Chapter 19
Nelle
Master Sirro wasn’t alone.
His personal assistant, Sarnia Reska, clipped along the rooftop in his wake.
She looked professional, though dressed lightly for the Emporium’s sweltering climate in a long, fluttering skirt and a sage silk blouse.
A large tote bag hung from her shoulder, and she held a phone to one ear, frowning as she listened before murmuring a reply, ending the call, and slipping the device into her bag.
Sirro’s Familiar trailed behind him. Her white kaftan billowed, rippling like a loose sail with her dreamy stroll. A riotous tangle of silvery threads wavered through the air, connecting them both. The strands brightened as her life force arrowed down the lines straight to the Horned God.
I blinked, startled.
She was new.
His last Familiar, the old crone I’d seen with him the weekend of Evvie’s engagement, had obviously died and been replaced.
I glanced sideways through the corner of my eye, checking my truesight.
This one wasn’t glamoured to look younger.
She seemed to be the age she appeared. Twenty-five.
Youthful. Beautiful. But for how much longer?
When would the first wrinkle appear? With Master Sirro leeching her life force, she’d age faster and die sooner.
There was no time to think further about her fate, because there was one other creature accompanying him.
The feminine, delicate bone structure of the human arm looped through his elbow gave her away. Hidden beneath layers of antique lace, yellowed like steeped tea and frayed by time, she clung tightly to him as he escorted her into our midst like a gentleman. I had no doubt this was Mrysst.
She was one of Jurgana’s sisters—a Witch, a Horned God whose power resided in spells.
She and her sisters dwelled within the Hemmlok Forest. My father had once described her as extremely shy.
Partially elemental, she transformed into mist to float above the earth and feed off moonlight.
As Florin had reminded me earlier, not every Horned God ate people.
The Houses parted like a receding tide. They swept aside and dropped to one knee, allowing Master Sirro to pass while they bowed before him. All the Crowthers did, too. It was the only thing that pleased me, seeing them lowered and subservient.
As my status dictated—a princess of the Great House—I did not bow.
Aside from myself, only one other person remained standing. Zielenski. He bowed formally, a dip at the waist, though not as reverent as bending the knee. I suspected he was exempt from the formality. It would be rather tiresome to kneel every time a Horned God entered his establishment.
Master Sirro’s gaze locked on me and grew wholly curious.
A sensual smile danced on his lips as he cast a leisurely glance down my figure, sliding to the tips of my shoes peeking beneath the hem of my dress before brushing back up to meet my gaze. He froze, along with Mrysst, coming to a halt not far from me.
His eyes flared wide as he stared unblinkingly at Furyos Bonefall.
Almost as if it were an afterthought, he gave the order, “Rise,” to the Houses.
Candlelight twined around the horns extending from the crown of Mrysst’s head, much like the enormous corkscrew horns of the markhor goat, resembling coiling snakes.
A ghostly wind made the delicate lace draping her tall figure float as if it drifted in water.
At its worn hem, slender human ankles were on show, but her feet were hooves, the toes slit like an antelope’s.
As Mrysst untangled her arm from Master Sirro’s, I caught a glimpse of big doe eyes the shade of a fiery fall sun peering from behind all that lace. He bowed his head to whisper in her ear. All the while, as he spoke to her, his eyes stayed fixed on me, and so did hers too.
After a moment, he straightened, and she looked up at him to say, “I’ll do what I can.”
Her voice sounded enchanting, like many voices overlapping one another, as if a group of people were singing down a steep, narrow gorge.
He looped his fingers around hers, raising her hand so he could place a chaste kiss on the back. “Thank you, my sweet.”
She left, moving into the world behind the stately rows of ancient Corinthian columns.
Right before the darkness swallowed her, she cast one more glance my way.
All the moisture in my mouth dried up while I worried about what Master Sirro had requested from her. What she was going to do on his behalf.
Sirro’s skin glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.
He wore loose-fitting attire, the fabric offering what little relief it could from the Emporium’s blazing heat.
The top buttons of his linen shirt were undone, and the wide-legged pants rippled around his lean physique as he strode my way.
Vast power radiated outward like a rolling storm cloud, caressing the riches of the room.
The silvery strands added to the metallic notes and the old-worldliness of the Emporium.
Behind him, seated or standing around tables, were men and women with sharp, eager eyes, watching him stroll toward me.
A glimmer of understanding shone in Master Sirro’s gaze as he approached in a graceful stride to where I stood on the pedestal.
The wisping sound of bodies leaning forward, the brush of skin, of satins, of leather, came from the courtesans behind me.
Soft, longing sighs rose, all of them yearning for the debonair Horned God.
Master Sirro didn’t need to ask why I stood on the dais amongst the courtesans.
I was certain he felt the thirst simmering in the surrounding air.
The morbid fascination. The repugnant exhilaration.
The depraved hope that something utterly mortifying was about to happen to me—a Wychthorn princess, the daughter of their great leader.
My father was a king amongst the Houses, and his child was about to be traded like a common prostitute.
I tilted my chin and squared my posture regally, like an empress encrusted with gems, as if I’d chosen to stand here myself. He came to a standstill in front of me, and I greeted him coolly. “Master Sirro.”
His mouth curled into a delighted smile, rounding his cheeks and feathering creases from his sparkling eyes. “Nelle, you look enchanting tonight, like starlight.”
“Moonlight, the Crowthers were going for,” I replied drolly, as if we were mingling at a cocktail evening and I was bored and filling in time.
His lips twitched, much like a cat’s tail as it readied to pounce.
“Moonlight. Indeed.” The words felt like a sensual stroke of a fingertip across my lips.
His gaze slipped down my throat and sharpened as he peered closer.
I thought it was ghastly Bonefall that had captured his interest until he reached out to poke Zrenyth’s collar peeking between the bone-fingers.
A crease formed between his brows before his eyes flicked sharply up to mine.
“How curious that the Crowthers collared you with one of Zrenyth’s weapons. ”
Right now, I wasn’t going to answer him with the truth—that our god’s power bound my wyrm.
Instead, I lifted a hand, preparing to answer in an off-hand manner, that to the Crowthers it was just a bit of old rope lying about, when his pupils dilated as he drank in the beastly fingers clenching my throat, before lingering on the long lengths of bone-chains dangling from my neck, touching them with a reverence that stretched the moment longer.
When his gaze lifted to mine, darkness edged his irises, turning the color to dirty brass.
He’d realized it was a power play between Houses.
“The Crowthers certainly love to make a statement,” he muttered, tension rife in his tone. “Am I to understand that Zielenski is now acting as a broker on behalf of Graysen Crowther?”
I angled my chin toward the tall, burly man with silver curls. “That man over there seems to wish for my company tonight. I expect he’ll win the bid.”
The Horned God followed my line of sight. For a moment I swore his eyes brightened with cruel amusement.
“Which House is he from?” I asked. I didn’t recognize the older man, not that I knew everyone from the world of Houses.
A phone rang sharply, cutting through the air and interrupting my question.
Both of us swiveled toward Sarnia. The shrill ringing carried on, loud and insistent, before falling silent.
Behind Master Sirro, keeping a polite distance, Sarnia had taken the call.
Her brown eyes were locked on the Horned God as she murmured a reply, approached quickly, and handed him the phone.
He took the call and listened intently.
My curiosity spiked as his posture stiffened, and his expression shifted into that of a hard businessman. “Inform him I’m on my way.” He handed the phone back to Sarnia, who slipped it into her tote and retreated to give us space.
He offered an apologetic smile. “It seems my visit here has been cut short.”
Desperation ensnared me. “Can you stop this?” Surely with just a word, Master Sirro could end this monstrous game the Crowthers were playing.
Regret pulled the corners of his mouth downward. “I’m afraid where you are concerned, I cannot interfere with Graysen’s decisions.”
Defeat dragged at me, pulling me beneath an ocean, down into swelling darkness.
It took effort just to nod that I understood.
I couldn’t look at him. Instead, my gaze fell to my feet, to the worn pedestal beneath my shoes, and I rubbed the heel of my shaky palm against my temple, wondering how I was going to extricate myself from this impending ordeal.
It was Master Sirro’s voice, full of wariness, that snapped my stare upward, my hand dropping to my side. “I’ve heard whispers among my brethren that the Crowthers are seeking an invite to the Witches Ball.”