“Uphold it?” she fathomed a guess.
When they reached the bottom, she adjusted her hair again, silently chastising herself for not bringing something to tie it up. She wasn’t used to wearing it down and the heat of the desert was making sweat collect on the back of her neck.
“Exactly,” Stone said. “I know it’s not ideal, but this was the best way to get you in with me.”
They passed Soo’s Apothecary where it was dark inside, much like it was last night. She followed Stone, squeezing behind him between two tall, limestone buildings, until he reached the end of the narrow alley and came to a stop at a metal door.
“We’re here.” He straightened his collar then turned to her. “Let’s make this quick. They’ll offer you a drink. Take it but don’t drink it. When they ask you who you are–”
“I remember,” she said, twisting her hair off her neck again.
They’d discussed it earlier that day. Aesira was to be an artist, a sculptor who was passing through Vargah when she met Stone, fell in love and then stayed. It was absurd, as he said before, but if going along with the lie meant finding more about Desmond, she’d do it. And she’d do it well, she decided. It was a job, just like leading her knights, and Kamari was depending on her.
“Here we go, then.” Stone took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. Once, at first, then a pause and another three quick knocks.
He took a step back and slid his hand onto Aesira’s lower back. “Just for show, remember.” The deep timbre of his voice ghosted over her skin, now sticky from the mix of heat and the cold. The weight of his hand felt reassuring when the door opened and a man stepped out.
He was taller than Stone, with eyes so dark Aesira wondered if they contained any color at all. His deep brown skin stood out against the bright pink scar that stretched across his left cheekbone. “State your name.”
“Stone Odega.”
The man scratched his bald head and squinted. “Stone?” There was something softer in his voice now as he stepped out of the doorway. “Holy shit,” he said, “it is you.” The man moved to wrap Stone in a hug and the absence of his hand on Aesira’s back was like a cold slap. “What are you doing back here?”
Stone whispered something Aesira didn’t quite catch but both the men turned to her at the same time. “My wife,” Stone said, “Lucy Odega.” Stone cast her a small, apologetic smile. “Lucy, this is Doc. He’s been a friend for a long time.”
Aesira took Doc’s hand in hers, introduced herself again, then followed the two of them inside the building. They spoke low and tilted their heads together, laughing occasionally, like true friends separated for a long time, but she was so distracted by the inside of the Den she hardly heard a word they said.
“...flew in on Aquila.”
“Royal money’s that good, then?”
The hallway was narrow enough Aesira’s shoulders almost brushed either side, she had no idea how Doc could possibly fit. Despite there being no windows, the glow from the lights that lined the floor of the entryway were enough that she could see everything clearly. Massive portraits hung from the walls, their eyes watching her as she slithered her way out of the tight space.
When it finally opened up, light spilled into a wide room with lavish crimson carpet and gold details at every corner. Stone continued making small talk with his friend, stealing a look her way every few seconds. Maybe making sure she was okay. More likely making sure she stayed in character.
Lucy.
A free spirited artist.
The opposition was almost enough to make her snort. Aesira couldn’t remember the last time she felt free. Maybe when she was younger, before the Order stripped her bare.
A woman dressed similarly to her passed by with a tray of drinks, tall slender glasses with a bubbling clear liquid inside. Stone grabbed two and handed one to her.
“I’ll get Vic,” Doc said. “He’ll be pleased you’re here.”
When it was just the two of them, Aesira let herself really take in the room. The extravagant chandelier. The tufted chairs. Theportraits of different men who somehow all resembled each other. Family, she guessed. A few other women breezed by to attend a few other patrons sitting distantly around similar tables and chairs, their long skirts swayed lightly and their cropped tops revealed slices of soft skin.
“What is the Den, exactly?”
“A meeting place for Vic’s most esteemed customers.” Stone sniffed his drink, but didn’t take a sip. “They drink. Gamble. Generally do things they shouldn’t.”
What could there possibly be to gamble on this deep in the desert, she thought. Her throat was hoarse from the heat and she knew not to drink the drink but if only a tiny sip to satiate–
“Stone the viper.” Aesira whipped her head up to where a handsome, older man wearing a suit similar to Stone’s stood. His hair was dark and neatly cropped with thick bands of silver around his temples, his beard close shaven and sharp at the edges.
“It’s Stone Odega, now.”
Vic tilted his head back and laughed. “Odegas. Leave it to the royals to brand you all the same.” He slapped Stone’s shoulder. “It’s been awhile.” When Vic smiled, it didn’t warm his face, it somehow hardened it. He had a strong nose chiseled from stone. A perfectly arched brow made of granite. His gaze slid to hers. He studied her from her feet to her hips, then to her eyes, burning a trail that made her skin crawl. “And who do we have here?”
