Under the old stone bridge, Mireille reads deaths for spare coppers, and her cards never lie. Tonight the river fog smells like iron. When she deals her own hand, the Drowned Queen stares up at her, the card that means your hour is near. Then the painted woman lifts her chin and steps right off the card. Wet hair, cold eyes, a real woman now. 'You dealt me,' she says. 'So sit. We play until dawn. Win, and you live.'

Mireille sits. Her hands shake, but she shuffles. 'Fine. We play,' she says. 'What are the stakes?' The Queen smiles, water dripping from her sleeve. 'Each hand you lose, I take a year from you. Each hand you win, you take one from me. Reach dawn ahead, and you walk free.'

They play three quick hands. Mireille wins two with careful, cold bets. The Queen's painted skin cracks at the edges, and Mireille suddenly feels stronger, younger. 'You're good,' the Queen admits. 'But I have played this game for two hundred years.'

On the last hand the Queen cheats, sliding an extra card from her sleeve. Mireille catches her wrist. 'Two hundred years and you still cheat,' she says. The Queen snarls and flips the table. Cards scatter into the dark water.

Mireille grabs for the scattered cards in the dark, but the Queen is faster. Cold hands close around her ankle and pull her down. The last thing she sees is the painted card floating away, now showing two drowned women instead of one.