He folded his arms in and drew a flask from inside his coat. It was made of glass, the pale-pink liquid sloshing inside. Alucard had never seemed all that fond of sobriety, but the closer they got to the city, the more he drank.

“I’ll be sober again by the time we dock,” he said, reading her look. His free hand drifted toward his wrist again.

“It’s a tell,” she said. “Your wrists. That’s why I brought it up. People should always know their tells.”

“And what is yours, Bard?” he asked, offering her the flask.

Lila took it but didn’t drink. Instead she cocked her head. “You tell me.”

Alucard twisted toward her and squinted, as if he could see the answer in the air around her. His blue eyes widened in mock revelation. “You tuck your hair behind your ear,” he said. “But only on the right side. Whenever you’re nervous. I’m guessing it’s to keep yourself from fidgeting.”

Lila gave him a grudging smile. “You got the gesture, but missed the motive.”

“Enlighten me.”

“People have a tendency to hide behind their features when they’re nervous,” she said. “I tuck my hair behind my ear to show my opponent—mark, adversary, what have you—that I’m not hiding. I look them in the eyes, and I let them look me in the eyes.”

Alucard raised a brow at that. “Well, eye.”

The flask shattered in Lila’s hand. She hissed, first in shock, and then in pain as the liquor burned her palm. She dropped the flask and it fell in pieces to the deck.

“What did you say?” she whispered.

Alucard ignored the question. He tutted and flicked his wrist, the broken shards rising into the air above his fingers. Lila brought her bloody palm to her chest, but Alucard held out his other hand.

“Let me,” he said, taking her wrist and turning it over gently to expose the shallow cuts. Glass glittered in her palm, but as his lips moved, the flecks and fragments rose to join the larger pieces in the air. With a twitch of his fingers, he brushed the shards away, and they fell soundless over the side of the boat.

“Alucard,” she growled. “What did you say?”

Her hand was still resting upturned in his. “Your tell,” he said, inspecting the cuts. “It’s slight. You try to pass it off by cocking your head, steadying your gaze, but you’re really doing it to make up for the gap in sight.” He drew a black swatch of fabric from his sleeve, and began to wrap her hand. She let him. “And the hair,” he added, tying the makeshift bandage in a knot. “You only tuck it behind your ear on the right side, to mislead people.” He let go of her hand. “It’s so subtle, I doubt many notice.”

“You did,” she muttered.

Alucard reached out, tipped her chin up with his knuckle, and looked her in the eyes. Eye.

“I’m extraordinarily perceptive,” he said.

Lila clenched her fists, focusing on the pain that blossomed there.

“You’re an incredible thief, Lila,” he said, “especially con—”

“Don’t you dare say considering,” she snapped, pulling out of his grip. He respected her enough not to look away. “I am an incredible thief, Alucard. This,” she said, gesturing to her eye, “is not a weakness. It hasn’t been for a very long time. And even if it were, I more than make up for it.”

Alucard smiled. A small, genuine smile. “We all have scars,” he said, and before she could stop herself, she glanced at his wrists. “Yes,” he said, catching the look, “even charming captains.” He pushed up his cuffs again, revealing smooth, tan skin interrupted only by the silvered bands around both wrists. They were strangely uniform. In fact, they almost looked like—

“Manacles,” he confirmed.

Lila frowned. “From what?”

Alucard shrugged. “A bad day.” He took a step away, and leaned back against a stack of crates. “Do you know what Arnesians do to the pirates they catch?” he asked casually. “The ones who try to escape?”

Lila crossed her arms. “I thought you said you weren’t a pirate.”

“I’m not.” He waved his hand. “Not anymore. But youth makes fools of us all. Let’s just say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time on the wrong side.”

“What do they do …?” asked Lila, curious despite herself.

Alucard’s gaze drifted toward the river. “The jailers use an efficient system of dissuasion. They keep all the prisoners in manacles, put them on before even hearing your plea. They’re heavy things, fused together at the wrist, but not so bad, as irons go. But if you make too much of a fuss, or put up a fight, then they simply heat the metal up. Not too much. The first time it’s really just a warning. But if it’s your second or third offense, or if you’re foolish enough to try to escape, it’s much worse.” Alucard’s eyes had somehow gone sharp and empty at the same time, as if he were focusing, just on something else, something far away. His voice had a strangely even quality as he spoke. “It’s a simple enough method. They take a metal bar from the fires, and touch it to the iron cuff until it gets hot. The worse the offense, the longer they hold the rod to the cuffs. Most of the time they stop when you start screaming, or when they see the skin begin to burn….”

In Lila’s mind, she saw Alucard Emery, not in his polished captain’s coat, but bruised and beaten, his brown hair plastered to his face with sweat, hands bound as he tried to pull back from the heated iron. Tried to charm his way out of the mess. But it obviously hadn’t worked, and she imagined the sound of him begging, the smell of charred flesh, the scream….