Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Benedikt’s eyes widen, but I duck under his arm and dart off down the hall before he can protest.
The lilac silk I’m wrapped in glints in the light from the sconces. I wish I could dash to Stavros’s quarters to grab my plain cloak, but I can’t risk missing the carriage.
At least this color is significantly less eye-catching than the turquoise gown.
I slip through the doorway and cross the courtyards to the college’s outermost gate. There is indeed a carriage waiting on the road just beyond the walls, modest by noble standards but still more finely carved than anything you’d usually see in the middle wards.
Outer-warders make do with carts and their feet.
Clouds clot the sky overhead, and the breeze feels damp against my cheeks. But the dimness makes it easier for me to avoid notice.
As I eye the vehicle from a shadowy alcove in the wall, it occurs to me that my dress is less than ideal for a variety of reasons. Noble gowns are a damn sight prettier than they are practical, especially for stealthy maneuvers.
Wetting my lips, I peer down at my skirt with its slits for riding. With a few hasty motions, I tie the loose bits tight around my thighs.
The young man Ster. Torstem sent ahead finishes conferring with the driver and heads back into the college. One of the guards on the top of the wall high overhead tosses a bored remark toward the other.
I ease along the wall until I’m out of view of the front of the carriage and then make a leap for it, bending low and sliding across the cobblestones. With a soft whoosh of fabric, I’m hunched under the vehicle.
It isn’t built so differently from the merchant’s wagon I clung on to what feels like a century ago. To my immense gratitude, carriages tend to be set higher off the ground.
I hook my knees and elbows around the wooden reach bar that runs down the middle between the two sets of wheels. With another tug of the fabric gathered around my legs, I ensure it won’t drag on the road.
Are you sure about this, Ivy? Julita asks. I can picture her frowning skeptically.
“Nothing I haven’t done a dozen times before,” I whisper, and tense at the thud of approaching boots.
Torstem doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. He strides right up to the carriage. “Let’s be off immediately.”
Without another word, he heaves his stout body onto the seat above my hiding place.
The driver flicks the whip, and the gelding in the harness clops forward. The wheels rattle over the cobblestones on either side of me.
Julita speaks up again in a mildly droll tone. So… you and Benedikt appear to be getting along well.
I adjust my grip on the bar, swaying as the carriage veers around a bend in the road. “Is this really the best time to be talking about that?”
My lips purse of their own accord, bringing back the giddying sensation of his kiss. I shake my head against it as if answering my own question.
Julita clearly doesn’t agree. Why not? I’m the only one who can hear you with all the clatter out there. Have you got something better to do during the trip?
“I guess not,” I mutter.
There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He is appealing in his own way.
“Kissing him wasn’t my idea in the first place.”
You enjoyed it well enough.
My cheeks flare all over again. “You can’t just assume—”
She lets out a tinkling laugh. I might not be able to read your thoughts, but I experience everything your body does, Ivy. I know.
“Well, it isn’t going to happen again.” If he’d even want it to, now that he’s scratched that itch.
He might be a bastard, but he’s still only twice removed from the royal family. Not a bad catch at all.
“I’m not going to be catching him.” I make a face at the base of the carriage. “If we have to talk, can we talk about something else?”
Hmm. Julita is silent for a few minutes, as if put out by my refusal. I suppose this is a rather convenient way of traveling while staying concealed. If you have the arm strength for it. Or does your gift help with that?
My gift that I don’t actually have. I swallow thickly and rub the stump of my finger that’s my supposed sacrifice. “A little of both, let’s say.” I pause. “Did you make a sacrifice? What was your dedication?”
Oh, yes. I wasn’t going to pass that chance up. Something firms in her voice, a hint of steely resolve. I gave my lowest two ribs to Creaden.
I wince. “That must have hurt.”
For a little while, to be sure, but the devouts sealed up my flesh just like they will have for your finger. It was worth it. He granted me the gift I asked for: that when I say no to a request or demand, it’ll be heeded.
My stomach knots at the thought of why she’d have wanted a gift like that. Why her brother’s experiments must have stopped after her dedication.
I don’t know what to say. Julita goes quiet after her answer, leaving me feeling guilty that I’ve shut her up even though I didn’t want to talk in the first place.
Then the carriage rolls to a stop. Ster. Torstem steps out, tossing a few words of gratitude to the driver. “I’ll need you back by the bell for the second hour.”
“Of course, sir.”
That’s my cue.
Torstem’s feet tramp up the steps of the stone building we’ve stopped in front of. I can’t see anyone else ambling nearby from my vantage point. Two trimmed shrubs jut up on either side of the building’s doorway.
The driver prods the horse to walk on. Just as the mare starts hauling the carriage forward again, I release my hold and whip myself to the side.
In an instant, I’ve rolled off the road and onto my feet behind one of the shrubs. I crouch there, watching for trouble.
No one shouts in alarm. I smooth the makeshift ties out of my now-scuffed skirt and tug the pins from my hair so it drifts down to partly conceal my face. Combing my fingers through the strands, I step farther into the shadows between this building and the neighboring one.
The structure Torstem headed into is tall, some four stories high, with small windows dotted across its side. Raucous male laughter booms from the nearest one. A whiff of pipe smoke reaches me from where the pane is cracked open.
That has the flavor of a gentlemen’s club. Is this all Torstem has gone off to do—engage in manly gossip and other indulgences?
I slink along the narrow path down the side of the building, checking for a window I can reach that isn’t cloaked by curtains. I’ve almost reached the rear of the building when a figure marches past from a back door, heading down the alley behind.
My feet stall beneath me. The simple tunic, trousers, and cap the man is wearing are those of a laborer, not a noble. But I know that resolute stride and silvered brown hair.
Ster. Torstem is only using this place as a front to slip off somewhere else. Somewhere he doesn’t want to be identified as a noble.
Now that is certainly a development worth following up on.
This is quite odd, Julita murmurs as I dart after the professor’s hurrying form.
I don’t dare speak now, but her remark is exactly why I need to find out what he’s up to. Because chances are, it’s nothing good.
The gentlemen’s club was around the center of the middle wards, a couple of streets over from the river. Torstem sneaks along a few alleyways, never realizing I’m creeping a safe distance behind him, and then seems to feel he’s gained enough distance to ease up on the caution.
Once he’s stepped out onto the proper streets, I can relax a little more too. I trail along at a distance, keeping an eye on the dented top of his cap but letting plenty of pedestrians pass between us.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, but the heavy clouds overhead hold on to their rain for now. The law professor crosses a bridge and hurries on through the dirtier streets that mark the start of the fringes.
We’re back in Siltston, though on the opposite side of the river from the orphanage. Is he taking a roundabout route there or heading to a different destination?
As we pass through dingier streets where fewer people have reason to be strolling, I let myself drift farther back. More grit from the ground flecks the skirt of my dress, but that only helps me fit in better.
Torstem veers down a strip of dreary storefronts, several of the front windows boarded up or papered over with the failing of the businesses. But the two-story structure at the end of the street appears to be doing all right.
Two dark-leafed trees sprout from its sides, melded with the walls, and cast their hunched branches over the patchwork of tiles on the vaulted roof. The door stands partly open, strains of music filtering from inside.
A minor conjuring winds around the sign above. It highlights the etched sigil of Ardone—godlen of love, beauty, and sensuality—and the place’s name: The Night’s Calling.
The logo shows a crescent moon framing a silhouette of a woman’s face. A placard next to the door lists the day’s specials—meals and mixed drinks—but I know that isn’t the main “calling” the place trades in.
Ster. Torstem walks straight inside.
A couple of women in dresses that do more to accentuate their curves than cover them brush past the gauzy curtains on the front window. Julita lets out a startled sound. Is that what I think it is?
“A brothel,” I murmur, dashing closer as quickly as I dare. “One of the outer wards’ more exclusive ones, as exclusive as anything in these parts gets.”
A brash female voice filters from inside, jovial with greeting. “Tomas! Good to see you again. Let me make sure your ladies are ready for you.”
Tomas? Is that the name Torstem is going by here?
I suppose it makes sense that he’d use an assumed name when he’s going to so much trouble to disguise his trip here. Apparently it’s far from his first visit.
I hesitate, sidling off to the side of the street so I don’t look as if I’m gaping at the building.