Surdyeh smelled Morea’s sweat, heard the beads as she tossed her hair back over her shoulders. She ignored the catcalls of the crowd as she walked back to his chair.
“What are you doing here?” Morea asked him.
Surdyeh turned his head in her direction. “Practicing, Miss Morea?”
“You’re amazing,” she said. “Does every brothel in Velvet Town have musicians as good as you? You’re better than anyone who ever performed for my old master. What is Madam Ola paying you?”
“You think my father’s that good?” Kihrin’s step was so quiet that even Surdyeh hadn’t heard him approach.
Surdyeh resisted the urge to curse the gods. The last thing he needed was Kihrin wondering why Surdyeh played in the back halls of Velvet Town, when he could have played for royalty.
“Hey there, pretty girl, leave off those servants,” a rough voice called out. “I want some time with you.” Surdyeh heard heavy footsteps; whoever approached was a large man.
Morea inhaled and stepped backward.
“Can’t you see she’s tired? Leave her alone.” Kihrin’s attempt to intimidate would have gone better if he’d been a few years older and a lot heavier. As it was, he was too easily mistaken for a velvet boy himself. Surdyeh doubted the customer paid much attention to his son’s interruption.
Surdyeh placed his harp to the side and held out his ribbon-sewn sallí cloak to where Morea stood. “Lady, your cloak.”
While Morea covered herself, Surdyeh rewove the spell shaping the sound in the room so the Veil’s bouncer, Roarin, heard every word. Morea’s would-be customer might be large, but Roarin had morgage blood in him—enough to give him the poisonous spines in his arms. Surdyeh knew from experience how intimidating the bouncer could be.
“My money’s as good as the next man’s!” the man protested.
Another voice joined him. “Hey, it’s my turn!”
“Oh great. There’s two of you,” Kihrin said. “Miss Morea, you’re not taking customers right now, are you?”
The beads in her hair rattled as she shook her head. “No.”
“There you are, boys. She’s not open for business. Shoo.” Only someone who knew Kihrin would have noticed the tremble of fear in his voice. The two men must have been large indeed.
“Bertok’s balls. You don’t tell me what to do.” The man stepped in close.
Even from the stage, Surdyeh smelled the stench of liquor on the man’s breath. Surdyeh clenched his hands around his cane and prepared himself for the possibility he would have to intervene.
“What’s all this?” Roarin asked. A hush fell over the crowd nearest the stage.
“I, uh … I want to reserve a bit of time with the young lady. Uh … sir.”
“Kradnith, you’re a mad one. I was here first!”
“Of course, fine sirs, of course,” Roarin said, “but this is just a dancing girl. Pretty slut, to be sure, but useless for a good lay. Too tired out. Come with me. Madam Ola will show you some real women! They’ll drain you dry!” He slapped his thick hands on the men’s shoulders and escorted them elsewhere in the brothel.
Surdyeh exhaled and turned to pack up the harp. “Some days I really hate this job.”
“Are you all right, Miss Morea?” Kihrin asked.
The young woman groaned and stretched her neck. “I can’t believe—” She cut off whatever she’d been about to say. “It was nice of you to stand up for me like that.” Then her breath caught in her throat. “You have blue eyes.”
Surdyeh’s heart nearly stopped beating.
No. Damn it all, no.
“I only wear them on special occasions,” Kihrin said. Surdyeh could tell his son was smiling. Of course, he was smiling. Kihrin hated it when people noticed the color of his eyes, but now the attention came from a pretty girl he wanted to notice him.
Surdyeh racked his brain. Where had Ola said the new girl was from? Not a Royal House. Surdyeh had forbidden Ola from ever buying a slave from a Royal House. Too risky.
Morea said to Kihrin, “I’m going to lie down in the Garden Room. Would you bring me an iced Jorat cider? I’m parched.”
“We’re leaving,” Surdyeh said. “We have a commission.”
“I’ll fetch you a cider before we go,” Kihrin said.
She slipped out of the room, now emptying as customers who had stayed for the rehearsal looked for a different sort of company.
“No, Kihrin,” Surdyeh said. “We don’t have time.”
“This won’t take long, Pappa.”
“It’s not your job to play hero, swoop in, and save the girl. Leave that to Roarin.” He knew he sounded peevish, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“She took your cloak,” Kihrin reminded him. “I’ll bring it back. You wouldn’t want to show up at Landril’s without your Reveler’s colors, would you?”
Surdyeh sighed. Unfortunately, the boy was right: Surdyeh needed the cloak. That it was just an excuse didn’t mean it wasn’t a good one. He grabbed his son’s hand and squeezed. “Don’t help yourself to the sweets for free. We need to keep in Ola’s good graces. It’s her goodwill that keeps us off the streets. There’s a dozen musicians better than us who’d give their eyeteeth to perform at the Shattered Veil Club. Remember that.”
His son pulled his hand away. “Funny how Morea doesn’t agree with you.”
“Don’t scowl at me, boy. You’ll put wrinkles on that face that Ola tells me is so handsome.” His voice softened. “We have to be at Landril’s at six bells, so you have a bit of time, but don’t linger.”
Any resentment his son might have harbored vanished in the face of victory. “Thank you.” Kihrin gave Surdyeh a quick hug and ran out of the room.
Surdyeh sat there, fuming.
Then he called out for someone to find Ola.
7: THE MISERY
(Kihrin’s story)
—don’t want to hold the damn rock. I don’t want to keep talking about this, Talon. I don’t even remember where I left off.
Right. I was on board The Misery. Thanks so much.
Fine.
* * *
I don’t remember much about those first hours back on the ship. Sailors made their knots, raised their sails. The men shouted, yelled, and cast off. I paid little attention. I waited in our cabin.
Or rather, I hid there.
I found it eerie to watch these normal, humdrum-looking people enter the cabin and yet know that their appearance was a lie. It was odder still to know they had disguised me in the same way; if I looked in a mirror, my real face wouldn’t stare back.
“What do you people want with me?” I asked Khaemezra when they returned. “Don’t tell me it was a coincidence that you paid for me with a necklace of star tears. My grandfather used a necklace just like that to pay for his vané slave Miya, a slave he bought from ‘an old vané hag.’ Someone told me once, after I was finally reunited with my darling family. I always thought that was just a story, since there’s no such thing as an old vané, but here you are, an old vané hag.”
She raised an eyebrow.
I cleared my throat. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Khaemezra said. She looked amused, even though I’d called her a hag to her face, twice.
“Is the reason you bought me something to do with my grandfather?” I demanded.