EMBER’S POV

The two of them look at each other.

And then, slowly, both of them smile, the same smile, and I understand I’ve done the one thing in this shop that could genuinely interest them, which is refuse to play the board the way they laid it.

“Tricksters,” Penelope murmurs, almost fond. “She thinks we’re tricksters.”

“She’s not wrong,” the old man says.

“She’s not wrong at all.” Penelope spreads her ink-stained hands. “Very well, girl. Your game. Your rules. We’re listening.”

I reach past them, to a shelf of clean empty cups, and take three more. Eight now, on the counter. And I start to pour.

I split...