His expression is surly as he points to a sign on the wall. “We’ll have none of thatmaegisin here, you know. There’s a rule.”
“We have no intention of breaking your rules,” I say, tossing him a crown that he snaps up in one meaty, decidedly grubby-looking hand. “Advance payment to cover us for the evening. Any change is yours to keep.”
His surliness sweeps away, replaced with an attempt at a smile. I think I preferred the scowl. “Glad to hear it. Owt else for now?”
“Food, if you have it. Anything will do.”
The thick woolen material of my cloak threatens to suffocate me as I glance over my shoulder, taking in our route to the open doorway. I didn’t need the cloak at all, not when we’re buried underground in what feels like a damned furnace, but it covers a multitude of sins. Notably, the weapons that would draw more attention than I’d care to attract this evening, but not enough to go without.
I’d rather be seen as eccentric than a threat, although we seem to have blown past that already, judging by the hard stares of the men dotted around the place, paid to put down any trouble.
My hands flex in response, before they wrap around a brimming flagon and drag the beer toward me.
Everywhere around us, the low-ceiling room is increasingly descending into what promises to end up as full-blown debauchery. Hot, sticky air fills with music, raucous laughter and something more primal, as partners find solace in each other—if only for a night. The walls around us are carved out with curtain-draped booths, figures slinking through the brightly-colored silk to take advantage of whatever time they’ve paid for.
Beside me, Riordan seizes another flagon, passing it to Esme and the third to Sol before taking the last for himself. He sniffs at the liquid before gingerly taking a sip.
Despite myself, I pull my eyes from our surroundings to watch. Rio swallows, his mouth twisting before he shrugs and goes in for another. “Eh. It’ll do. Not sure about the food, though.”
“Speak for yourself.” Esme pushes the iron flagon away with a wrinkled nose and a single, offended finger. “I’m not experiencing such dire thirst that I’ll drink the equivalent of Terrosan piss to dampen it.”
“Then I’ll have yours.” Rio swipes the drink from her, and I return my attention back to the stage as they fall into the familiar, bickering pattern. A thump beside me has my lip twitching. Riordan yelps, pushing himself up with a theatrical sigh and heading back over to the bar, weaving through the throng of people.
Beside me, Sol’s words are quiet. “You think she’shere?”
There’s disgust in his words, and I can’t say I blame him.
I tip up one shoulder in lieu of a response. “We’ll find out. The entrance fee certainly wasn’t because of the drink.”
The music grows louder. A few rows of tables ahead, half a dozen silk-clad dancers spin and whirl on the wooden stage for the amusement of the slack-jawed audience. Fluttering, sultry butterflies, each of them representing a different jewel as they stream around each other in surprisingly intricate movement.
My eyes flit over them without stopping, lingering instead on the heavy, masking shadows on either side of the stage as Rio throws himself back down and passes a new drink over the table to Esme. “Get that wine down you, Smee. I picked the good stuff, and we’re not spending our last night here sober.”
She snorts but takes the drink without further complaint. “Did you hear anything?”
He nods. Rio turns to me, a slight crease between his eyebrows belying his jovial appearance. It wipes away as he leans back in his chair, his shoulders too broad for the narrow back. The wood creaks beneath him as though it’s thinking the same. “They said she’s coming on soon. Looks like Grim’s source was legit, Cal.”
My pulse quickens at that.
Sol tilts his head, skepticism on his face. “I still think we would have heard about it sooner.”
“Doesn’t matter.” My jaw tightens as I fold my arms. “We’ll check it out, and we’ll leave.”
We can’t linger in Terrosa any longer than we already have, not when I’ve stretched the time we can spend here to the limit. Petyr will already demand an explanation for the delay.
Although with tonight’s visit, I can give him a genuine one. I take a sip of the beer. Esme wasn’t wrong. Terrosan piss would probably taste better. “At least we can say we followed up the lead.”
One single, solitary lead. Not that this is our purpose here—and certainly not mine—but since he made the request, we have little option but to try to fulfill it.
“There are no faeytes left.” Esme runs a hand over her short hair, exasperation written across the strong features of her face. “We all know it.”
Rio lays his arm across the back of her chair, using it to balance himself even as he nods in agreement. “Even in Terrosa. Gods,especiallyin Terrosa. This is a fool’s errand, Callan.”
Maybe. But the rumors that reached the dockmaster, Grim—a thick-set male with a penchant for easy money and the rattish looks to match—were enough to bring me here anyway. Murmurs of a female dancer with eyes of starlight and wings of darkest night pushed me to drag most of my crew into coming out with me under the pretense of celebrating on our final night..
Our attention sharpens as a male strides out onto the stage, the dancers behind him slipping away. Bowls slide onto the table, courtesy of our new friend the barkeep, but if the smell is any indication, I’d rather focus on the stage. Beside me, Esme’s quiet retch makes Rio snort.
The master of ceremonies—the owner of this tavern if I had to guess—looks far cleaner than most of his patrons. An ample Terrosan with a shaved head and silk clothing that tells me he lives well from whatever he earns in this place. The navy-blue silk waistcoat falls open, exposing his pale belly. His smile of greeting is a sleaze-filled, crawling thing with too many teethon show, but it draws a cheer from the crowd around us, no doubt familiar with the act. “Good evening, my doves. Our next performance needs no introduction. Are you ready?”
