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In the case of Blato, the poor councilor, on his way home from too much drinking, found himself assailed by thieves and didn’t survive. That took care of the body. As for the carpet, we broke a full jug of wine over the blood and then had the servants take it out back to burn it. Water was too precious to waste washing out a stain.
The death of a councilor, considered one of the elite, led to a crackdown on the streets that resulted in a few deaths and many arrests. I’d have felt bad about it if it didn’t make our city a better place to live.
Even better, Qynn forgave me and Palla, but the councilor’s wife, who knew exactly where he’d gone that night, didn’t. She assumed Qynn was behind his death. Apparently, it wasn’t just us who could plant an elaborate plot.
The guards showed up ready to arrest Qynn on fake charges, but we had a tip that led us to leave Thaasky before their arrival.
Rather than deal with an angry widow who’d lost all status, we switched towns. We joined a caravan headed to the capital of Ulkruuba, a grand city known as the Seventh Jewel. It required crossing the Great Desert, where the watering holes proved scarce.
We spent a long time plodding, which led to conversation. One of my questions was, if we were headed for the Seventh Jewel, where were the other six?
Qynn shrugged as she replied. “Most likely destroyed by war or buried by the sands of time.” A few of the ruins, like that of a certain duke’s, were probably once Jewels too.
The travel bored me, and yet I perked up when we got in sight of our destination, a city built into a massive mountain of white stone. Craning, we could barely see the flat peak where the King apparently kept a garden, one of many in the city. It was said each level had one or more pools of water. Enough so people could even bathe with it.
Palla said it best. “Damn.”
The Seventh Jewel ended up being a good move for us. It was a much more lucrative city to work in. The increased size meant the social classes had firm lines of separation, but at the same time, this led to more blurring and, in turn, more opportunity.
This was the first city I’d been to that actually had gradeenas servicing all the levels. As you could imagine, the most skilled and beautiful dealt with the upper echelon. Usually, age might have worked against Qynn, only her skill elevated her beyond even the freshest face.
When she got up on a stage, everyone wanted her. Even me at times. But I fought it by studying her. How she moved, the way she used the music to heighten her motion. The subtle way she teased. What I’d yet to figure out was how she ensorcelled entire audiences without using a single potion.
If I believed in magic, I would swear she cast a spell. I knew in our line of work it was all sleight of hand. There had to be a trick to it, one I would figure out because she’d never offered to show me. And when I asked? She smiled and said,“Ask the Goddess.”
I did. I prayed. And my skinny hips still lacked the curves and sinuous grace of my mentor.
Whatever Qynn’s trick, it wasn’t long before she performed at the highest caliber gradeena. She became a sold-out feature. Men vied to be the ones who shared her boudoir at night, coming away believing they’d had the most mind-blowing experience. Meanwhile, Qynn only ever shared her bed with Kya for pleasure.
Palla had asked if we should form the same kind of bond. We’d tried pressing our mouths together. Started laughing and then wiping and unanimously decided we were better as just friends.
When I reached a ripe age, older than most because it took that long for me to get any kind of curves, I debuted on stage at the highest level as a favor to Qynn. The owner had been given a private performance beforehand, and I’d given it my best. Madame Melon had been breathing heavy by the time I finished my act, and I received her permission to perform for her clients.
It wasn’t long before my popularity matched Qynn’s. We often worked opposing nights until she chose to stop dancing to administrate. When Madame Melon—known in her youth for being the juicy kind—had retired, Qynn took over the day-to-day running of the gradeena, and everyone started calling her Madame Vermillion.
More recently, she’d retired entirely from the pleasure—even if fake—business. In order to partake of a social life, she laid an elaborate charade that had her as a widow coming from a town recently attacked by monsters. As a widow, she didn’t have to wear a veil in public or get chased from fine establishments.
She got to enjoy the fruits of her labor, and I was happy for her. Really, I was, only the successor she named died in a tragic accident—rampaging bovine not ready for the slaughter. With our new madame dead and Qynn refusing to return, that left a hole in management and guess who they came to for decisions? Soffa was sick, who could replace her? The chef had been making too much sweet stuff, or not enough, depending on who was bleeding. All kinds of decisions to be made. No wonder Qynn quit. I wanted to run already, and it hadn’t even been a month.
And then along came Jrijori, asking me to do the impossible. As if I had the time. Or the inclination.
Spy on the King. Could it be done?
My mind ran through scenarios that could get a person inside the palace. The seventh city was built atop stone smoothed to make roads, the excess used to build. It also rose mountain like, and in the stormy season the very tip of it—the king’s castle—disappeared in the clouds. The road to the castle wound around the base of the spire, several revolutions worth. To reach the topmost level, though, you needed permission. Not easy to achieve. Although that didn’t stop people from trying to sneak in.
And dying.
Our soldiers took their job as the King’s protectors very seriously. I couldn’t just saunter in without just cause. The good news? The castle hired often from the lower castes. My problem being I had my doubts a servant could get the kind of access to the King I’d need.
Wait, was I seriously contemplating this?
The fact I’d been mulling over ways to get in should have been my first clue.
I was going to try and talk to a king. To ask him about dragons and ifrit kings and gods. I must really be bored.
Just as I wondered if I should get hired as a cleaner or a runner who fetched and delivered food and other demands all day, the rumor mill exploded.
The King was looking to marry. To that end, he’d be holding a grand celebration, and all the elite with daughters of eligible age were invited.
