Morea had already heard a dozen stories during her brief stay at the Shattered Veil. How Ola Nathera had been a Zheriaso princess, and had run from an unwelcome marriage. That Ola was in fact an infamous witch, banished from her country for enchanting the king. Or, Morea’s favorite: that Ola had once been a slave girl herself, who’d earned her freedom and her fortune in a single night unwittingly spent with the Emperor. Her beauty so charmed the man that he’d bestowed a necklace upon her of impossibly rare star tear diamonds. With such treasure, she purchased her slave price, bought the Shattered Veil Club velvet house, and never slept with a man again.
Morea didn’t know about the necklace or the Emperor, but she was sure the last part was true. Ola looked at her the same way most men did. And Morea had spoken to the others enough to know that when Ola helped herself to her own slaves, it was not the boys she ordered into her bed.
Halith? Harith? Halis? Whatever-his-name snored, turned over, pushed his arm up over his head like a cat, and started to drool into his beard. He was her first customer of the afternoon, and she wondered if he had come in for sex or just to get out of the heat. Morea stared at him for a moment before deciding she needed fresh air in the worst possible way.
Morea stepped out of the crib into the courtyard. The heat was a tangible beast, a monster that stalked and hunted everyone in its path. Very little breeze penetrated the opening in the central courtyard; it was an afternoon set to broil on an open flame. The soothing color of the teal-green sky overhead mocked her, vibrating against the red-orange heat of the sun.
The servant’s entrance at the back of the Club swung open as Morea heard the voice of the old musician, Surdyeh, raised in anger.
“Careful! Careful!! Don’t trip on that third step.”
“Pappa, I’m fine.”
Morea inhaled sharply when the pair came into view. A soldier supported Kihrin, while two more guided the blind harpist. Despite his protestations to the contrary, the young man didn’t look at all fine. Dried blood matted and clumped his black hair in ugly snarls. Crimson splattered his sallí cloak. Other unwholesome stains lent their aspect to the air of a man with serious injuries. His father appeared uninjured, but the look of anger, frustration, and worry on his face was clear from across the courtyard.
Morea ran inside to fetch Madam Ola, and when they returned, they found two of the soldiers standing stiffly at attention. The third, the one who had been helping Kihrin, was talking to the blind musician.
“I told you,” Surdyeh snapped. “We thank you for your courtesy, but we’ll do fine. We don’t need charity.”
“Pappa, you’re being rude.”
The soldier, tall and dark and beautiful, smiled as if he found the old man’s ire adorable. He started to say something.
“Bright-Eyes…” Madam Ola rushed across the courtyard. She threw her arms around Kihrin and pressed him close. “My baby!”
“Mmm, mmm mmmm,” Kihrin said, his voice cut off by the flesh of Ola’s bosom. He struggled to escape her embrace.
Ola pushed herself away, putting her hands protectively on Kihrin’s shoulders. “What did you do to my angel?” she demanded.
The soldier spread his hands in a gesture of helpless innocence. “It wasn’t me, ma’am. Your, uh … angel … ran into a demon.”
She stared at him, blinking, and then looked at Kihrin. “Was Faris causing some kind of—”
“No, Ola,” Surdyeh said. “Not a metaphorical demon. A real one.”
“What?”
The old man shook his head. “The blasted monster was waiting in the center of the street, Ola. I’ve never heard of anything like it. If I hadn’t smelled it up ahead, I might have run right into the damn thing. I heard it kill one of the guards. We were lucky to escape with our lives.”
Kihrin gave Surdyeh a look so filled with venom that Morea flinched. “One of us did run into it.”
“At least it didn’t kill you, boy,” Surdyeh said, his face and voice peevish.
“A small favor,” Kihrin said. Then he shook his head, and a shudder passed through him. He gestured to the guard. “Madam Ola, this is Captain Jarith.”
Jarith took Ola’s hand and kissed it, smiling roguishly. He looked nineteen or twenty years old, and far too young to be a captain of anything. “A real pleasure, Miss Nathera. My father’s told me a lot of stories about you.”
The smile froze on Ola Nathera’s face. “Oh?” She looked wary.
The Captain’s grin widened. “Why, yes. He used to say you were the most beautiful courtesan who ever stepped foot in the Upper Circle, that once there were a thousand men lined up just for the right to be ignored by you.” He paused and winked at the whorehouse madam. “Of course, he never says it where Mother might hear.”
She laughed, hearty and full. “Ah! Well, the joys of youth, yes? You should come by sometime. I’ll find a special someone for you.” She turned, realized Morea was still nearby, and gestured toward her. “This one is new, and quite lovely, yes?”
The Captain smiled, shrugged. “My apologies, Miss Nathera—”
“Ola. You must call me Ola, you handsome devil.”
He grinned. “Ola then. No offense, but I’m afraid the kind of woman I prefer doesn’t tend to end up in a brothel.” His eyes nonetheless slid over Morea’s form. “You are lovely, though. I don’t suppose you know how to use a sword?” He questioned her directly, and improperly, with nothing in his manner to suggest he realized how he was breaking slave etiquette. No doubt, he was aware that Ola wouldn’t dare call him on it.
Morea swallowed and shook her head.
The Captain sighed. “Pity.” He dusted himself off and turned to Kihrin, whose gaze of thankful admiration had turned to something suspiciously like a glare. “The invitation stands. If you’re still interested, come by the House of the Red Sword at eight bells. It’s in the Ruby District, two streets out from the Great Forge. I’ll leave word with the Watchmen.”
“Don’t expect him,” Surdyeh growled.
“I’ll be there,” Kihrin said, glaring at his father.
“What’s going on?” Ola demanded.
“I have to return to my duties,” Captain Jarith apologized. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ola, Miss, Surdyeh, Kihrin.” He tilted his head in Kihrin’s direction. “You did well back there. If you ever want a job, we are always looking for soldiers with your kind of instincts. A man could do worse than starting service with a recommendation for valor from a general.”
“Thank you, but umm…” Kihrin grimaced and looked toward his father.
“I understand. Oh, before I go. What was that slave girl’s name?”
Kihrin glanced at Morea, worried at his lower lip a little, then smiled. “Your sister’s name, Morea?”
Morea’s heart beat frantically when she heard that, and she put her hand to her mouth. “Talea—”
Kihrin looked back to the Captain. “It’s Talea.”
“I have a few friends at the Octagon. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Jarith nodded and left, taking his guards with him.
Madam Ola waited until the soldiers were gone and then turned on Surdyeh and Kihrin. “By all the gods! What just happened?”