Pebbles crunched beneath Isolde’s foot as she sprinted along the path, a rough grinding reverberating through the large estate. Wind glossed passed her ears, urging her to hold her admiral’s hat in place.

You just had to stop and look at the markets, Isolde scolded herself amidst her sprint. The knee-length blue gown with mismatched black and brown leather gloves served as an immutable reminder of her tardiness. She’d already screwed up— typical. By the time she arrived, all the important players will have found some other rookie to talk to.

Rapid breaths stretched her ribs tightly against the constraints of her corset. A grimace plastered her face under the hot metal of her mask against her skin. The faint rainbow layers of her masquerade mask shimmered in the sunlight, the gold embellishments swirling like waves escaping from the metal frame.

Ever since she’d arrived yesterday, Lucius’ advice repeated in her head, ‘make a good first impression, you got to play them before they play you.’ The recurring suggestion of her old friend, however, was silenced the second she found the trinkets at the market stalls. And now, she was almost half an hour late.  

Approaching the villa, her long strides were unrelenting, dashing as if she could make up the time she’d lost. The gravel was still the only sound beyond her own heartbeat pounding through her ears. Past the neatly trimmed bushes she ran; she was closing in.

Arms swinging, legs burning, she just had to make it around the corner to the entrance and- 

She screeched to a halt, gravel rocks clinking together upon the force of her sudden stop. Around fifty guests lined the stairs to the villa. The ragtag queue all turned their heads to assess the noise.

Oh no. Frozen in place, Isolde only stared back at the group.

Heat blared beneath her skin, the judgemental gaze of the guests reaching deep in her gut. Too many eyes were on her, some pointed while others blatantly whispered about her grand entrance. A nervous chuckle escaped her mouth as she nodded in a feeble attempt to break the tension. If Nesari could blush, her cheeks would have been painted. So much for a good first impression.

Isolde joined the back of the line, the other guests slowly returning to their previous conversations, unrelenting gazes subsiding. Their heads leaned in towards each other, chuckles and jokes exchanged between them like old friends.

What am I doing here? They would see right through her mismatched gloves and her lack of experience. She shuffled her feet and cocooning her chest as the embarrassment brewed. Who needed connections anyway? Swimming back to Lucius’s place and playing for fun didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. 

A prickling sensation bloomed on Isolde’s skin, as though someone was watching her. Scanning the area, at the top of the stairs was a woman adorned with a pink mask.

The woman stared directly at Isolde, whispering to the security guard beside her. Isolde’s hands moved toward her ring, twisting over the gloves. Were they talking about her?The woman pointed directly at Isolde before stepping inside. Yeah, they were definitely talking about her. Only the security guard was left, his eye contact unwavering. Within seconds, he was moving in her direction.Footsteps echoed and chatter ceased. The guard slowly sauntered past the line of people.

Nausea erupted in her stomach, like two pirates duelling within her insides. She’d only just arrived. Her face was covered by her mask, her hands by her gloves; no one here knew who she was. What problem could they have with her? A broad smile erupted across her face harmonising with her direct eye contact, matching his approach.

‘Bellona,’ he said advisedly. Isolde’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Bellona? ‘I don’t -' Isolde began correcting him before he spoke once more.

‘Come right in,’ he said, extending his hand in a graceful gesture. For a second, Isolde stood completely still, then she placed her hand on his allowing him to lead her past the line. Who was she to say no? Onlookers cast glances in her direction, yet to her surprise, no one seemed to mind.

Leaves brushed lightly over her hat as he led her under the marble loggia and through the front door.

‘Straight through the hallway, Madam,’ he directed her before turning to leave, never even asking which house she represented.

Slightly ajar at the very end of the hall, a door illuminated with a beckoning glow and small chatter from within. With a deep breath of anticipation, she reached the room and opened the doors.

Pipe smoke singed her nostrils before her eyes had even adjusted. Under the dimly lit light was a chestnut table with gilded trimmings. A deck of cards adorned the table, the sight sending a thrum through her chest. In front of each seat lay roughly cut marble tiles to be cashed in for the house’s scrip. Within seconds of her entrance, silence levelled the room as four players turned to Isolde, sizing her up. Two men at the table, along with and a man and a woman snacking in the corner, all stared with wide eyes. 

Why won’t they stop staring? Apparently, no one minded their own business in Indolce houses. The void of conversation and inspections agitated a deeper twist in her already nauseated gut. Subconsciously, she reached to twist her ring again, but caught herself.

That was her tell, a habit since childhood. Lying became second nature growing up, moving place to place. Her ring was the only possession they sent with her, the sole link to her past.

To abstain from fidgeting, she took a seat at the table where the two men were seated. Chewing on Gremory, an unusually large man refused to tear his eyes away from Isolde. Towering over everyone else, his broad shoulders sat calmly against the back of his chair. A Draconian, perhaps? You meet enough people of brute and brawn from their banner, and one tended to pick up on their identifiers.

Aware that Isolde was within earshot, he whispered to the tall man next to him, ‘Isn’t she supposed to have that chunky necklace or something?’

Instinctively, she touched for her chest, feeling the sudden bareness of her chemise. Isolde had tucked her necklace away while she was running to the venue. Most Nesari owned one— a captivating mismatch of seashells and stones. Reaching into her pocket, the melodic jangle of her necklace caught his attention. 

Securing the necklace around her own neck, she maintained eye contact with the brute. Refusing to back down, asserting dominance was the only strategy she had.The man next to the Draconian was visibly more uncomfortable with the interaction than the brute. His green doublet was perfectly embroidered, and matched the emeralds on the pocket watch he kept checking.

Tidiness and regular time keeping; typical Eburnean punctiliousness. He would be easy to read, following patterns and playing with a system. One just had to figure out what that system was.

She’d guessed a Draconian, an Eburnean and that the two others from the same banner. Isolde made a bet with herself, if she was right, she would treat herself a drink at the tavern that night.

Isolde’s chair scraped against the floor in a sharp scuff as she rose and walked over to the snack table, following the scent of cured meat and cheese.

At the table, a man and a woman with a bejewelled green mask leaned into each other, bickering like old friends. 

‘-and someone has to keep an eye on your investment,’ Isolde caught the end of the woman’s sentence.

‘I have a handle on it,’ the man replied, frustration infused his deep tone.‘It’s embarrassing you know, someone from such an esteemed family taking out a loan for a Cardano game.’

Montefaro.

The man rolled his eyes, turning his back on his associate to face Isolde who was chewing on a piece of cured meat. 

‘This how you win your games? Eavesdropping?’ Whatever initial shock the man had to her presence had certainly worn off. 

The woman in the green mask stepped out from behind him before Isolde had a chance to respond, ‘leave it, Crassus, show some respect.’

‘I was just asking a question, Cornelia,’ Crassus retorted. Isolde was simultaneously grateful for the interruption and curious as to whether they were married considering the bickering. 

Isolde returned to the table where the Draconian immediately drew his attention back to her. ‘What brings you to a place like this,' the man asked Isolde breaking the silence, 'seems beneath you,' his voice a low melodic hum.

Beneath me? She stared at him, words lodged in her throat. Thumping beneath her chest, her heart ran rampant while she sought to devise a response.

‘You talk a lot, what’s your name?' Isolde finally asked, not so subtly redirecting the discussion.

Through a hearty chuckle, he replied, ‘Viggo, Gonfalon Draconis.’

Draconian, just as predicted.

‘And you?’ She turned to the quieter man in the green coat. 

‘Altiere, Towers of Eburnea.’ 

Four for four. Looked like she owed herself that drink.

Maybe she had a shot here. Montefaro would play it safe, especially if they have an investment to protect, and Eburneans followed patterns. Viggo on the other hand, she knew he’d be the hardest to read. Draconians risked it all. The regimented mercenaries were known for letting off steam, they didn't necessarily enter to win, but they were competitive. He was here to compete.

Finally, a whine echoed as the doors opened one last time and the woman with the pink mask from the entrance entered the room.

‘House Indolce would like to welcome you all,’ the hostess introduced herself immediately, ‘I’m Livia, the house representative.’All eyes followed her as she sat down next to Viggo.

Cards sat neatly in front of Livia, the reverse side depicting a gold chalice embedded in a labyrinth of creeping vines.

'Cut the deck and lowest card deals,' Livia recalls Cardano rules and is met with understanding nods from each player.  

Suddenly, everyone faced Isolde, her eyes darted between the players with furrowed brows.

'You first, of course,' Livia invited Isolde, like this was routine. The house representative usually went first, an outsider doing so was not common practice. She was new to this world, but she knew that much.

Isolde complied, her hand extending slowly. Thumping in her chest up through to her ears, she prayed no one could hear her heart as loud as she could. With all the focus fixed on her, the sequence of events unfolded in her mind like scenes a play: skipping the line, the strange comments, the immediate regard, and repartee.

They thought she was this Bellona character. Mysteries intrigued her, and one had just fallen in her lap.

Who was Bellona?‘Why that mask? I’ve always wondered,' Viggo asked suddenly as if on cue. This time not a single quip or jest in his tone.

The mask, it must have been the mask that fooled them. The sudden solemnity from Viggo and her own realisation forced Isolde’s lungs to contract. Though, there was sincerity of his question, a curiosity that resonated with her. So, she told them the truth.

‘I’d been dreaming of the mask since I was a kid,' she replied. Sporadic visions accompanied by sounds of lapping waves infected her dreams like a parasite, haunting her nearly every night.

The atmosphere had shifted, as if she had cast a spell over the room. Eyes darted between Isolde and each other. Body language studied and analysed. No one said a thing, each player leaning over the table hanging on every word, waiting for more.

So, this is what it felt like to be taken seriously. New faction, new people, new respect, she could do whatever she wanted. 

Cutting the deck, Isolde revealed a six of hearts. The second highest value. Chuckles erupted from a few of the players, Isolde didn’t bother to see who.

‘No more questions, got it,’ Viggo raised his hands, admitting defeat.

After each player cut their own number, Altiere revealed a low valued card of two. Cards shuffled in Altiere’s hands, and he prepared to deal. Everyone deposited their ante into the pot before Altiere placed two cards down in front of each player.

Cards shifted like whispers around her while everyone examined their hand, curling the cards up from the table. Isolde did the same.

Four of diamonds, ace of diamonds, six of hearts, and seven of hearts. Not too bad. 

The game had begun. 

'Bid two scrip on a divinus,' Crassus, who was to the left of Altiere placed the two tiles into the pot. Stillness settled over the table, cogs turning in the minds of the players as strategies and decisive plays were mapped out.

Isolde’s turn. 'Pass,' she said, dropping her four of diamonds. She drew a new card. Five of diamonds. 

Bad draw. Despite this, she suppressed every instinct to react, her expression remaining unchanged. Her breathing steady, and her elbows stayed relaxed on the table maintaining her facade.

'In trouble already, Bellona?' Viggo chirped from across the table. Isolde smiled under her mask.

'Worry about yourself, Viggo,' Isolde replied, sitting back in her seat, mimicking Viggo’s relaxed demeanour. Livia scoffed, enjoying the show. 

It was working. She was convincing these people. Nausea was replaced with an electricity, the buzz intoxicating. Each breath felt clean, easy to breathe. These games, the rush, the chirping, the thrill of betting and staking, the losing, the winning. It was like breathing underwater.

'Bidding a fidelis 66 with one scrip.

'‘Bid a prima 51 with two scrip.’

Each round she observed her opponents, studying and learning. Across from Isolde, Altiere hesitated before staking. His hands hovered, just for a fleeting second. Playing it safe, never passing and risking losing his hand. Crassus was prone to small, involuntary facial movements betraying his real emotions. Viggo’s boisterous personality was a strong facade, but it worked. His true plays were hard to decipher, but she noticed every time he’d felt threatened by another player, he would talk to them, distract them. An interesting strategy. 

‘Looking nervous over there Livia, don’t let your house down,’ Viggo leaned close to Livia before she playfully shoved him away.Altiere bid on his turn, sweat beading on the palms of his hand while constantly wiping them on his tights. Isolde stared him down until she caught his eye. Don’t play the hand, play the people. ‘Careful, your vulnerability is showing,' Isolde quipped.

Altiere let out a forceful laugh with no retort. He was nervous.

The rounds continued, each bid getting higher and higher. Each bluff harder to convince than the next, convincing your opponents you have a better hand than you do. Isolde had secured a divinus. Shallow breaths exhaled against her tight corset, analysing her opponents for the last time. The only hand above hers was Viggo’s divinus.

She prayed he was bluffing.

‘Alright, show down,’ Livia announced.

Slowly, each player revealed their hand. ‘Bellona wins,’ Livia declared. Isolde’s eyes widened, a relieved exhale breathed into her mask. Crassus groaned as Cornelia glared at him. If looks could kill. Altiere merely nodded in acceptance before leaving as quietly as he played. 

Tiles clinked triumphantly while Isolde collected her winnings, rising from the table with everyone’s stakes. 

‘You lie well,’ Viggo said, shaking Isolde’s hand with a strong grip. A large grin traced his face beneath his mask, his version of a compliment Isolde concluded.

The front of the house settled her winnings. Music chimed a repetitive melody as tiles clattered down a gilded phoenix shaped automaton. Scrip whirred out from under the bird’s wings. Isolde was set for at least another week. Though, she wouldn’t need that long, she was already eager to play again.

Exiting the illustrious villa, a thump of footsteps trailed behind her. Turning around, Livia was jogging up to catch her.  ‘Here,’ Livia, the most elusive of the players handed Isolde a card with only an address on it, ‘I’m not entirely sure how you ended up here, but if you want back in with the big leagues, same day next week.

’Isolde placed the card swiftly in her pocket with her old, crumpled receipt, nodding to Livia as a gesture of thanks. As she left the building, night had cast upon them. A cool breeze settled over her skin, the fresh smell of vast open air livening her senses. Isolde’s mask twinkled under the moonlight on her way to the closest tavern. Bellona’s identity remained a mystery, was but one thing was certain.

Isolde was ready to play.