“Because I do not want her to know that I’m looking for it. And before you riddle me with more questions”—Alōs raised a palm, cutting off Niya’s next words—“it is not your place to doubt your captain’s orders: only to obey.”
“You are enjoying this binding bet entirely too much,” Niya replied dryly as she leaned forward to put down her powder. The movement caused her robe to reveal a sliver of her emerald-corseted chest beneath. Despite himself, Alōs glanced down.
It was a mistake.
Alōs had seen many beauties in his lifetime. Had bedded most of them. But here stood the definition of a temptress.
Images of his body pressing against Niya’s flashed before him, warm skin on skin. The tangle of red hair through his fingers.
Memories of their past.
Alōs gripped the hilt of his sword, disturbed by visions that had not swum forward in many years. Shaking them off, he refocused on where he sat and on Niya’s last words. “Is it a sin to enjoy what little entertainment this terrible life gives us?” he asked.
“When it’s at my expense, yes,” replied Niya. “It is a sin punishable by death, actually.”
“Then I look forward to my trial once your debt is paid. For now, listen and obey.”
Something passed over Niya’s green gaze but was gone before he could identify it. “Aye, aye, Captain.” She gave him a mocking salute. “Now, what exactly is it you want me to do?”
“Cebba is a regular patron here. Comes for private entertainment the last day of every week. You are to trance her with your dance. She needs to be made pliable to give up information.”
“Does she carry the lost gods’ gifts?”
He shook his head. “Her ruthlessness lies in other areas. You will be able to spell her easily.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered at your confidence or appalled at your willingness to put me in harm’s way.”
“And here I thought you were always the harm in anyone’s way.”
“Such flattery tonight.” Niya’s eyes grew calculating. “You must really want whatever it is you seek.”
You have no idea, thought Alōs as he retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket. “These are the words I need spoken to her, the question I need her to answer.”
“‘Where did your biggest red stone go?’” Niya read the note before looking back up at him. “A pirate hunting treasure? How cliché.”
“Yes, we are quite the boring lot.”
She glanced at the note again. “It’s quite vague, you know. Are you sure this will get you the right answer?”
“It will.” Alōs snatched the slip of paper from her fingers and slowly fed it to a nearby candle on her dressing table. The flame jumped higher, hungrily devouring the note to ash. “I’ll leave how to go about getting it up to you. You may take your time if you’d like, but I have a feeling your dance will be over rather quickly.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because, my fire dancer”—Alōs gave her a lazy grin as he stood—“Cebba Dagrün has a terrible weakness for redheads.”
Leaving Niya to finish getting ready, Alōs found his way into one of the many hidden alcoves at the backs of the private entertainment rooms. Management used these spaces to keep an eye on their employees, or for a pretty price, a voyeur could occupy one of them for a few sand falls. Tonight, Alōs was to be that voyeur.
Peeking through the tiny hole in the wall, Alōs took in the dim circular room beyond. It was lined with low plush couches draped in black velvet. Small glass lanterns hung from the ceiling and set a warm glow to the opulent red patterned wallpaper.
The door opened, and a waiter ushered in a tall woman with braided dark hair pulled to one side. She wore tight black trousers, a gleaming sword at either hip, and a richly woven purple traveling coat over a white, tucked-in tunic. Alōs’s magic stirred in his veins along with his anticipation as he studied the two parallel scars that ran from her hairline to either side of her chin. They were red and angry against her pale skin, newly made. He was not surprised. Cebba’s line of work, their line of work, placed all sorts of undesired opponents in their path.
Cebba took the bottle of spirits from the chilled bucket the waiter brought in and poured two glasses. She settled into the center couch, propping her booted foot over her other knee, before tipping her head back and emptying one of the glasses. Music from the upstairs bar poured into the room through the ceiling vents, stirring a heady, muffled rhythm.
Alōs stood waiting.
He and Cebba were not friends, but they were not enemies either. They had an understanding. Each was in the trade of acquiring and disposing of valuables and favors. Still, what he’d said to Niya was true: Cebba must not know what he sought. It was dangerous for any in their line of work to know what another desired—it often made others desire it too. The price tag would only go up from want, rather than need, and reacquiring this item was no game he would risk playing. The only one of his crew who knew what they were truly after was Kintra, and her loyalty to him ran deep.
The door opened again, and Niya entered. A black shawl was pinned into her red hair, obscuring the bottom half of her face, and her long green silk robe was cinched at her waist, covering what hid beneath. Her petite feet were bare.
Alōs took in a steadying breath as he watched Cebba’s appraising eyes run over Niya, a disquieted sensation stirring in his gut. The trader knocked back her second glass.
Niya flowed over to the bottle of spirits and in a fluid movement had another flute refilled in Cebba’s hands.
Cebba grinned, a lioness pleased.
Words were exchanged, too low for Alōs to hear, but in the next breath, Niya stood in the center of the room and began to sway. Her hips moved the sheer material of her wrap, exposing one smooth, pale leg. Her arms ran over her curves, sensual, grabbing bits of the material as she explored her hills and valleys. Though Alōs was not in the room, he could practically feel the magic flooding from Niya’s core as her red haze of magic began to fill the space. He had been in her presence enough times when she danced to know the effects, had felt the liquid heat of her power caress his skin, working to make him pliable to her will. If his own magic didn’t sit like dewdrops of iced armor around his body, he would be putty in her hands, like all who didn’t possess the lost gods’ gifts. Like Cebba. The poor bastard.
The trader’s eyes were already beginning to glaze over.
Niya moved faster to the beat echoing through the walls, and in the next breath her robe fell in a puddle at her feet.
A hiss filled Alōs’s ears, and he realized with an uncomfortable twist that it was his own breath.
Niya exposed a body full of softness and curves, of exploring lengths and voluptuous hills. All of it was artfully disguised to tease. The emerald green of her corset pushed her full breasts to near bursting, and her laced stockings contrasted deliciously with her exposed arms, thighs, and shoulders. Waves of her scarlet mane spun and glimmered with each of her twirls and sways, a flame flickering in the breeze.
While Alōs had seen Niya dance many times, it was never while revealing so much . . . skin. And though they had slept together, him touching her completely bare, stroking his hands over her smooth dips and valleys, seeing her like this affected him. Whenever she danced, it affected him. Even with his magic barrier, her moves awoke prickles of heat inside his chest.
Alōs suddenly felt too hot in his clothes; the alcove where he stood was too small. His breaths were coming out fast and uneven. Here was her danger, her temptation for all to let loose their control, give in to their desire. But the trick, he knew, lay in the after. He had never let it, her, affect him after.
Picking up her silk wrap, Niya spun it in the air, her magic catching it and splitting it into two, three, four strands, the room becoming a tangle of material, movement, and desire.