The dealer scooped up the dice into a cup. "Place your bets, folks.”

  "Even."

  “Even.”

  "Odd."

  "Black."

  "And you miss?" The dealer asked.

  Alice leaned back, crossed her arms, and smiled. “Seven.”

  Gasps rumbled along the table and spread through the tavern. More and more gathered round their corner like a crowd around a cart track accident.

  The dealer, a roguish graybeard, rattled the cup a few times and let loose.

  The lute stopped mid-riff. The clinking of mugs ceased. The ale-reeking air seemed to hover still.

  One dice bounced two times before landing on six, while the other spun in place.

  Everyone around the table got off their feet except for Alice.

  Finally, the die clattered to a stop, showing a single dot on its up face.

  The crowd whooped and cheered, while the other bettors groaned.

  "Sorry, fellas, guess it's just not your day," Alice said.

  She reached across the table and scooped up the pooled coins into her already stuffed pouch.

  "Bullshit!" Said the guy who bet on even. "These dice are loaded!"

  "They’re *your* dice, Jared," a woman said.

  "Then she must have done something to them. I demand a rematch."

  "You know I'd love to," Alice said, "but you can't bet if you have nothing left to bet. Sorry."

  "How about the deed to my house?"

  "What do I do with a house?"

  "Umm... live in it?"

  Alice leaned back and rested two feet on the table.

  "You can have my horse then," Jared said.

  "Mm... not much of an equestrian." Alice downed her ale and stacked the mug on top of her growing tower of mugs. "Alright, I'm out of here."

  "Wait! How 'bout..." He pondered for a while, then rested his eyes on the leaning tower. "… a drink."

  "Sorry, you're not my type." She stood and turned to leave.

  "I meant a drink for you. I hear you're something of a collector of fine wines."

  Alice stopped mid-stride, swiveled on her heels, and plopped back down on the seat. "I'm listening."

  "A vintage Celinian made of the finest grapes handpicked from the fields of Venamin.” A smirk crept on his lips. “Old enough to be your grandmother too.”

  "What's the catch?"

  “Just you and me. Your seven against my not seven. All or nothing."

  The tavern erupted. No way she’d take that, they said. He’s gone mad, they said. Some onlookers even started betting on whether Alice would accept. The chatter rose like a fever until…

  "Deal," Alice said. She plunked her bag of coins onto the table.

  Even the dealer looked hesitant to push through.

  "Well, go ahead. What're you waiting for?" Jared said to him.

  The dealer plucked the dice back into the cup and gave it a good shake. The spectators shushed each other up as if that would help.

  Alice sat, arms crossed, chin in the air. Just need one more seven. One last. Dear Greg, I know I don't talk to you much anymore, but help a girl out, will you? For old time's sake.

  Jared glanced back and forth between the coin pouch and the dice cup.

  At long last, the dealer let loose the dice. They bounced and rattled and rolled and spun until finally they landed on...

  "Snake Eyes!" Yelled the dealer.

  Jared leaped onto the tabletop, mugs in hand, and danced a jig.

  A sigh settled over the crowd of spectators, each wearing an expression that said, ‘Well, what was I expecting?’ Yup, she was good, but she wasn't that good.

  Alice glared at the ceiling. Damn it Greg! I ask for one thing – one thing! – in four years, and you couldn’t even do that.

  ~~

  Alice staggered vaguely uphill.

  Tonight had found her tavern-hopping in the lower circles, and now began the perilous journey back to her bedroom. She had the route memorized by now — adjusted for drunken disorientation, of course — and could probably even get there with her eyes closed. She wasn't going to try it, though.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  She held a bottle of cheap off-brand wine courtesy of the tavern's proprietor as a consolation prize and a thank you. Alice’s little stunt was the best entertainment the tavern had had in weeks, she’d said. The bottle remained unopened as of now.

  Alice soon came up to the upper circle walls. The towering metal gate gleamed in the moonlight. Guards, complete with feathered helmets, watched Alice stumble up to them.

  "Gate pass," said one guard.

  "One second." Alice raised a finger and pretended to ruffle around her empty pouch for a gate pass she knew wasn't there because she had gambled it away in a last-ditch attempt to win back her money. "Oof, sorry bruv, looks like I forgot it again."

  The guard held out a palm. “Bribe.”

  "Come on, Mikey, just this once. I'll pay you back double next time."

  Mikey glanced at the bottle in her hand.

  "Oh no you don't,” Alice said. “This is for a special occasion."

  "A special occasion by a back-alley dumpster fire."

  "Fine. Have it your way." Alice shoved the bottle to his waiting hand. "Just don't come looking for me when you *hiccup* need some discount indulgences again."

  "Let her in," Mikey said.

  A humanoid-sized door on the big gate creaked open long enough for her to slip through. The door shut behind her with a clang.

  She was in the home stretch now. The cathedral lay straight ahead. She staggered toward it in not so straight a line.

  But like a swaying leaf on its way to the ground, Alice eventually reached the steps of the cathedral. Steps which led to a locked door. This wasn't anything new to her. But tonight was a special night, so before she took the final ascent to her bedroom, she circled around the building to the cemetery.

  One big stone slab stood out amongst the others. Molten wax that had once been candles smoldered around a portrait adorned with flowers. Someone had even left a plate of bacon, which was now being swarmed by an ant colony. How sweet.

  Alice sat next to the portrait and leaned against the slab.

  "I know this will sound crazy," she said, "but I swear I was this close to getting you a vintage Celinian. And when I didn’t, I had backup cheap wine, but I messed that up too. "

  Nigel didn’t reply because he was dead.

  ~~

  Alice sat there in silence for several minutes. She wondered if, like all the scripture said, he was up there watching over her or something corny like that. But mostly, she just wanted to hear his voice again. Every year, she seemed to forget what it sounded like more and more. She hated that.

  The moon rose to its zenith, and the air grew colder.

  It was time to go. Sitting around here and singing hymns wouldn’t bring him back no matter what they said; that she knew.

  She stood up and immediately regretted it as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her. She went ahead and puked on a nearby bush. And that right there was the closest she could manage to pouring alcohol on her father's grave.

  The groundskeeper would have a little surprise waiting for him tomorrow. Nothing to do about it now. At least it sobered her up for what she had to do next.

  She walked up to her tower and ruffled around the shrubbery until she found the makeshift bedsheet rope. Tying a rock to one end, she swung the rope round and round, then let it loose, aiming for the peg above her windowsill. Success.

  She tugged the rope to make sure it was secure. Trousers tightened, check. Boot laces tied, check. And off she went, rappelling up the side of the tallest tower. Her feet found the familiar footholds, and she leaped between them like an acrobat.

  However, around halfway up, a voice boomed from the opposite side of the tower. "NO, YOUR GRACE!" it shouted.

  Alice lost her footing and slipped several feet before skidding to a stop.

  What the hell…? If she wasn't mistaken, the voice was from Dad’s – no, the High Priest's room, which was at the opposite side from where she was hanging from.

  She couldn't hear anything now, so she shuffled along the wall horizontally until she saw dim light streaming out of the bedroom window. She could make out a few hushed voices.

  "And the poison, you have it ready?" said an old weathered voice.

  "Yes, Your Grace," answered the voice of a younger man.

  "What was that?" Said the first voice.

  "I said, 'YES, YOUR GRACE!'"

  "You don't have to shout!"

  "He wouldn't have to shout if you weren't so deaf, you old coot," said a third, angry voice.

  "Come again." Said the old man.

  "HE WOULDN'T HAVE TO SHOUT IF YOU-"

  "Would you all just shut up," said a woman's voice in a violent whisper. "What if someone hears us?"

  "Then we'll just kill them too," said the angry man.

  It took Alice a few seconds to identify the voices as belonging to High Priest Francis, reverends Claudette and Fulvio, and a templar by the name of Ellis. But more importantly: Kill?! Her chest tightened. Sweat formed on her back.

  "Calm your tits," said Claudette, "We can't go around killing everyone in our path."

  "Why? It worked so far," said Fulvio.

  "Claudette is right," Francis said. “The vermin are dispensable, but we must be careful with high-profile targets. Ideally, we only need to eliminate the one.”

  "Now, Fulvio, are you certain of this chemical's efficacy?" Francis asked. "We will not have another chance."

  "I mean it worked on the fat-ass, I'm sure it'll work on the bitch," said Fulvio.

  Alice's heart leaped out of her chest. There was only person Fulvio referred to as 'fat-ass' and she had a good guess as to who the 'bitch' was.

  "Come again," said Francis.

  "I MEAN IT WORKED ON THE-"

  "Yes, Your Grace," Claudette said, "The poison will work, no doubt about it. One sip can down a horse."

  "Good," Francis said. "Now, how go the inquisitions?"

  "Swimmingly, Your Grace," replied Claudette. "This past week, we had no less than a dozen confessions turned conversions turned executions for not having converted sooner. But I was just wondering. How do we deliver the dose when we're no longer officiating the wedding?"

  "Damn secularization," Fulvio said. "Who does she think she is, establishing her own bloody branch?"

  "Don’t worry, for I have a plan," said Francis, "as does Greg for us all. Needless to say, be ready to conduct some more enhanced interrogation."

  Alice could barely organize her thoughts. Inquisitions? They haven't done those in decades! She knew the Church wasn't at all pleased with being separated from State, but to go as far as assassination... what's next, a crusade?

  A bead of sweat dropped into her eye, causing her to flinch. Fat-ass, Fulvio had said. She gripped the rope until it started to fray. The world blurred red. She took slow, deep breaths and tried to focus again, but she noticed she could no longer hear the clandestine conversation.

  Ice gripped her heart, but she steeled herself and commanded her feet to move inch by inch along the wall until she could reach the windowsill.

  Suddenly, Fulvio's voice exploded from the window: "I SAID, 'THE CHOSEN ONE ISN'T READY'!"

  Alice lost her footing again and fell, a squeal escaping from her lips. Footsteps rushed to the window. She gripped the rope and swung around like a pendulum. Even though she failed her uni physics class, she knew that what goes around comes around, so when she reached the arc's trough, she kicked out her legs at the wall and halted her trajectory.

  And just in time because the muted voices could be heard arguing amongst themselves by the window.

  "Don't be paranoid, it was probably just a bird," Fulvio said.

  "I swear I heard someone," said Claudette. "You did too, didn't you?"

  "Yes, Ma'am," said Ellis.

  Alice dared not breathe while this was going on, but after that last line, the room went suspiciously quiet. Or maybe she just couldn't hear anything over the sound of her heart beating. When her pulse calmed down, she decided eavesdropping some more wasn't worth it.

  She crawled her way up the tower, one small step after another. She had made this climb several times, but it had never felt as long as it did now. It was all she could do to not look down.

  After an eternity, she rolled into her bedroom window and flopped onto the carpet.

  "Well, well, well, nice of you to drop by," said a voice from the darkness. From the corner of the room emerged a pinprick of light which formed into a cigar butt. The greying woman holding the cigar let out a thick plume of smoke, her eyes fiery in the midnight darkness. Alice swore she saw a potted plant wilt under that glare once.

  "Oh, hey, Marion."