“And of course you have the most fluffy kitty paws instead of feet,” said Eric. That defused it all, that feeling of too much, too fast, too revealing. Ix snorted. He looked like he wanted to say something but was lost as to how. That was all right; Eric had done it for the both of them. He’d taken the hit so that it was all out there. Now they were both clear and surely that meant neither of them had to say these terrible, awful honest things with words ever again in their entire lives, and they could go back to fencing and riding and swimming, now with added regular fucking, thank the gods.
Eric let a slow sip of cool ale calm him down as Ix squeezed his knee gratefully with the other hand. See? They could communicate perfectly well without all that. The barmaid reappeared and gestured at them. Oh, gods, they should have spent the time discussing how to approach Ceronzar, or Eric should have let him know how this place operated. Too late now, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret the warmed, fuzzy feeling that had settled in his chest.
Once they passed through the back door of the tavern, they appeared to be in a completely different type of establishment altogether. Eric felt, rather than saw, Ix’s intrigue deepen as the bare, sticky, wooden floor gave way to a thick plush carpet, the windows all covered with heavy drapes even at this time of day, the only light coming from a chandelier. Magelamp, not candles, and the glass reflected rainbow shimmers of light across the walls that added to the mystique.
“Good morning, sirs. Did you bring your own masks?” A man dressed as a butler greeted them from behind a desk with a bow, and Eric shook his head.
Anonymity was the name of the game in establishments like these, especially the few that catered to recognizable men. Some people liked to be known as regulars, and so might bring their own mask for people to recognize from encounter to encounter,but Eric had always just picked one up here. The butler was wearing a mask himself, which covered everything except his lips and chin. White, with no distinguishing detail, as all the staff here wore.
“Then if you please.” The man drew out two half-face masks from his desk cabinet and handed them over. Eric knew from experience that the masks varied, depending on the theme of the night, but these two were plain black with a smattering of crystals like stars against the night sky, the lining soft against his face. He saw Ix raise an eyebrow just before he donned his own mask.
They were led to the third floor. Eric had never been up this high before. The molly-house was separated by floor, with the casual lounges on the ground floor, where people could sit and smoke and drink, watch the dances or performances of the half-dressed entertainers and take their pick of which courtesan to take to a private room. Those were just the next floor up, where the guests were in and out within an allotted time, and the rooms swiftly tidied for the next customer. The higher floors were suites for those who wished to stay the entire night, or who hadunusualrequests.
The only people they passed in the corridors were staff, bare faced and looking at them with some confusion. Eric was thankful for a moment that Ix had lost his demonic features. His identity behind the mask was still a poorly concealed secret, given not many men in the realm wore their natural hair long as he did, but it would have been far more obvious if he’d walked in on lion’s paws.
The butler knocked on the door at the far end of the third floor corridor, then opened it and bowed them in. Immediately, the pungent smell of tobacco and poppy smoke wafted out. Eric had to use the breadth of Ix’s back to hide his disgusted face,schooling it into something a bit more neutral before he walked in behind Ix. The door was very promptly closed behind them.
“Little brother.” Ceronzar was still in bed, completely undressed as far as Eric could tell. He quickly averted his eyes before he could see if that was true. Ceronzar wore no mask. He didn’t need to, he was the only person in the kingdom with an enormous pair of leathery wings that stretched out from his back. The span of them was wider than the bed he lounged in, and even if one failed to notice the wings, they could scarcely ignore the enormous twisted antelope horns that jutted from his head. One horn was chipped at the tip, and his jeweled coronet dangled off it irreverently.
“Ceron,” said Ix, pointedly sweeping a discarded pile of clothes off the sofa opposite the bed to make room for them.
“And the Earl of Marrawshire,” said Ceronzar. “Hello Eric.”
“Your Highness,” said Eric, bowing uneasily. He picked his steps over the stray socks carefully and ambiguously clean underwear without looking too hard at them. Honestly, it was difficult to look at anything unoffensive in this room at all; he tried to pick a plant pot on the bedside table to rest his gaze on.
Ix narrowed his eyes. “For someone who doesn’t care about court life, you’re keeping yourself well informed.”
“I couldn’t give three pisses about court, but I enjoy public executions. Gory, wasn’t it? Our father must have been extraordinarily angry.” Ceronzar’s eyes narrowed in return, though a mean smile accompanied his gaze.
A tinny ringing sounded in Eric’s ears. He hadn’t even talked about the execution to Ix or his friends yet. He definitely didn’t know how to broach it with Ceronzar who was obviously only bringing it up to be cruel.
Ix leaned back, draping his arms along the back of the sofa. If he pressed his forearm up against Eric’s back as he did so, itwas subtle enough that Ceronzar didn’t immediately pick up on it. “Are you done?”
“Hardly. But I will say I’m curious. What got you out of the palace begging me for a favor?” Ceronzar rolled the amber ring over the back of his knuckles, and then tossed it back at Ix.
“I want to borrow your magic.” Ix explained, briefly, the situation, glossing very quickly over the part why Ix no longer had his own magic. He sounded casual, so casual that Eric knew he must have rehearsed it down to the breath, deciding which parts to emphasize or let Ceronzar think was important.
Ceronzar watched Ix intently, a permanent sneer on his face. Eric could only feel glad that his relationship with Petra was not like this, a constant push-pull scheming of trying to get one up over the other. He felt exhausted just observing the two of them. The family resemblance was uncanny, it was odd how uncomfortably alike the two of them looked in that moment and yet Eric was only intimidated by Ceronzar.
“Before I just turn you down flat,” said Ceronzar after Ix was done. “Let me clarify. You want me to exhaust a huge amount of my magic to open a portal to the demon world and fish around in there foryourmagic, because you were buffoon enough to try and send yourself to the other realms. What lunacy made you think I’d agree?”
“Aren’t you bored?” asked Ix. “Here?”
There was some hidden meaning that Eric had missed, some reference that he didn’t quite catch, because Ceronzar scowled. As if he hadn’t been expecting Ix to come up with a good answer. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to go cavorting in the demon realms.”
“No. But you could have a better arrangement than this.” Ix fluttered his hand dismissively at the room around them.
Ceronzar barked his laughter. “What, you’re offering to give me a brothel? If I wanted one, I’d just buy my own.”
What? Eric didn’t understand the turn this conversation had taken at all. He kept his gaze fixed on his wilting plant, schooling his confusion off his face. Ix would explain it to him later. Probably.
“A demonic brothel,” said Ix. His lip curled. “To really satisfy your vices.”
That got Ceron’s attention, as much as he tried to hide it. “And I suppose you know of a place like that.”
“No, but I could set one up. In the heart of the city, plenty of space, four floors of whatever debauchery you wish. Within a stone’s throw of the river.”
Four floors with plenty of space? Eric had no idea how Ix was going to manage that, any building along the river was coveted space, all occupied by the oldest and richest families in the land that wanted to be close to the palace. Newly rich merchants and younger gentry could wait years hoping to get a sniff at a narrow townhouse divided up into apartment flats. Unless someone like an Earl – oh. Eric felt stupid now.
