Seven didn’t know how far she rode, only that she did so until she could barely see straight anymore, her legs shaking and threatening to let go of the horse. The beast itself, at least, took the trip in stride, obviously a fine breed meant for running long distances. She felt bad having stolen it from its owner, but with her ankle now throbbing and her head spinning, she wouldn’t have been able to make it nearly as far as she did with the horse’s help. Hopefully it would make its way back to its owner once she abandoned it.

  Or I could just keep it, she thought suddenly. Maybe she wasn’t exactly a thief, but she was in exile. It was a strange thought to have, given that she’d been a princess not twenty-four hours before, but, well, it would have been more shocking had she not changed as a result of her situation, she supposed. The more pressing problem was that she had no money to feed or house even herself—let alone the horse. And yet, still shaking from that encounter in the inn, her thoughts as she rode scattered back to that night.

  She couldn’t figure out how she’d survived the night. It was one thing to think about the risk of exile, but it was quite another to experience it. I should be dead, she thought as tiny mountain towns flew past her and the trees grew more sparse. Seven wasn’t a large woman; barely over five feet tall, she was good enough at fencing and riding, but without a weapon she was practically defenseless. She hadn’t even bothered to bring a sword because she’d figured that the light, thin fencing foil would hardly translate to a real weapon she could barely lift.

  Now, she wished she had.

  And yet, she hadn’t been defenseless. She’d felt something at the inn. Some sort of power stirring in her veins. The same sort of power she’d felt that night in the dice that Rook had so obviously rigged. The same sort of power she felt whenever she picked up a dice, though it remained impossible to access. That warmth, that humming sort of energy she swore she could hear—that was the same sort of energy she’d felt welling up in her muscles as she’d kicked and thrown the men into the walls.

  Why wasn’t I able to use it before? She wondered as she rode. Why haven’t I had this happen before? Then again, thinking back, she’d barely left the palace grounds. Even her jaunts through the rest of Veilhome had probably been more supervised than she wanted to admit. Even if she’d been in trouble, she would have been extracted from that trouble before ever having real issues. Perhaps desperation had provoked those powers in a way that safety never had.

  Regardless, Seven had few answers. It was easy to feel a little better about her situation, though she spent the night of riding exhausted and dizzy—a strange sort of sensation she’d never even felt before. But if those powers worked again, she had a way to defend herself, even without a dice. The trick, she supposed, was figuring out if they worked at all when she wasn’t fighting for her life.

  Eventually the sweeping fields and forests turned into winding, rocky paths, and near twilight, Seven led her horse through a stone gate and into the edges of a mining town. The outskirts were normal, but the garish neon signs beyond the rocky border told her everything she needed to know: she’d found Lucky Mining Corporation.

  Seven stilled her horse, her head spinning, her legs shaking, and stared at the neon signs flashing so brightly that they reflected off the mountain in spots. With some difficulty, she managed to dismount from her horse, wincing at the gash in her side and the way her knees buckled momentarily. Clutching the beast, she watched the lights flash in and out on the mountainside, a kaleidoscope of colors.

  Vaguely, she remembered Moore’s discussion with her about LMC. The very thought of him sent a pang through her gut—she hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye—but his words were clear as day as she thought of him in the study that night.

  This isn’t about your innocence anymore, he’d said. It’s about your life. Looking at the dingy mining town, Seven couldn’t help but bristle at Moore’s words. Yes, she’d nearly lost her life the first night she’d left Veilhome. Yes, Rook’s mining operation looked about as legitimate as a cup of dice on the corner of the street.

  But she’d survived once, and she’d felt a strange sort of power coursing through her veins. Even now, with her hands shaking with exhaustion, she felt strangely different. Like she’d unlocked something inside of her. Surely there would be a way for her to survive the mines—even if it involved legitimately being employed by the company. Maybe there was even a way to thrive.

  And, if she wanted to bury Rook for everything he’d done to her, what better way to start than by going into the belly of the beast?

  ***

  Seven had seen company towns before, but Luckville, as it was gaudily called, was something else entirely.

  The settlement clung to the mountainside like a strange sort of tumor—stubborn, unwelcome, and somehow thriving in spite of all logic. The company’s logo was carved straight into the rock itself, and someone had done a haphazard job of hanging blinking neon lights in the outline of the letters. It was half-finished and currently only the M and the C were blinking.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  As she led her newly acquired horse through streets painted yellow and blue, checking its bridle for tags or some form of identification, it was hard to miss LMC’s presence throughout the town. Its logo was present on nearly every visible surface, and those surfaces that barely had room for the logo were stamped haphazardly with multi-colored ink that had faded after days in the filtered mountain sunlight.

  The streets were strangely clean, swept by uniform workers, many of whom had a smile plastered across their face like their lives depended on it. As she traipsed through the streets, her steps slowed. The recruitment office had been one thing, but Luckville was somehow even stranger—like seeing watercolors materialize into something more solid. The picture painted wasn’t a friendly one.

  Signs were posted every twenty feet with phrases such as, employee satisfaction is mandatory and your luck is our success etched onto the surfaces. They’d chosen a strange font for the signs—something Seven swore she’d seen in a children’s book once. Perhaps they’d gotten some sort of twisted discount, or the sign maker they’d chosen was simply unhinged. Regardless, it didn’t bode well—nor did the recently scrubbed away graffiti bearing the words ‘run’ and ‘liars’ still visible in the shadowed remnants of the ink.

  The air was scented with pine and rock, as she might have figured, but there was another sort of stench that was hard to entirely forget as she left the outskirts of the city behind and passed under another gate into the city proper—desperation and fear. As she drew closer to the main offices, workers trudged between shifts, smiling wildly each time they passed an LMC overseer, but otherwise looking fairly miserable. Even their smiles barely reached their eyes, the mandatory cheerfulness of the place hanging over everything like a thick, syrupy sort of fog.

  But as the apartments, homes, and small shops of the outer quarter disappeared, replaced by glittering buildings—still stamped with LMC’s logo, but clearly more monied than the rest—Seven realized she was in big trouble. She tucked her horse away in a stable, tipping the stableboy a small pittance—which he bit to check the integrity of—and crested a set of whitewashed steps into a circular plaza bursting with color and sound.

  Not even Veilhome could compete with the spread in Luckville. While the outer quarter had housed more normal fare, the inner quarter was home to a dizzying array of gambling houses.

  Every game under the sun was available. Every set of odds. Every table. They spread out before her like a buffet of stupid choices, and Seven stood there, examining each hall, a little stunned.

  This was how LMC’s employees were expected to spend their earnings? Well, she couldn’t exactly fault them. Didn’t a man deserve to gamble with his hard-earned money?

  Beggar’s Chance alone had its own fine hall, a place so beautiful—gleaming in white, gold, and silver—that she took a look at her own muddied and bloodied riding clothes and was a little disgusted. She’d been tempted to enter, but that was obviously a place for class and wealth, even in this backwoods mining town, and the clientele inside seemed to match. The few she saw enter looked like overseers from LMC, and no miners entered while she watched.

  Seven glanced again at her tattered clothes and sighed. I’d stick out like a sore thumb, she thought. Better to wait. And while Beggar’s Chance was certainly less of a gamble than the regular tables, it was the sort of mind game that was easier to play in fine clothes, with pride and grace.

  Besides that, she didn’t want to bring attention to herself right away. Yes, the odds of Rook working here in some capacity and actually recognizing her in her tattered riding clothing was unlikely, but he did play the game, and he owned the mine to boot. It was safer to avoid the Beggar’s Chance hall altogether until she knew how often he bothered visiting his own establishment. Likely never, if other nobility she knew were any indication.

  That left Seven with a dizzying array of other options. Dice poker. Regular poker of all varieties. Blackjack. Slime racing, apparently. She blinked at that one, the blue likeness of a slime flashing in the early evening. That one would have been tempting had she known anything about slimes, really.

  And yet she knew she shouldn’t be tempted at all. She had plenty of chips for the night, didn’t she? Watching her back carefully for pickpockets, she checked her bag, then swore as she found a slash in the side of it she hadn’t noticed. She’d ridden so hard and fast that she’d jostled it, and only a few chips remained.

  Well, there goes that. She at least still had the dice. But where to try them? She wondered. She needed somewhere private. Somewhere safe from other prying eyes, and more importantly, would-be thieves. If, as was likely the case, none worked for her, she could sell them for a pittance in the nearby shops, perhaps. Enough to get some money to buy in on a table with.

  Still, something made her hesitate. These dice would sell for more than she needed if she’d just offload them now. Maybe they’d lead to a bit of a scene, but it was dark enough, and surely there were some shops around here who could operate with some discretion. And yet, she could barely bring herself to even consider the idea.

  I have to do it, she told herself. There’s no choice. Perhaps a wiser, better Seven would have sold the dice, but she recognized the itch in the back of her mind. That desperate desire for risk, for spectacle, for making the bigger play. It wasn’t about finding the funds for a place to stay—indeed, LMC might provide that free of charge if she was willing to sign some employment papers tonight—no, it was about putting on a show. Feeling that hum of the dice in her hands, the closest thing to finding one with power.

  It was about the addiction.

  And Seven, caught in its grasp, could hardly argue. She stood there for a moment longer, poised on the edge of a decision, then disappeared into the tangle of blinking lights and sound.

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