to speak. When he did, only moths flew out.
In truth, he was listening.
The Faro card sat in the center of the felt, a gilded king with a dead man’s stare. For three hours, it had been the pivot. Every bet, every whispered wager in the back room of The Drowned Owl, circled that single image.
The gamblers screamed. Chips scattered like startled birds. But Valentin just picked up one ivory card: the Hanged Man.
Silas’s smile flickered. “Fold? You’ve got half the pot in already.”
“The king keeps the board,” Silas said, sliding another stack of chips into the pot. “Your call, Val.”
Inside: a second deck. Not paper. Thin ivory plates, carved with symbols no faro table had ever seen. A skull with dice for eyes. A tower struck by lightning. A moon dripping like wax.
Silas Crane opened his mouth to speak. When he did, only moths flew out.
In truth, he was listening.
The Faro card sat in the center of the felt, a gilded king with a dead man’s stare. For three hours, it had been the pivot. Every bet, every whispered wager in the back room of The Drowned Owl, circled that single image.