Dark Secrets (4 page)

He sighed. “She is a beauty waiting to be broken. You should have heard her screaming my name.” He drank the second shot more slowly. His eyes took on a glaze that had nothing to do with me and my magic.

I gritted my teeth and made myself swear by every Lord not to say anything. But my hand gave away my feelings, curling into the fist I wanted to smash into his face. Repeatedly.

“Women need a strong hand.” I forced out the words and managed not to choke on them. Women, like most folk, responded to kindness.

Brutality had its place for thieves and the like. But my carpenter father had always said pushing too hard will break the timber, not bend it. In my business I’d found his words to still hold true. I was glad he didn’t know what I was doing. The clients who got the best service were the ones who treated my ladies well. I’d banned some of the locals. I didn’t care how rich they were—coin couldn’t buy respect.

Something Brixen hadn’t realized. He thought he could force obedience with threats, and his elected deputy agreed. I’m sure Brixen had something to do with getting that man elected. While Lawmen were appointed by the town’s Unions, deputies were voted in by the people to keep justice equal. Sometimes it didn’t work. Together, the Lawman and deputy ran Reseda with a fist of iron, intent on crushing anyone who stood in their way.

I had no doubt the Arcane Union paid him to suppress all Rogue activity—just not as much as the FAA paid me and the other lust houses to keep the information flowing.

Brixen sat up. He curled his lip at the mess on the sheets, so I handed him a wash cloth. He cleaned himself without looking. “You’d know about that. Whores would be worse than wives, and you’ve got six of them if you include that man.”

He chuckled to himself, but it was dark and held no joy. He wanted to leave his mark on all of them, smell the burning of flesh and hear the cry of agony as he branded them. I suppressed a shiver. I’d been to the Decihall when a branding was done. I hadn’t been able to eat meat for a full ten-night. Even now the memory was too clear.

It was by his grace none of us were branded. Keeping our flesh clear meant we could leave and find another life. I clung to that hope, even if I didn’t know how to leave or what to do with that new life.

I let a lazy smile form. Brixen was a fool. I would give everything I had to marry, but that dream had shattered years ago. “Five. Sharla left.” I was sure he knew that, and it had been a test to see how honest I was.

“That’s the trouble with unbranded whores. They get uppity and leave.” He turned his head and looked at me, his violet eyes cold like wet pebbles. He would be a stone in my boot for as long as I remained in Reseda.

I sweetened my smile, leaned over and brushed my lips over his cheek without retching. I didn’t want to be here in five years, or even one year. If the madness went unchecked, soon I’d be only fit for the wheel. “Burned flesh is bad for business, as was Sharla’s swelling belly.”

One of her regulars, a widower with a limp from a buggy accident, had decided she’d make a fine wife. He’d taken her home to his farm on the outskirts of Reseda. I’d let her go. I’d rather they moved on and found better lives.

The Lawman sneered, but I could see the cogs in his mind turning. My lust house was a cut above, my loose-skirts unbranded. He was thinking of the coin he put in my purse.

“A branded whore is a cheap whore.”

“A branded whore has no reason to…” I bit back on the rising anger. “To provide excellent service.” I propped myself up on my elbow so we could talk like lovers might. Once a ten-night I hated myself and what I did. But maybe Brixen had that effect on everyone. “A loose-skirt down Brewer Road could work her way up to a better establishment, or even find a husband. She has reason not to fall further. But a branded whore?” I shook my head.

The dark end of Brewer Road was where they often ended. People paid more for unmarked skin. It was seen as fresher and less jaded, and there was some truth to the thought—any loose-skirt working long enough would end up marked. I hoped I wasn’t running out of time.

“Is already fallen,” Brixen finished.

Where I had pity, as I’d started down Brewer Road simply because I needed to eat and it was the only way I could make coin, Brixen was enjoying the idea far too much. I could feel his pleasure rising as he thought about pressing the hot metal to my chest.

And I thought I was losing my mind. Sitting with the Lawman, I was the sanest one in the room, and that was worrying.

His hand clamped around my leg, pressing hard. “Just remember what you stand to lose.”

When he pulled his hand away, a white imprint was left on my thigh.

Then he got up and dressed, his movements short and sharp. Did he hate himself because he couldn’t stay away or because I made it easy? He didn’t love me. I knew that, but in part he was jealous. He thought I was free to do whatever I liked. I answered to no Lord, no Union.

The door closed after him. I pulled my trousers on, the handprint now red on my skin. Not a brand, but a warning.

The Whore

Kneels only for man, not for a Lord.

A smart man would’ve stayed in the shadows, taken a deep breath and had a few drinks or whatever it took to calm the storm. But a smart man wouldn’t have ended up a whore in Reseda, the center of the battle between Union and the Rogue Arcane who’d formed the FAA.

I tried to find calm in the bottom of a bottle. Instead I found courage and a silence I could only dream about. My mind was my own for a few glorious hours. But even as the hangover came knocking like the Smith’s hammer on iron, other people’s thoughts crept in.

The lust house cook was all polite on the outside, but roiling with disgust at working for a whore, as well as a drunkard. She was thinking of finding a new job. But would anyone take her on at her age?

I bit my tongue and concentrated on holding down bread and stewed fruit—a very late breakfast even for me. Mind you if she’d seen inside the Lawman’s head, she’d have been pushed to drink too. If she had to live inside my head, she might have fed herself a bullet.

Lords knew I’d thought about it. But Arcane didn’t fall to lead and I’d seen a botched homemade hanging once before. That was not for me, so I struggled on, hoping I’d find a way to still use magic without losing my mind.

“What are you going to do, Haidyn?” Korene sat opposite me. She’d been waiting until I was almost done and looking like I was going to be able to hold a conversation that included words not grunts.

The fancy dining room we only used for hosting parties and guests. The rest of the time we ate in the kitchen under the supervision of the cook, who was usually less prickly.

“I’m going to the market.” Dressed in my best, I’d outshine many. I was sick of pretending to be apologetic about my profession. I worked for the coin. I wasn’t a thief and I wasn’t owned by anyone—even the Lawman.

“That’s why you got liquored first.”

“No. That was after a session with you-know-who.”

The cook rolled her eyes but said nothing. We all knew who you-know-who was, but everyone played dumb. It was safer that way.

Korene raised her eyebrows. “You were drinking all night?”

“No, I slept when I’d finished the bottle of Asperilli.” This was without doubt the most expensive hangover I’d ever had. And while I’d woken with the bitter taste of the bark on my tongue, I wasn’t feeling too bad. Wine had given me much bigger kicks to the head.

“Are you all right? You don’t need a healer?”

There was no healer who could help me. “No bruises.” The damage I had went much deeper. “You?”

She shook her head. “Easy night—spent it on my back.” Korene had a few regular clients and saw a few walk-ins, but being older, a few years older than me, made her less popular with the men. It suited her fine, and her position on my staff was assured.

We had a laugh. Well, it was that or cry. I wiped my hands on a napkin and stood. “Need anything while I’m out?”

Both women shook their heads. The cook would take a coin pouch and buy fresh ingredients every few days. I counted the coins carefully, as I knew she kept some for herself. While I didn’t begrudge her, I paid her well; I wasn’t running a charity either. On the other hand, I liked her cooking and the way she didn’t gossip. Maybe she deserved a pay rise.

I caught myself. I was buying her silence the same way Brixen bought mine. No, we weren’t the same.

I did up the buttons on my red coat and put on my hat, pale yellow to match the gold braid on the cuffs and down the front. It was really too showy for the markets, but I wanted to be seen.

Korene’s gaze skimmed over me as she appraised my outfit. “I’m sure the Hunter would be well pleased.”

I tipped my hat in thanks. The Hunter was the Lord I followed in my heart. I’d give up everything, the magic, the wealth, the dubious social standing, and live an honest life following the Hunter if I could have my mind back.

So far he hadn’t heard my pleas.

No Lord did.

But then, I could hardly hear myself think most days.

The sun was almost at its peak when I strolled out the front door. I pulled the brim of my hat lower to avoid squinting, as no one likes a squinty-eyed whore. If nothing else, I was advertising the Red Lust House. Red for the Hunter Lord.

While my head hurt like it had been run over with a buggy, the pain was worth the clarity. I was able to sift out most thoughts that didn’t belong to me. I crossed the road and headed to the Decihall to show my respects. I thanked the Brewer for the Asperilli that was still in my blood and asked the Hunter to lead me to my quarry.

This wasn’t a casual stroll. I was hoping to see Anisa. Stupid, I know. And yet after last night I needed to know she was unharmed. That she was happy despite the roughness of her husband…that she wasn’t thinking of me the way I still thought of her. At least, that was what I was telling myself.

In the tiny part of my heart that I kept well hidden, I hoped she’d thought of me every day since I’d left and wondered where I was, that she kept me in her thoughts. The more probable truth was she thought I was a lying cur who’d bedded her and then ran as far away as possible.

Acid burned the back of my throat. The more I sobered up, the more stupid this idea became. When I saw her, what then?

Would I gaze at her with a longing I’d thought forgotten? Would I hide behind the crowd and hope she didn’t see me?

No. If I was making the effort to come out, I would do this properly and know for sure. I would walk past her and nod. If she said nothing, that would be that. And when her husband came to my bed I would resist the urge to kill him. My nails dug into my palm. The raw pain made me pause. I hadn’t realized the fists I’d been making. I uncurled my fingers, forced my muscles to relax. For a moment I considered going home, lying on my bed and sleeping off the excess.

But it was nice to be surrounded by people, even if their gazes varied between sliding off me like I didn’t exist to a lingering glance by the women. Those who smiled probably didn’t know who I was—they just thought I was well-to-do. I smiled back. The men of course knew. Most who used my lust house wouldn’t admit it in public unless they were seeking to boast about the coin they had to throw around.

Despite the ebb and swell of emotions, I wasn’t drowning like I usually did. I’d have to crawl into a bottle of Asperilli more often. Unlike most folk I didn’t get fall-down drunk, though I could fake it to avoid being caught out. Arcane didn’t get drunk. But then, Union Arcane didn’t usually drink liquor because it dulled the edge of their magic. Rogues, on the other hand, did what they had to. If the magic wasn’t suppressed, or used, the pressure built until blood was forced from the eyes, ears and nail beds until death eventually followed. Not pleasant or pretty and not widely known. The Arcane Union liked its weaknesses hidden and the FAA agreed.

It had been months since I’d been at the market and I began to enjoy myself. I passed a sweet seller and bought a packet of sap-roasted nuts. Sweet and crunchy, they stained tongues purple. Korene loved them. I had more simple tastes. A spiced griddle cake laced with honey reminded me of my mother and the home I’d left. Following my father in the Carpenter’s footsteps would have taken my boots down easier roads.

I passed a few other stalls selling trinkets, glass and china, and miniature clocks. Then I saw her, gold hair pinned up and glinting in the sun the way it always had. Back then she’d worn it loose or in one long braid. She was dressed in pale blue and white, and until then I’d never hated white so much. It was his claim on her and a reminder that he was spending his nights with Anisa.

I should’ve turned away.

She was his, not mine. Not anymore. But I couldn’t get the memory of his thoughts out of my head—or his words.

I walked closer, feigning interest in ribbons and lace as I studied her. Her face had lost the childish curves and had gained the sculpted look of a woman. Wide cheekbones and lush lips that I remembered kissing far too well. Seeing her, I needed her the same way I always had. I craved her touch. My blood heated as a desire that was all mine crept through my body.

Back then, that hadn’t been enough for me. I’d wanted more.

But where her mouth had once been ready with a smile, now there was tension. Her blue eyes held a concern that had been lacking when she’d been in my arms. We’d been so young.

Without a care.

I’d broken it all.

She lifted a stick of cinnabark and sniffed. As she did her gaze caught mine. What did she see? Not the boy filled with pride and sure of his place. A man in clothes that spoke of too much coin, a dandy? The whore master of the Red Lust House? Or did she see me, Haidyn?

For a moment neither of us moved. Her hand jerked and her eyes widened, and in that moment I knew she recognized me. Not because I could sense her thoughts. My mind was silent. Around Anisa my magic had always been unrequired and I’d never tried to sneak into her mind. She’d made me promise never to look inside. It was the one promise I’d made to her that I’d kept.