"What would you have to bet, songmage?" asked the selkie.
"My other stone. For your stone. Since you won't part with it any other way, let me give you a chance for both of them."
Claria met Og's blank face with horror, but he kicked her sharply under the trestle table before she could make a sound. From deep in his sleeve, he brought forth the ajada, hummed a little low song over it, and put it on the table in front of Frijan. The selkie's eyes widened with amazement as her sworn enemy's source of power glittered within her reach. The human had only to miss, and he was long overdue. She looked up at Og, unable to resist such a possibility.
"You're on," she said amid the noise and shuffle of other wagers and the dull clink of shell cups. Og smiled genuinely while Claria snatched up his brimming cup and downed its contents in one toss.
The dank, smoky room became very quiet as Cheyne, completely unaware of what rode on his skill, loosened his shoulders and stepped back to throw. He glanced at Claria, who smiled at him a bit drunkenly, and drew back his arm. Yob's little yellow eyes followed his every motion, his face tight and drawn, his sharp claws drumming lightly on the tabletop, where he nursed a bucketful of mead. With no further thought, Cheyne brought the dagger to its mark in a quick, hard throw. It sank deeply into the center of the tree round with a satisfying thunk.
Wiggulf strode over to check the degree of accuracy, pulled out the dagger, and proclaimed, "He has crossed the ore's cut! It is a perfect throw!"
The selkies cheered, Frijan handed over her coral knife to Claria, and Og raised a new cup in salute, wishing fondly it was full of raqa instead of Wiggulf's cloying mead.
Cheyne took a mock bow, chuckled at his victory, and went to shake Yob's hand. But Yob only looked at Cheyne with stunned silence. He set the mead bucket