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“WHAT?”
By all the gods, the Creator must be looking down at us right now and laughing.
He thought it just as Riona stopped before a low, wide stone building, its hanging sign swaying too violently in the wind to make out its name. The brothel. Warm light filtered out around the edges of the shutters, and Auberon let out a sigh of relief. He held the door open for Riona, who nodded in gratitude as she slipped into the building, then followed her into the pleasure house.
ChapterTwenty-Two
The Lady
The night was black as pitch outside, and the brothel wasn’t much brighter. The small main room was furnished with tables and chairs, and a wooden counter by the far wall functioned as a makeshift bar. A few men sat at the various tables, drinking or dragging from pipes whose smoke left a blue haze throughout the room. Working girls flitted between them, clad in scraps of silk that left little to the imagination. A couple of young girls sat on stools beside the bar and played a tune on some old instruments.
Behind Riona, Auberon coughed, a dry and ragged sound. “Not that I’m complaining about the sights in this fine establishment, but what exactly are we doing here?”
“Observing.”
Ignoring the suggestive grin that danced across the prince’s lips, Riona hung her cloak on a peg on the wall, then took a seat at one of the tables in the corner of the room. Goosebumps crawled across her flesh. Despite her efforts to hold her cloak closed as they’d crossed the city, her clothes were soaked, and they clung to her skin. Without a word, Auberon went to the bar and returned a minute later with two cups of whiskey. Riona accepted hers with a murmured thanks and took a drink. The whiskey was cheap and watered down, but the burn of the alcohol helped to chase away the chill which had seeped into her bones.
They drank in silence. Across the room, a woman perched on the edge of a table and leaned over the man sitting there, offering him an ample look down her top as she purred soft words into his ear. Auberon watched as the woman drew the man to his feet and led him into the hallway.
He leaned forward. “Please tell me again what we’re doing here. This isn’t exactly where one would expect the Lady of Innislee to spend her free time. Especially not in the company of an Erdurian prince.”
“Precisely. Look around us,” she said, gesturing to the women—their cheap silks, their fake gemstones, their painted faces. “Does this seem like a place one of the most powerful men in Rivosa would spend his time? There are plenty of pleasure houses in the city, most far nicer than this one. Cathal apparently favored one of the prostitutes here and kept it so secret, not one person outside this brothel knew about it. The question is: Why?”
“And if he figured out that the poison was meant for him, why would he come here instead of fleeing the city?” A sly grin spread across Auberon’s lips. “Perhaps he just wanted to die doing what he loved…orwhohe loved.”
Riona scowled. “That’s crass.”
“But a logical conclusion. If you loved someone and knew that you might die in a matter of hours, wouldn’t you want to spend your last moments with that person?”
The image of Percival’s smile, his eyes shining behind his crooked spectacles, flashed through Riona’s mind. Her chest tightened. Rather than responding, she picked up her cup and drained the last of her watered-down whiskey. “The point is, I need to learn as much about Faylen as possible. She’s the only lead I have.”
“I didn’t hear awein that answer, and I’m almost positive you didn’t invite me here for my charming personality. What do you need me to do?”
“Provide a distraction.” While they were sitting there, she’d watched the mistress of the brothel collect the money from the bar and slip through the doorway behind the bartender. Riona nodded toward it. “I need to get into the owner’s office.”
Auberon grinned. “Say no more.”
He rose, and Riona grabbed his arm. “Don’t let them hear your Erdurian accent.”
“Don’t ye worry, milady,” he said in a perfect imitation of the rural Rivosi accent, which he must have picked up from some of the castle staff. “I’ve spent half my life travelin’ the northern continent. Tongues and accents come easily to me.” He winked. “Just one of my many talents.”
Auberon rose and grabbed the two cups of whiskey, then stumbled into the hall where the prostitute and her customer had disappeared. After a few heartbeats, he cried with a drunken slur, “There ye are, ye Creator-damned harlot! I knew I couldn’t trust ye! Oh, I listen to the men at the warehouse and treat mysel’ to a night in a woman’s arms, and this is how ye repay me? By leavin’ a pox on my manhood?” He let out a sound that was half-hiccup, half-sob. Riona turned her face toward the wall and coughed to hide her surprised laugh. “Get out, friend! Do ye hear me? Get out, save yer coin, and seek comfort in the company of yer hand! At least ye know where that’s been!”
As he continued to shout, the men in the main room glanced at one another, their faces paling in horror. As one, they rose and tripped over themselves and the barstools in their haste to leave. The prostitutes rushed after them, clutching their sleeves and begging them to stay. Someone ripped the door open, and a gust of wind sent it cracking against the wall, extinguishing the candles on many of the tables.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Riona rose and skirted the edge of the room as the bartender ran down the hall to quiet Auberon’s drunken rambling. The mistress of the brothel hurried after him, snapping commands to her women to get their clients back. While they were distracted, Riona slipped into the office, locked the door behind her, and began searching through the drawers of the desk. They didn’t contain much: jars of cosmetics, pouches of coin, pieces of jewelry, and bottles of what looked like some sort of contraceptive tonic.
Finally, she found a sheaf of records detailing each woman’s information, including her age, full name, date of employment, and client history. Riona brought the papers closer to one of the candelabras and skimmed them until she found Faylen. The record listed her simply asFaylen of Sandori,elf,twenty-nine years of age.Sandori? Considering she’d been an elf in the Beltharan capital, it was likely that she had been a noble’s slave. The date listed for her acquisition was only a few months prior, shortly after the end of the Beltharan war against the Cirisian elves. She must have fled the city in the fighting and come to Innislee in search of freedom.
Some freedom she found,Riona thought,if she had to work in a brothel.
Most interesting was the record of payments from Faylen’s clients. For the first month or so, she’d been visited by many different men. After Cathal’s name appeared the first time, all other clients ceased. Riona trailed a finger along the orderly boxes on the paper, totaling the numbers. Cathal’s visits had been sporadic, but he had paid hundreds of aurums to ensure that Faylen would not see any man save for him.
Perhaps he truly did love her, and he was trying to spare her the pain of working in this dreadful place.
Through the door, Riona heard Auberon return to the main room, pretending to be somewhat mollified. She returned the papers to the drawer in which she’d found them and then stepped out of the office, silently closing the door behind her. Many of the men from before had left; only a few remained, arguing with the prostitutes about payment for their services. The mistress of the brothel was speaking with Auberon near the front door, her hands out in supplication. The bartender hovered nearby with his arms crossed over his chest, watching with disapproval as Auberon drank straight out of a decanter of whiskey.
“Fine, fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut about this,” he slurred, “but don’t think I’ll be comin’ back anytime soon. Well, not ’til my…uh,problemhas resolved itself. I ’spect that ye’ll keep a closer watch on yer girls, else the next time I come back, it’ll be with the city guards.”
