Probably a simple matter of birth, she thought, grimly. A noblewoman who has to become a mistress is simply not in the same league as a common-born whore.
Jade coughed, his fingers moving in a pattern she recognized. Enemy approaching. Emily straightened up, pasting a politely neutral expression on her face as she turned to see Taliesin Witt walking towards her, Cat following him at a distance. He was strikingly tall, wearing a blue and red uniform that seemed almost ridiculously fancy; his beady eyes studied her with frank interest as he stopped in front of her. She rather thought he would have been handsome, if he hadn’t worn a pair of absurd sideburns rather than a beard or a moustache. It was probably a regimental tradition. Even high-born officers couldn’t ignore them completely.
“Well,” Witt said. His voice was light and breathy. Emily disliked it at once. “Do you have a room?”
Emily lowered her eyes. Jade had told her that the process of taking a mistress was an intricate dance, where both parties would push their demands without ever openly coming out and admitting they were trading sex for money and protection. No one would fault a man for having a mistress–or a woman for being a mistress, if she was discreet–but bluntness was regarded as uncouth. It struck her as silly, yet…
Hypocrisy makes the world go ‘round, she thought. Alassa had said that once, while deconstructing the courtly flattery that hovered around her like flies on honey. No one cares about people who break the rules as long as there is no appearance of breaking the rules.
“I do, My Lord,” she said, trying to sound as submissive as possible. Witt wasn’t that important. He’d probably enjoy a little fawning from a noblewoman who happened to find herself without even a pair of coppers to rub together. “We can go there at once, if you wish.”
Witt held out a hand. Emily took it and allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arm, tightly, as they made their way towards the stairs, hard enough to be uncomfortable without quite being bad enough to merit a complaint. Emily wondered, absently, if he was married, then decided it was very likely. An officer in his position would almost certainly be married…unless he’d decided to hold out for a marriage that would give him rank and status if not money. She felt sorry for his wife. Someone who was on the very fringes of high society would have to stomach all sorts of little put-downs designed to remind him of his place, which he would probably take out on his wife. Her stepfather had been like that too.
She half-expected him to try to grope her as they made their way up the stairs, despite Jade and Cat trailing behind. It wouldn’t have surprised her. Cat had told him that Jade and himself were her family retainers, the only ones left…Witt might enjoy molesting her under their gaze, knowing they couldn’t stop him without blowing her chance of acquiring a protector. But it seemed he had enough decency–or common sense–to wait for a little privacy. The anticipation in his eyes was chilling.
And odd, she thought. It isn’t as if I’m showing off too much flesh.
She tensed as she opened the door to the rented room, half-expecting Witt to sense the wards and stop. The establishment had installed a handful of privacy wards, but Jade and Cat had scoped out the room and set up a few additional wards of their own. Emily rather doubted the management would take the risk of spying on their clients, particularly when blackmail would only be of limited value, yet they didn’t dare take it for granted. The last thing they needed was a ward sounding the alert and bringing in the guard.
Witt looked around the room. “Good enough,” he said, in a tone that suggested the room was barely suitable for a brief tryst. “Your men can wait outside, of course.”
Jade moved forward and jabbed him with a wand, hard. Witt staggered, then convulsed and fell to the ground. Emily rubbed her arm where he’d been holding her, wincing slightly at the pain. She’d be bruised tomorrow, she thought. The boys searched Witt roughly, removing a small collection of weapons and–surprisingly–a chat parchment before picking him up and tying him to a chair. Witt groaned, loudly, as he started to recover from the shock. Emily was ruefully impressed. She’d known magicians–herself included–who’d gone down for hours after being zapped with a particularly nasty stunning spell.
“He doesn’t have any magic,” Cat said, as he poured water into a glass and pressed it to Witt’s lips. “No resistance.”
Witt stared at him blearily, then focused on Jade. “You!”
“Me,” Jade said. His voice betrayed no surprise. “Where is my wife?”
Witt swore at him, loudly. Jade listened for a moment, then drew back his hand and slapped Witt across the face. The sound echoed in the room, just loud enough for Emily to start fearing that someone outside would have heard. She doubted that anyone would dare force their way into the room–particularly given just who had rented it–and the silencing charms should keep the noise from being heard, but it was still a risk.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” Jade said. “If you answer our questions, we’ll let you go…with a slice gapped out of your memory. If you refuse, we’ll have to get rough.”
Witt looked at Emily. It felt as though he were seeing her–really seeing her–for the first time. “Can it be? Is it really…?”
Emily felt another moment of sour admiration. Witt had seen through Jade’s disguise–and he’d even penetrated hers, although he might not believe his own conclusions. Randor had chosen well when he’d ennobled Witt. Lowborn or not, Witt was clearly smarter than he looked. The chip on his shoulder wasn’t big enough to blind him completely.
“No,” Jade said, shortly. “What’s it to be? Answers? Or do we have to risk pouring truth potion down your throat?”
“Go right ahead,” Witt said. The faint quaver in his voice was strikingly convincing. “Truth potion will kill me.”
“We can test that,” Jade said. “Or we can just start hurting you until you talk.”
Emily winced. Randor wouldn’t let just anyone into the Tower, let alone give them the keys. He’d have done everything in his power to ensure that Witt couldn’t share the Tower’s secrets, willingly or unwillingly. Truth potions, spells, even torture…they’d trigger a reaction that would break Witt’s mind or kill him outright. It would be bad for the guards if they suffered a genuine accident–the spells probably couldn’t tell the difference between an accident and cold-blooded torture–but Randor wasn’t likely to care.
“I can’t talk,” Witt told him. He sounded like a man who had accepted his fate. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
“We shall see,” Jade said. He rested his fingers on Witt’s head. “This will hurt slightly less if you keep very still.”
Witt glowered at him, twisting his head as Jade cast a series of detection spells. Emily couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as though Randor’s magicians had done a very good job when they’d layered their spells on the guards. There would be a release word, Emily was sure, but…but it would be something impossible to guess. Randor wouldn’t have wanted the spells coming loose by accident. She considered a handful of possibilities, then dismissed the thought. There was no hope of stumbling over the keyword by dumb luck.
“Clever,” Jade admitted, finally. “You do realize the king doesn’t give a damn about you?”
“I’m loyal,” Witt said. “Not like you, you filthy traitor! Or the bitch over there.”
“Watch your mouth,” Cat snapped.
“Or what?” Witt laughed. “You’re not going to let me go now, are you?”
“The king gave you a set of protective spells that will kill you if you get seriously hurt,” Jade said. “You might get nicked in the arm during a duel…and die anyway.”
“My loyalty will be rewarded,” Witt said. “The king is good at recognizing loyalty.”
“No, he isn’t,” Emily said, flatly.
Witt glowered at her. “Running a bit short of money, are we? Plying your trade on the streets just to scrape up…”