She needed to be at The Lady Fortune tonight.
The passageway wound out of the fortress and into an apartment in one of the richer districts of the city. So many merchants and lords spent time away that these dwellings were often left empty when not loaned out to close friends. Burglary was a blight, but to Vaasa’s surprise, the apartment was untouched. She wondered silently if Ozik had been using it, but there was no sign of him here. She didn’t linger inside; it was only fond memories that lived in these walls, and Vaasa had no space for them.
The streets next to the fortress bustled with only Asterya’s richest families, and tonight it was busier than usual, given the sheer number of nobles who had come into the port. They kept homes here so they might be more comfortable upon visiting. The streets, at least in this part of the city, were fairly safe to walk through. Coldness bit at Vaasa, even her warmest attire not enough to sate the snow. Stone buildings were built along narrow walkways, some of which were steeper than others, the ground slick in places it had been worn down or along staircases. Snow coated the narrowest ones, as no one bothered to guide a cart or horse-led carriage through those alleyways, and therefore no one shoveled them. Those were the streets Vaasa stuck to. Every once in a while, she passed a rich noble or merchant whowas returning home, but they didn’t make much of her, and they were shielding their faces from the snow, too.
Vaasa veered into one of the town squares, which during the day held the fish market. The stench of fish still lingered in the air, but at this time of night, the only people braving the cold were boat captains too drunk to feel the chill, or the women who made a splendid living from those men’s darkest desires. Though several brothels studded the city in different neighborhoods, there was one in particular that most of the nobles frequented: The Lady Fortune.
As Vaasa entered, scarf still covering her face, she tipped her head at the beautiful hostess. The tawny-skinned woman gestured to the wall behind her, dotted with masks, each of which hung on pegs that went all the way up to the ceiling. There were hundreds of options. Vaasa pointed to one, and the hostess climbed a ladder and plucked it from the wall. She led Vaasa into one of the many changing rooms, where Vaasa picked a costume from the closet, chuckling at her choice. White as snow, a tight bodice hugged her hips and breasts, then fell in sweeping fabric to the floor. It paired with a set of white wings. An Asteryan angel—something Vaasa assuredly was not. White fabric framed her eyes and cheekbones, silver swirls of thread covering the intricate thing, and small crystals were strung on clear line that hung in different lengths along her cheeks, making it seem as though the mask itself was crying. The hostess retrieved her. Vaasa held her breath as they walked through a set of double doors.
Laughter echoed off the walls, music threading through the air, the raucous sounds of a party teeming around her. The main receiving room had a different theme each night. Some nights, Vaasa remembered, it was set up to look like a tavern. Others it was a lounge, others a theater. Tonight, it looked exactly like a high-end art gallery. Duplicates of famous paintings werehung along the walls, and the women themselves were dressed as exhibits. They draped themselves over chairs, clad in little but silks or thin chiffon, the many rooms heated by enormous fireplaces that blazed along the walls. Vaasa meandered from room to room without making conversation with anyone, eyes on the masks and costumes that hid their identities. Privacy was paramount, given the status and riches of the patrons. People didn’t come here just for the sex; the mistress had turned this brothel into as much a social club.
In the third room she entered, there was a group of five people in the corner, four men and one woman, all with their heads close. The woman had red hair the same as Sachia’s. Two of the men had their backs to Vaasa, but one was thin and the other had broad shoulders. Her heart lurched at the thought—for a moment, she let herself dream it was Reid. That something like that could be possible.
And then she noticed the white-blond hair of one of the men facing her.
Though she couldn’t confirm it, she had a sinking feeling it was Lord Vlacik. It had to be. He sat next to the final man at their table, one with dark hair, who raised gray eyes to her.
Lord Karev?
As naturally as she could, Vaasa scurried into the next room. The owner of the brothel sat in a chair, chest bursting from her beautiful gown, her head tipped back in laughter as she sipped on a goblet of some kind of sparkling liquor. The woman took one look at her and tilted her head. Her mask was thin, no real attempt at hiding her identity.
Vaasa pushed her hair from her shoulder and touched the side of her neck—an old signal of sorts.
The woman stood, excusing herself from the group of people she spoke to, and grabbed ahold of Vaasa’s elbow as she led themup to the third floor and past a roped off hallway into what Vaasa knew was the private quarters the woman kept for herself.
“Regína,” Vaasa said as they entered the woman’s receiving room. Adorned with ornate wallpaper and large, red sofas, the space was meant to host only those Regína wanted near.
“I was wondering if you would come back here,” Regína said, giving her a tantalizing smile. The woman had coiled brown hair and pale skin that was taut around her eyes. Silver earrings dangled from her lobes, matching the circular pendant she wore, inlaid with a fat ruby. Voluptuous hips rocked with each step she took, and despite herself, Vaasa relaxed a little.
“Did you think I wouldn’t resume our business arrangement?” Vaasa asked.
Regína slipped off her fox mask, revealing her entire face to Vaasa. “I did not, but a woman can hope.”
The women who worked the port were some of the highest earners in Mekës, maintaining one of the largest industries in the city. Though the fish market and the spices and jewels all had their place in the sunlight, these women were trained in the art of desire and were paid quite well for it. Moreover, they kneweverythingin the city, and Regína did more than trade in sex; she traded in secrets. It was here that deals were struck, that men truly bartered and made their fortunes. That had made Regína one of Vaasa’s closest allies, though she had never been foolish enough to consider the madame a friend.
Vaasa reached into her pocket, pulling out a gold coin that immediately caught Regína’s eye. The weight of it was enough to cover far more than Vaasa asked, but to reveal the identities of her patrons was a cardinal sin for Regína. Vaasa knew the only reason she’d ever gotten information out of the woman was because of her title; Regína wanted the full protection of the crown in case the clergy ever came knocking. “Lord Karev and Lord Vlacik are meeting downstairs, aren’t they?” Vaasa asked.
Regína raised her brow.
“If I’m to marry either of them, I need to know the truth,” Vaasa said.
Regína’s eyes went wide at that insinuation, and Vaasa thought for a moment it was fear she looked into. Regína took the coin from Vaasa’s fingers. “Long live the Empress,” she said, tucking it into her bodice. “Yes, during your brother’s reign of terror, Vlacik and Karev would meet here regularly. Tonight, however, they’re at odds. I overheard them speaking about a missing shipment of black powder.”
“Black powder?” Vaasa hissed.
Regína furrowed her brows. “We are at war. The woman at their table… I believe she’s a pirate. She reserved two rooms on the second floor. Vlacik reserved his usual suite.”
Vaasa crossed her arms, tucking away the information. “What else?”
“The two other men at their table, I’ve never seen them here. They speak Icrurian.”
Vaasa’s heart slammed against her ribs. “What?”
“I overheard them whispering the language earlier. The lanky one called himself a salt lord.”
An Icrurian salt lord washere? That was a blatant disregard for the economic sanctions at play in Icruria—no one traded with another nation without the headman and councilors’ consent. Ton of Wrultho, the now-dead foreman of Wrultho, had made that error years ago, and it led to a dam erected in Innisjour that had choked eastern Icruria’s water supply. It had defined the election and ultimately fueled his attempt at a coup.
Given the controversy the Icrurian election had undoubtedly stirred in the nation, this salt lord was either profiting off a war and risking his life to do it, or he was lying. Vaasa had met many of the salt lords, and she filed through each of them in her mind, trying to pinpoint one with such a lanky build.
