Chapter 7. Bluff Game

"I am NOT in LOVE!!!" Sumarel punctuated each word with a light tap on the table, then sighed and leaned back in her chair with an air of indifference.

"Strange, what's gotten into me? Where are these emotions coming from?" surprise and confusion raced through her thoughts. "Maybe it's this young body with its hormonal surges?"

"You're not yourself today. What happened?" her mother asked, setting a glass of water before Sumarel. The woman's hands trembled slightly—exhaustion from a long shift showing through.

"It's because she didn't eat her favorite pie," Lartar suddenly chimed in, his childish voice laden with mock seriousness.

"Or because she's not covering her face," Auriel immediately interjected, as if unwilling to be outdone by her brother. Or perhaps she simply wanted to test her sister, who lately had been withdrawing into herself more and more.

"It's just..." Sumarel picked up her chopsticks, moving them aimlessly around her plate. The half-eaten pie had gone cold, but she didn't notice. "This can't go on. Someone has to..."

She shifted her gaze to Auriel. Understanding flickered in her younger sister's brown eyes.

"Take care of the family," their mother finished, as if reading her daughter's thoughts. Her voice carried the bitterness of someone all too familiar with necessary sacrifices.

"That comes first," Sumarel confirmed, unsurprised by her mother's insight.

Before the string of misfortunes, her mother had been a vibrant, active woman—perceptive, perhaps even a little cunning. But life had proven a harsh teacher. What seemed like the right moves ended up being worthless. So it had been with her mother's life. So it had been with her own life... the last time around.

"All roads lead only to magic," the thought flashed through her mind. "To the one thing that can provide long-term strength to stand up for yourself, carving out your place in this world."

"I'll take care of you all," her mother said, but the words rang hollow even to her own ears.

"No," Sumarel interrupted more sharply than intended. "There are things only I can do."

Her mother worked as a waitress in one of the central bars of the quarter. For a single woman to feed three children in the Lower City was already an achievement. But Sumarel knew where this would lead. She had already lived this life. She'd seen how her mother would wear herself down, trying to earn more and more in a desperate hope to provide for the children and pay for Lartar's treatment, and the kind of men she'd eventually get involved with.

She couldn't allow that. Not again.

"At dawn, I'm joining the legion," Sumarel announced, her face settling into an emotionless mask. The same one she'd worn in her past life when making decisions that weren't up for discussion.

The room seemed to fill with cold fog. Their mother paled, Lartar dropped his chopsticks. Only Auriel seemed to remain unruffled.

"Final decision?" the younger sister asked in the same tone she might use to inquire about the weather.

"Final."

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After fending off her mother's latest attempts to talk her out of this venture, Sumarel carved out some time to be with her brother and sister.

"I wonder what it's like—to sit under the night sky and see the stars," the thought drifted unbidden as she looked up at the tangle of bridges and overhanging buildings, and at the massive stone ceiling illuminated by the fungus growing on it.

"Though even on the surface, you can't really see the stars because of the city's glow. Maybe I should stay with them a little longer?"

She shifted her gaze to her brother and sister, who were playing a card game some distance away. Sitting on the roof of one of the few abandoned buildings—their usual spot, which they'd dubbed their base—she watched their joyful faces, lit by the multicolored bioluminescent glow of fungi and lichens covering the walls.

"You cheated again!" Lartar exclaimed indignantly, glaring at Auriel.

"Now, what shall I add here..." ignoring her brother, Auriel examined the figurine she held carefully in her hand. The carved trinket of pale wood was their shared project—each adding details after winning a round.

Sighing, Sumarel picked up one of the newspapers from the large stack beside her.

"There will be so many events, but I won't be able to use this knowledge."

She quickly flipped through the pages, squinting, trying not to miss any detail.

"There must be clues."

She knew—many tragic situations would occur in the future. Their time was special, with too many events converging upon it.

"That's how it is when epochs shift, I suppose," raced through her mind as her gaze caught on a headline about the growing power of the city of Nir'Hael.

The article spoke of the Thucydides Trap and how war between the cities was inevitable. Nir'Hael was growing and strengthening at an enormous pace, threatening to seize control over the entire empire and become the principal city. The author claimed civil war was unavoidable, and sooner or later their great city—Renuarch—would clash with Nir'Hael in an attempt to suppress and limit their competitor's development.

The empire they lived in consisted of a small number of extremely autonomous great cities, disproportionately developed, and vast conquered territories with various statuses and types of citizenship. In essence, it was more like a confederation. Each principal city had a Supreme Council headed by a First Consul, and these Consuls governed the entire Empire. Among the First Consuls, the leader was always someone from their city—the capital.

She understood little of political machinations and intrigues, of how everything was arranged. But she had no doubt they were ready to unleash civil war within the country.

"I think we need to draw a perfectly straight circle in the center, then build the composition from there," Auriel said, looking at her brother with shining eyes.

"That would be boring. Besides, how do you imagine doing that—drawing a perfectly straight circle?" Lartar waved his hands with extended index fingers, as if already visualizing how he would do it.

"Well then, win the next round and you can add your own elements," Auriel said, smiling. "Besides, we both know you can handle it."

"But civil war won't happen," Sumarel thought, looking away from her siblings.

Nir'Hael faced some kind of catastrophe that would destroy almost the entire city—a terrible tragedy whose causes no one knew, at least not among the citizens of the Lower City. Even information about what happened there was strictly classified to the point that approaching the affected territory was forbidden.

She shifted her gaze to the magazine—it was dedicated to the great houses, all manner of intrigues and gossip. "PRINCE OF HOUSE DURAN CHEATS ON HIS BETROTHED" proclaimed the headline, prominently displayed on the cover in large letters.

"Two great houses—Duran and Noel—will be wiped out practically in one night, losing everything," her thoughts raced.

Sitting on some crate, her fingers methodically tapped out a melody that kept arising in her thoughts when she needed to think seriously about something.

"And the great house Tömmermann will rise—a dark horse about which there was almost no information before."

The great houses wielded enormous power, each occupying important economic niches throughout the state. Essentially, it was a serious division of spheres of influence and specialization in one area.

"This house is to change the state policy significantly."

She continued tapping her fingers, completely losing sight of her siblings' game. There were two approaches to dealing with citizens: help them reach their potential by providing information, education, and tools, encouraging them to become more actively involved in public life and develop solutions themselves. Or the other approach, using propaganda and manipulation of public opinion so that society unquestioningly accepted the desired answer.

"You're thinking too much, oh, Sumarel, do you really want to change the world?" flashed through her thoughts.

After house Tömmermann's rise, it became clear which policy would be applied in the city from then on—propaganda and nudging toward the desired opinion. She wasn't sure if this was the worst or best option. After all, war loomed on the horizon in the future.

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"Sister, what are you doing there? Since when are you interested in that waste paper Mom brings to kindle the stove?" Auriel distracted her.

"Yes, I just need to gather my thoughts, Auriel. I'll be there soon," she answered her sister.

"Oh, and the Tragedy of the Violet Quarter," her thoughts jumped to another event that would occur.

The Lower City consisted of several layers. Each layer had its own quarters—some significantly wealthier, some not so much. Everything varied greatly. Populated by different peoples, they often differed strongly from each other in their customs and rules.

One such quarter was the Violet. Due to the abundant luminescence of a special breed of trees that had been developed and patented, the entire quarter was bathed in beautiful violet light. All young, beautiful, and unusual, it stood out not without the merits of its strange administrator. A great many young people preferred to live there. Not to mention—in terms of entertainment, even many from the Middle City weren't averse to visiting the place.

"I wonder, will you be there that same day?" flashed through her thoughts. It was there, in one of the adventurous escapades of her past youth, that she'd met a boy from the Middle City with whom she'd fallen in love.

"Doesn't matter," she cut herself off. "The quarter will be destroyed, and I can't prevent it."

One night, all the residents would simply fall unconscious—some terrible magical ritual, the details of which she of course didn't know. The authorities would comment, but anyway she didn't trust them.

"There will also be a wedding," she inhaled, catching the aroma of meat cooking somewhere nearby.

The newly elected First Consul would marry the illegitimate daughter of the First Consul of one of the neighboring cities. But more importantly, another event would follow.

"Multiculturalism and mass migration," she ran through the events that would follow.

She wasn't against diversity. Sure, there'd be complications, but that's true of any change? And among the problems she'd marked for herself, this was the most insignificant.

"Why do you always tell the truth? Are you throwing the game?" Lartar's disgruntled voice sounded again.

She was distracted for just a moment, then her thoughts returned to the future.

"The madman," she set the magazine on the stack of newspapers, folding her hands in a prayer gesture, pondering something.

A madman would appear in the Lower City, talking about a time loop, predicting future events—war between cities, civil war within the city, the rise of a cult, an epidemic and the disaster of the Olympic games, and much more. Almost everything he predicted wouldn't come true and would seem more like the ravings of a lunatic.

"I'll need to check," the thought stuck, demanding resolution. "Even if he's just crazy, it's a small thread, I need to check... No, I will definitely check," she was firm in her decision.

"What are you doing there, Sumarel?" Lartar's disgruntled voice sounded, though he'd won this round against Auriel.

"Coming," she answered, continuing to think about the future situation.

"War expectations lead to currency devaluation, but I can't do anything about that anyway."

She couldn't buy any assets, much less have access to the exchange where she could invest in companies she knew would grow significantly in value. For her, someone who didn't even have an official passport and good savings, any actions related to acquiring assets were forbidden.

"There will also be the heist of the century, as they'll call it," images immediately flashed through her mind of the huge Central Bank building where the main treasures had been moved, numerous valuable relics and everything else that, according to rumors, would be stolen.

Approaching her brother and sister, she picked up the cards they'd set out for her. They were playing a simple Lower City game—you put down cards and declare what they are, while others guess if you're lying. Get caught lying? Take your cards back. Tell the truth and get called on it? Cards go to the discard pile. But if they guess wrong, they're stuck with your cards. You can play up to four at once. Last one holding cards loses.

Simple rules, but the real game was reading faces—catching tells, spotting patterns, learning when someone's bluff was just a little too perfect.

"Two sevens," Lartar announced, laying cards face down. His voice sounded confident, perhaps too confident. His right shoulder rose slightly—a sign of tension he tried to hide by leaning on his hand.

Sumarel observed her brother. When Lartar lied, his voice became slightly higher than usual, as if his throat constricted from tension. Now his timbre was normal, but... There it was—the barely noticeable twitch of his left pinky. He was trying to control his facial expressions but forgot about his hands.

"Lie," she said calmly.

Lartar grimaced and took his cards back. Underneath were a jack and a nine.

"King," Auriel laid down one card. No trembling in her voice, no shift in her eyes. Sumarel knew her sister better. Auriel always did this when telling the truth.

"Truth," Lartar nodded.

The card went to the discard pile. Indeed a king.

"Three queens," Sumarel laid down cards with a careless gesture, allowing her voice to sound indifferent. She deliberately relaxed her shoulders and squinted slightly—exactly how she'd looked when bluffing last time. Let them think they'd figured out her pattern.

Auriel tilted her head, studying her sister. Her eyebrows shifted slightly—she was trying to remember when Sumarel had made that same face.

"I don't believe it!" she exclaimed.

"Too bad," Sumarel turned over the cards. Three queens stared at Auriel, who took them with annoyance.

"Ace," Lartar spoke slowly this time, drawing out the word. He'd learned to control his voice's timbre but now was overacting in the other direction. Too relaxed a posture, too lazy a gaze. He might as well have yawned for effect.

"Trying too hard," Sumarel thought. Real fatigue manifests differently—in micro-pauses between words, in how eyelids stay closed slightly longer when blinking. But Lartar was blinking at his normal rate.

"Truth," she said, watching her brother deflate slightly. He'd tried so hard to portray a lie that he forgot—sometimes the best disguise is its absence.

The ace of spades went to the discard pile.

"Four tens," Auriel kept her face motionless. Too deliberately. Her jaw muscles were tense, creating barely visible shadows under her cheekbones. She was even trying to breathe more evenly than usual.

"Lie?" Lartar said uncertainly, thrown off by his sister's unusual behavior.

"No, truth," Auriel exhaled with relief. "I was just trying to look mysterious."

All four tens went into Lartar's hand. Sumarel smiled to herself—Auriel was predictable in her honesty.

"Two deuces," Lartar decided to try a different tactic this time. He began tapping his fingers on the table—a distracting maneuver. The rhythm was deliberately uneven, designed to irritate and break concentration.

But Sumarel wasn't watching his fingers, she was watching his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed—an involuntary movement. The pulse in his neck quickened. He was lying.

"I don't believe it."

"Damn!" Lartar took back a king and a three.

"Three jacks," Sumarel let her voice waver on the last word. Barely noticeable, but enough to be noticed. She even blinked more than usual—a classic sign of lying.

"Lie!" brother and sister exclaimed almost simultaneously.

Sumarel slowly turned over the cards. Three jacks grinned mockingly at them.

"But... but you..." Auriel, unsurprised, took the cards.

"One six," Auriel's voice sounded tired. The game was dragging on, and she was beginning to tire from concentrating. That's what gave her away—when Auriel was tired, she began to draw out vowels slightly. Now she spoke abruptly, trying to hide her fatigue.

"Truth," said Sumarel.

The six went to the discard pile.

"Four kings!" Lartar went all in, laying down cards. His voice sounded challenging, but Sumarel noticed how he bit the inside of his cheek—he did that when he really wanted to win. Excitement made him take risks.

She studied his face. Pupils slightly dilated—adrenaline. Nostrils flaring barely perceptibly—quickened breathing. But most importantly—he was looking her straight in the eyes. Lartar could never maintain eye contact when lying big.

"I don't believe it."

Lartar clicked his tongue.

"Oh come on!" he took his cards back.

Sumarel had three cards left. Auriel—a whole stack. Lartar—9.

"Two nines," Sumarel laid down her last cards. She wasn't trying to portray anything, just sat calmly.

Auriel agonized. Her sister looked too calm, too confident. But maybe that was the calculation?

"Truth," she finally exhaled.

Sumarel smiled, revealing a six and a nine, and was first out of the game. In the next rounds, Lartar got rid of his last cards.

Auriel remained with a full hand, unhappily examining her brother and sister.

"It's not fair. You read us like open books."

"You are open books," Sumarel shrugged. "Auriel can't lie, and you, Lartar, try too hard when you're lying. And relax too much when telling the truth."

"Next time I'll win," he promised, gathering the cards.

"Of course," Sumarel smiled, knowing there might not be a next time.

The bioluminescent lights of the Lower City flickered around them, creating a bizarre shadow play on the walls of their makeshift base. Somewhere below, the night city bustled. But here on the roof, time seemed to have stopped, enclosing the three of them in a bubble of simple human warmth. And perhaps, Sumarel thought, looking at her brother's disgruntled face and her smiling sister, these moments were worth more than all the knowledge of the future that lay heavy on her shoulders.

"Besides, in the future a strange cult will appear with their terrorist attacks, one of which will kill Yeremeya's parents," she got distracted again, thinking about the future while Lartar gathered cards for a new round.

"But later they'll disappear as mysteriously as they appeared. Perhaps that's the only thing from all I've listed that I could prevent."

Images flashed through her mind of what he'd done to her, but also of how he'd been before—always kind and responsive.

"Since when am I so kind?" she sighed, shifting her gaze to Lartar, who was looking at her questioningly.

"Have you figured out what you want to add to the figurine?" he asked with obvious anticipation.

"Yes," she smiled. "Let there be a heart in the center of Auriel's circle."

"What's wrong with both of you?! Such clichés! Are you even grown-ups?" he exclaimed unhappily, staring at his sisters.

"Clichéd things are always the most serious," Sumarel answered him. "Besides, aren't you making it for us?"

Stretching into an uncharacteristic wide smile and not even covering her face, she stared at her brother, watching his face change as his intention was revealed.

"It was supposed to be a secret gift," he lowered his eyes. "And how do you always know everything? Are you from the future?"

But to their surprise, Sumarel abruptly switched from warmth to the cold of her seriousness. "Lartar, Auriel, take care of mom," she took a deep breath. "Until I come back—and I will—you're in charge."