Chapter 18
Nelle
Fear pressed a chilled hand over my heart. I had no idea how long I stood there gaping at Jett, caught in a terrifying undercurrent I couldn’t escape.
The Emporium.
A courtesan.
Sweat beaded on Jett’s upper lip, gleaming in the dim light as he curved his mouth into a condescending smile. He was enjoying this. Dislike was too weak a word for what he felt for me. He loathed me utterly, intensely, to subject me to something so abhorrent.
Tulle grazed my trembling hands, the sheer dress fluttering around my figure as I jittered in place, my gaze darting toward the shadowed foyer. An escape.
What was I going to do?
I needed Graysen to put a stop to this.
But he wasn’t here.
Hells, hells, hells.
I went still as the stone block beneath my feet. My gaze sliced back to Jett, who stared coldly up at me, distaste carved deep into his features.
Under the amended Alverac, I wasn’t yet twenty, and Graysen was the only one with authority over me when he was present. For Gods’ sake, I didn’t have to yield to the rest of his family. I didn’t need to put up with this vileness.
Boldness surged through me, hot and fierce, like steel armor forged by flame and hammer.
It warmed my flesh, burned away my distress, and hardened my resolve.
I pinched the skirt between my fingers and raised it haughtily.
My toes met the edge of the pedestal as I shifted forward, ready to step down.
Jett tut-tutted. “Don’t even think about it, Wychthorn. You stay right there.”
My nostrils flared as I glared down the length of my nose at him. “You can’t make me. Under the Alverac, I’m under Graysen’s authority when he’s present.” I lifted the skirt higher. “Clearly, he’s not here.”
I began to lower myself from the pedestal when Jett moved fast.
With a brush of his bracelets, Furyos Bonefall answered.
The bone-chains bristled and twisted, a faint wash of magic threading through them in a sudden, deliberate pull as they rustled upward.
And when he laced the tips of his fingers together, the ghastly bone-fingers replied, cinching tighter about my throat. Pain flared deep and sharp as pressure closed around my windpipe.
Suddenly he was beside me, fisting a handful of chains.
But with his unlinked fingers, the talon-tips loosened their hold, and air slid back into my throat in a thin, shaky rush.
Jett stood so close his breath washed against my cheek.
His voice was whisper-soft. “You take another step, and I’ll keep hold of these chains like a leash, Wychthorn—as if you were my little pet rat I wanted to take on a walk.
” He leaned back so I could see him clearly, one eyebrow arched. “Is that what you’d like?”
Fucking asshole!
When I didn’t reply, he gave the chains a sharp tug, enough to make his point.
He wanted an answer. I refused, my jaw clenched tight, though I knew the prick would do it.
He’d enjoy leading me around and humiliating me further.
I dropped my skirt and straightened, stepping back into the center of the pedestal.
Of course not, dickface.
Jett released the chains, then crossed his wrists so his other hand could reach the opposite bracelet’s trigger to deactivate it. The chains fell in a harsh rattle of bones.
He prowled around me, dark eyes glittering like a beast stalking through a humid jungle. His heavy combat boots were surprisingly silent on the stone floor.
“My brother doesn’t need to be here, Wychthorn.
He gave us permission to bring you to the Emporium.
” His shoulders rounded as he slipped his hands into his pockets.
He glanced at the patrons behind him, then back at me with a smug lift of his brows.
“He’ll be pissed to miss out on this. I’m sure he’d enjoy what’s to come. ”
The words what’s to come shivered down my spine.
Even though my heart told me he was lying, my head whispered it could be true. What if Graysen had permitted to whore me out? What if his trip to the catacombs was a ruse—a way to avoid seeing it through himself?
Jett swiveled around to stand flush beside me, staring into the crowd as I did too. Candlelight glowed in the gloom, and enchanting pops of pink and indigo shimmered through the misty sky above.
The tables and clusters of private seating all faced the dais, and the upper ranks had angled themselves toward me.
Slinking shadows and rich amber light exaggerated their features, turning their faces into macabre masks.
I felt their interest crawling over my skin.
They ogled the sheer tulle, the lace panels scattered with stars, the shimmer of luminescent glitter dusting my limbs.
Everything on my body sparkled—my dress, the high puff of my upswept hair, my pale face with its bright red lips. I was moonlight personified.
And yet, with all this beauty and exposed flesh, their attention inevitably fixed on Furyos Bonefall clenched around my throat.
Sick, sick, sick.
Jett cocked his head, and we glanced sidelong at one another.
A flash of a gleeful grin. “There are those here willing to pay quite a hefty fee for a single night with you.” He pointed toward a burly man towering above most, silver-blond curls falling forward as he bent to speak with Caidan.
“He’s offered quite the sum. And he’s outbidding anyone daring to counter him. ”
My gaze skimmed the man’s broad shoulders filling a dashing black suit. As if sensing me, he glanced up, meeting my gaze beneath bushy, silver brows. I swallowed down the distaste, a shudder working along my bones. He looked close in age to my father.
Movement tugged my attention back to Jett.
He drifted in front of the dais. “Stay here,” he ordered, a sly smile playing on his lips, almost as if he hoped I wouldn’t.
“You do anything stupid like step off the pedestal or try to run, I’ll come after you.
I’ll enjoy dragging you back like a wayward dog. ”
My fingers fisted into the tulle skirt.
I bet you fucking would.
Twisting away, Jett strode into the gathered crowd.
And I was left alone.
I refused to look at the men and women who served my father.
Instead, I watched Zielenski as he sauntered along the edge of his arena.
He appeared deceptively relaxed, but there was an underlying sharpness to his senses.
His gaze snapped toward patrons a heartbeat before their actions followed—a glass tipping over, a drunken stumble, an argument about to ignite.
His assistant drifted close to whisper in his ear, and he occasionally beckoned a servant to deliver brusque orders. Yet, even when occupied with ruling the room, he never lost track of Lila. He watched her every move. But he watched those around her even more closely.
Layers of ivory silk swirled as servants offered drinks or leaned in to catch murmured requests.
A few others, mood-adjusters and enhancers, in muted colors, hovered in the background, while a few more disappeared into the swirling darkness beyond the Corinthian columns stretching into the false sky.
Lila served her own kind of drink—the blood-dew from the black flowers twining around the crumbling columns.
She held a nip glass beneath a bloom, catching the fat droplets dripping from obsidian petals before delivering it to a guest. While servers flitted like butterflies, she was a whirl of wild blue tresses, streamlined and graceful as she cut through the crowd.
A sound tickled my senses, coaxing me to tilt my head and listen carefully. A soulful song faded into Missio’s heavy, brooding beats, but something else rose beneath the darkwave music flowing through the rooftop.
A drone of furious wings.
The buzzing skittered across my skin, growing louder as the Horned God flew nearer to the Emporium. I craned my neck, staring wide-eyed into the colorful, roiling mist above, smoky shadows whorling outward as it sliced through their insubstantial midst.
I caught only a fleeting glimpse of gossamer wings, reed-thin black arms, and a flash of ebony tusks before it plummeted from a great height and landed with a thunderous crack on the far side of the pillars. The impact rattled the ancient building, jolting up through my feet.
Soft sounds of awe rippled through the Houses. This was why they gathered here nightly. They wished to be in the presence of power, to watch the Horned Gods enter the Emporium.
I dropped my gaze—and froze.
Shock slammed into me, buckling my knees.
The space before me was empty, as if no one but the Emporium’s servants dared approach the courtesans’ dais. And Zielenski strode directly through that gap right toward me, his features hardened into a stony expression.
I stepped back without meaning to.
Oh gods, surely it isn’t happening right now?
But he passed right by.
My heart hammered against my palm where it pressed to my chest, and I exhaled a shaky breath.
Holy hellsgate.
My ears pricked at the sounds of the courtesans behind me.
The rustle of fabric, the groan of leather, the wisp of bare skin gliding against another.
Pleasurable sighs and silken moans. A moment later I heard the padding of feet, and in my periphery, I watched a male with a swathe of silk draped about his powerful physique follow Zielenski toward a great pillar twined thickly with thorny vines and night-black flowers.
Other.
A Terota.
A type of other who lusted after monsters.
Zielenski placed a hand on the courtesan’s shoulder and leaned in to speak into the other man’s ear. My brows nudged together, and I strained to listen, but I couldn’t make out the words nor read his lips. When he pulled back, I thought I saw his eyes darken with torment.
And then they were gone, striding between the pillars and vanishing into the Horned Gods’ Emporium. A distant scream sent a shard of dread lancing across my skin.
Loathing twisted my gut as my gaze swept over those gathered on the rooftop. A few watched the swirling darkness with unblinking hunger, hoping to glimpse one of our masters or mistresses peering from the shadows, but most had their heads turned toward me, their gazes fixed and greedy.
Revulsion soured my mouth. They were ravenous for my humiliation. Their craving for it thickened the air, tainting it with foul energy. An awful, sickening sensation ate through my veins at the thought that one of them—that older man, most likely—would lay his hands on me.
In some way, it made little sense that the Crowthers would allow this to happen.
That vile Pellan had assaulted Ferne, and I’d witnessed their reaction to his very name when I arrived at the Keep.
Their hatred for him ran deep and had spilled into sympathy for me.
Yet here they were, intending to sell me into sexual slavery.
Though now it made sense, why Kenton had voiced his reluctance earlier with his aunt.
Still, he and his youngest brother were discreetly calling in bids from the crowd, while Caidan kept the man with broad shoulders and bouncy curls company, and Valarie spoke to a tall, willowy woman I recognized from Upper House Forstner.
My anxious breathing grew shallower, my heartbeat chaotic. What was I supposed to do?
I ignored the debauchery behind the silk curtains and the men and women leaning forward to gawk at me, to peer through the sheer panels of my dress at my figure. I stared above their heads and shunned their presence.
Yet, as time marched on, my terror intensified.
The trembling in my hands worked its way through my frame. I slid my thumb across my shaking fingers, as if I were running adamere beads through their tips. I almost imagined the gentle chink, chink, chink of them striking together, the phantom necklace swaying like a rosary as I worked through it.
My roots are deep. My strength is stone. My breath the wind. I bow to none.
In my mind, I saw my father’s sharp blue eyes boring into mine, instilling courage.
Calm. Calm. Calm.
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths.
When my gaze came back into focus, I realized I was staring directly at the man who was outbidding everyone.
His throat bobbed on a hard swallow, and he looked a little pale.
His gaze flitted away from mine, dropping to his hands wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey.
Frowning, I studied his face, trying to work out which House he belonged to.
It was a tap—a tiny, tiny tap on my senses.
I had the strangest sensation that I’d met him before.
And then my puzzlement was obliterated.
My heartbeat stumbled. Not because of this man, but because something else overshadowed my fear and quaked the night with oncoming might.
Candlelight guttered all around us before flaring brighter.
Dark energy surrounded me. The weight of power was suffocating, yet covetous. The ancient building wasn’t-quite-alive and still very curious about me. Its intrigue brushed my neck like a featherlight caress, a whispering breath along my spine. But someone else beckoned it. Beckoned me.
The Emporium’s mind-eye slid toward the foyer’s entrance, which lay in the darkness beyond.
Its attention shifted like the tilt of a cat’s head, ears pricking the very moment the stone gently vibrated beneath my feet.
The slightest tremor reverberated in time with my heartbeat, in time with the march of footfall.
The moment he appeared, I felt the Emporium’s smile, like warmth blooming against my skin, as if it were pleased to greet an old friend.
Master Sirro.