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With his courtesan training, can he tell what I was getting up to with Alek an hour ago? I had just enough time to dunk myself in one of the bathing rooms before I met Stavros back in his quarters, but a renewed flush ripples under my skin every time my mind slips back to my interlude with the scholar.
It doesn’t help that I’m half-naked for this task. The typical spot where a godlen sigil is branded lies well below the necklines of any of my clothes, so Casimir brought me a thin towel to drape across my shoulders and over my breasts for some kind of modesty.
It’s not as if he hasn’t seen those breasts bared before. But he isn’t the only one in the room with me.
While Casimir paints the shape of Kosmel’s sigil on my lower sternum, Stavros paces from his desk to the sofa and back again. “You’re sure this technique will pass for an actual dedication brand? They’ll be far more suspicious if she shows up with a fake one than none at all.”
Casimir adds the thin horn-like points to the top of the sigil with a delicacy that has me suppressing a heady shiver. “I brought some rouge to make sure the details are just right. But the mark this paste will leave behind is pretty convincing all on its own. I have a colleague who uses it sometimes when he’s working with a patron who might object to godlessness. So far, no one’s called him out as a fraud.”
“We don’t even know if the scourge sorcerers will want to check who I’m dedicated to,” I point out.
Stavros grimaces at me. “You’ll be in a much bigger fix if they do and you’re not prepared than if you’re more ready than you need to be.”
Well, he isn’t wrong about that.
Casimir steps back, and my next breath comes a little easier.
I meant what I said to Alek—he’s more than enough. I wouldn’t pursue anyone else. But that doesn’t mean the feelings that already existed have vanished.
“We leave the paste on for ten minutes,” the courtesan says, rinsing the brush in a bowl of water. “Then we wipe it off, and I’ll touch it up as much as it appears to need. The imprint should last at least a few days, but if you get called to another secret meeting in the woods after that, we’ll want to repeat this process.”
I nod. “Hopefully it won’t take too many late-night wanderings to find out everything we need to know. Thank you for helping.”
Casimir gives me one of the warm smiles that still makes my pulse flutter. “Of course. I’m sending you out there with all the armor I can provide.”
Stavros clears his throat. “On the subject of combat equipment… We don’t know how thoroughly they’ll examine you in general. I’m not sure what they’ll make of a noblewoman carrying a whole arsenal of knives. I’d rather send you with as many blades as you can carry, but…”
“That might be more dangerous than going relatively unarmed,” I fill in. “Fine.”
I reach between the folds of my dress to detach the thigh-strapped sheaths. “I’ll keep one in my boot. It’s not unreasonable for a noblewoman to be alittleconcerned with self-defense. That’s my favorite knife anyway.”
Stavros rolls his eyes skyward. “Of course you have a favorite.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Don’t you have a favorite sword?”
His silent glower is answer enough.
Casimir goes to the latrine to wet a cloth at the sink, but when he returns, he simply holds it in his hands, considering me.
“If you get a bad feeling about the situation,” he says. “Worse than you’d expect, I mean—there’s no reason you shouldn’t retreat. You don’t know anything about them yet. They shouldn’t see you as a threat at this point. You could walk away if you need to.”
I smile tightly in return. “I suppose we’ll see.”
He doesn’t know that for sure. And it doesn’t really matter anyway.
I have to do this. The king is counting on us to take down the scourge sorcerers. I need to prove to Stavros that I can keep control over my magic.
What am I even here for if I back down now? I might as well flee straight back to the outer wards.
I might have to flee the whole city if Stavros decides I’m a traitor to this mission.
No. I’ve spent most of my life in hiding. I’ve finally found not just a purpose big enough that it might balance out the harm I’ve done but at least a couple of people who accept all of what I am.
I can’t give that up. I have to be worthy of this chance.
When Casimir removes the paste, the pinkish-brown mark that remains on my sallow skin does look an awful lot like the brands I’ve seen. As the courtesan gives it a tad more depth with his rouge, my lips curve crookedly.
“I hope the gods don’t see the imitation as outright blasphemy. I guess if any godlen would approve of this kind of trickery, it’d be Kosmel.”
