My hands clasped over my arms, and a shiver racked my body. I spied the ugly face of a wooden, carved toad hanging over the entrance to a dirty tavern down the road, a long pipe hanging out of his mouth as he gripped his…
A loud crack of laughter ripped through the air as the side door to the brothel opened. A thin woman dressed in little morethan a night shift and an aged corset laced over the top slipped into the road and under the overhang. She pulled a tattered shawl over her shoulders as she drew a thin smoke to her lips. The orange tip burned in the darkness of the night.
She lifted her gaze and jumped as it landed on me. Her brown eyes widened as she took in my state, and her lips drew a thin line. She chucked her smoke, quickly scanning the empty street before beckoning me forward.
My body convulsed in shivers as I took slow steps toward her. She shrugged out of her shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders, ushering me around the building and into the back of the brothel.
Humidity creptinto the small back room where the brown-haired courtesan pressed a dingy goblet into my hands. The stink of unwashed bodies, sweat, and something I didn’t recognize shoved into my nostrils as I tried to smell the stale wine that swished inside. The thin woman gestured to the lone, rickety chair in front of the broken mirror, and she plopped onto a dirty cushion in the corner, wrapping her arms around her bony knees.
Her full lips drew a thin line as she surveyed me, and she rubbed at the thin band of a dull, white ring on her forefinger. She had olive, tan skin, a lot like Lyvia’s, but a thick coat of garish makeup covered her face. The deep red of her painted lips was smeared, as if recently disturbed.
I grimaced as I took a large swig of the old wine, my eyes pinching shut as I forced the burning liquid down my throat. I opened my mouth to explain, and the woman narrowed her brows and shook her head.
“You don’t need to explain a thing,” she said quietly, her keen eyes scanning the bruises forming on my shoulders and my bloody nose. “Only one type of beast leaves marks like those.”
Her head jerked to my chest, where lines of scratches stretched from my neck to the small rounds of my breasts, disappearing into the tight band. I knew without checking my pouch remained. The stone arrowhead pressed against my sternum. Why did that thing inside Vander want it?And who was he?
Had he always been hiding behind Vander’s eyes, watching me? Had it been Vander at all these past months? Had that been the only reason he’d spent so much time with me?
My vision fogged as the questions spurred the twisting angst. I set the mug down and began to stand when the woman shot up and shoved my shoulder down.
“Don’t be stupid,” she commanded, weary lines forming around her lips. “Is he expecting to find you in a brothel?” She raised thin brows at me.
My throat bobbed, and I shook my head. No, this is the last place he’d expect me to run. She nodded slowly.
“You don’t belong in a place like this,” she murmured, turning to the small wardrobe in the corner. “I can tell by your hair, by your skin. It’s well-taken care of, if not dirty from the events of the night.”
My eyes drifted to hers. Lines of old scars dotted her arms and neck. Her thin hair was twisted up lazily in a bun, several strands falling weakly around her face, as if someone had recently run their hands through it.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Delia,” she murmured.
I opened my mouth to reply, and she held up a hand, shaking her head softly.
“I don’t need your name. Catch your breath,” she continued, rifling through the few garments that hung in the shadows. “I’ll find you some bread, some clothes. You’re no good running back into this storm while you’re exhausted.”
A muffled thudding began against the neighboring wall, a loud groan rumbling a moment later. Was I really safer here? Those silver irises flashed in my mind’s eye, and I wrapped my arms around myself.Safer than with him.
Rumbling echoedoutside the brothel a couple hours later, and I frowned. The storm seemed to have lightened by the time I got here… Had it returned? The dry bread Delia forced me to eat sat in my gut like lead. Nausea still tightened the sides of my stomach. The low-cut, cotton travel dress she gave me draped over my shoulders, but it landed at my ankles, which at least would allow me to move quickly back to Mount Telum.
I jumped as the door creaked open, and the kind woman slipped quietly into the small space.
“The storm’s moved on,” she murmured. “It’s a couple hours before dawn. If you want to move under cover of darkness, you should go now.”
I swallowed. My brows pinched, in part for fear of returning to the streets, but also in gratitude. She had no reason to help me.
“Can I pay you for this?” I asked, lifting the wrinkly, rust-colored skirts. I had only a few coins, but it was the least I could do.
“It’s worthless,” she murmured and shook her head, the loose whisps of hair framing her face swaying in the dim light, but her eyes lingered on the pouch at my chest.
“Please,” I said, stepping toward her. “As a thank you.”
I tugged the pouch free and dropped a few coins into my hand. Her brows tilted as I extended them toward her.
“No,” she shook her head. “I wouldn’t get this for the rags you’re wearing, and I can’t tell the boss I kept you here. A patron wouldn’t buy ’em off me.”
My lips pursed, and my eyes cut to the dull white band on her finger. I thought I caught the sparkle of different colors as she wrung her hands.
