Chapter 3 #2
Otyx points to a man with a nice coat, his collar pulled up around his ears.
To the average person, he might just look as if he’s bundling himself against the early morning chill, but Feron taught me to assess every twitch, every movement.
Not everything is as it seems. It’s not cold enough this morning to be that bundled up.
There’s only a slight breeze coming off Lake Naleoa.
This man is uncomfortable. I nod at Otyx and follow the man.
I’ve never seen him before and yet, somehow, I know exactly where he’s headed.
I turn down a short alley to head him off.
As he comes around the side of a small, crumbling house, probably with three or more families living in it, I’m already waiting for him.
I deliberately bump into his shoulder, hard.
I begin profusely apologizing and patting him down as though I’m checking him for injury.
He takes one look at my face before a salacious leer breaks across his.
“That’s quite alright darling. I know how you can make it up to me.
” He’s standing far too close, and his warm breath on my face smells like liquor and tobacco.
Guess I know what he’s doing in the Rookery.
He runs his hands down my arms, and I fight to suppress my cringe as I lean into him.
My hand slips inside his coat and wraps around a coin purse.
I give him a quick peck on the cheek, his day-old stubble and greasy skin making me squirm as I slip out of his grasp and quickly disappear into the crowd.
His calls are swallowed by the sounds around me.
As I make my way back to Otyx with coins in hand, I can’t help but feel as though I’ve sold myself regardless. I just used my looks to con a man out of his coin at the command of another, even more vile man.
Otyx’s grubby face and ridiculous top hat come into view as I make my way back down Vymal Street, and I can see he’s furious, though I have no idea why.
After what happened this morning, I approach him with the same caution I would use when approaching a wild animal.
He grabs my arm and hauls me inside. His grip is so tight there will surely be bruises in the shape of his fingers in a few hours.
He throws me to the floor, my already torn knees scraping against the uneven stones.
“What the fuck was that?” He looms over me. “I told you to pick his pocket not fucking dance with him. He’s seen your face now. What if he tracks your ass here?”
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I-I’ll do better,” I stammer.
I could kill him twenty different ways with a flick of my dagger but as of right now, he may be my only hope for survival.
Not to mention I’m a fool and I left my dagger in its sheath under my mattress upstairs.
Besides, something in my gut is screaming at me not to test him, and my instincts have never steered me wrong.
Not to mention the two sentinels are standing to my left, watching, armed with blades as long as my forearm.
He kneels beside me and gently runs his hand down my hair, shushing me like one would a crying child.
“I know you will, Red,” he coos. “Let’s try again, shall we?”
My head is spinning from the massive shift in his moods.
I’m somehow even more uncomfortable with this kind version of Otyx.
He holds out his grimy hand for me to take, helping me to my feet.
We walk out the door and he nods to another man.
This one doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as the first but still should make an easy target.
He’s distracted by a book. Books are a commodity of the rich.
Very few people in this borough can even read, let alone do it while walking, so this man might as well have a target painted on his forehead. This should be easy.
I creep up behind him and slip my hand into his coat pocket, coming away with another coin purse, this one substantially lighter than the first. I walk back over to Otyx, cautiously optimistic.
“That’s it?” he rasps, snatching the small purse from my hand. “That’s all you got?”
My brows sink in confusion. “I thought that was all I was supposed to get. I think that’s all he had.”
The back of Otyx’s hand cracks across my face.
I fall to the ground, my eye feeling like it’s going to pop out of its socket.
We are surrounded by people, but no one even blinks in our direction.
Tears spring to life behind my eyes but I will not cry.
I will not give him the satisfaction. He will not break me.
I get to my feet, not so much as touching the spot where he struck me. I meet his stare, my chin lifting.
“This time,” he growls, “get as much as you can carry.” He nods to a woman carrying a parasol.
A fucking parasol. She might as well be screaming her wealth at the top of her lungs.
I have never understood why the wealthier merchants and their families aren’t more careful, don’t try to blend in more here. I guess daylight makes people ignorant.
Fools.
We go on like this all day. He sits on the step in front of his bordello while I wander and pick the pockets of unsuspecting and usually innocent victims. Each time I bring back more and more to lay at Otyx’s feet like it’s some kind of offering to one of the gods.
No doubt he thinks of himself as one. I was only caught once but was easily able to evade him, knowing where he’d go and how I could slip him.
By nightfall, I am starving and exhausted and caked in dirt and sweat.
Otyx, on the other hand, had one of the “artifacts” deliver him meals throughout the day while he sat in the shade of his bordello.
“You haven’t earned your food yet,” he had told me at lunch, a cherry tomato bursting down his chin.
I hit one more mark and nearly crawled back to Otyx, ready to beg on my knees for rest and anything to fill my belly.
He runs his dirty hand across my cheek, hunger in his muddy brown eyes.
My heart drops to my feet, banging off each bone as it falls.
This is it. He is going to make me sell myself.
I hadn’t been good enough. Panic burns in my chest.
“Go. Rest. You’ve earned it,” he says warmly.
His mood changes are draining. I trudge up the stairs ready to sink onto my disgusting mattress, even with the straw that stabs at me.
I’ve just reached my door when a small voice calls to me.
The girl from this morning approaches, dressed in an even more revealing outfit than she had on earlier.
“How did it go?” she asks, concern pulling her mouth down. I know how I must look to her. Dirty, sweaty, and bruised. Defeated.
“Fine,” I state, too tired for small talk. “He said I could go to bed.”
Her shoulders sag with relief, her face brightening with a dazzling smile. “That’s good news! That means you did well! If you hadn’t, you would be bathing and readying to work tonight.” There is a weary sadness behind her beautiful smile.
“Have you eaten today?” she asks.
I shake my head. “He said I haven’t earned it yet and I didn’t ask when he said I was finished for the day.”
To my surprise, she scoffs and rolls her eyes. It is the first hint of defiance I’ve seen in her yet. I like it.
“Go lie down, I’ll bring you something to eat.”
“Don’t risk it,” I tell her, shaking my head. “If Otyx finds out . . .” I’d experienced firsthand how cruel and unpredictable he can be. Though I’m sure she’s been on the receiving end of it many times before, I don’t want his wrath turned on her because of me.
“What Master doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She winks at me, turning to leave.
I grin. “Wait,” I say. She turns back to me. “I’m Vayna. Vayna Cahira. My friends call me Vay.”
“Oh! Um . . . Isirae Grimthony,” she squeaks. “No one really calls me anything but Isirae.” A small smile pulls at her lips.
“Really? You don’t have a nickname?”
She shrugs. “I’ve never had anyone to give me one.”
“Hm. Isirae.” I tap my chin in thought. “Isirae. How about Rae?”
“Um. No. One of my clients is Rae. He’s . . . not a good man.”
“Alright then. How about Grim?”
She makes a noise that sounds like a gag.
I laugh. “So not Grim. Isi? How about Isi?”
She chews her cheek. “Isi,” she says like she’s testing it out. “I like it.” She flashes me another brilliant smile.
“Isi it is.” I smile back.
We stand in awkward silence for a few moments before she nods and leaves to get me something to eat.
I open the door to my room, and my heart fills with warmth at this girl’s kindness.
She’s clearly been through a certifiable shit ton but still finds it in herself to be kind to a practical stranger. It’s inspiring.
I strip out of my dress and lie on the mattress, naked since I have nothing else to wear, covering myself with the moth-eaten musty blanket and wait for my new friend to come back.
My mind runs over everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours while also wondering about Isi.
I get the feeling that she doesn’t enjoy her work.
Some people don’t mind selling their bodies, it’s honest work, but Isirae just seems so unhappy.
A tap at my door breaks into my thoughts and Isi is back in my room placing a tray with soup and bread on the bed.
She doesn’t say anything, just offers me a small smile and backs out of my room, closing the door behind her.
I scarf down my dinner in a very unladylike way, leave the tray on the floor, and fall asleep to the sounds of sex and into a familiar dream.
A golden eye with an emerald iris morphs into two stunning green eyes.
Behind those eyes is pain, shame, and fear.
I can’t make out any more of the face the eyes belong to, but I desperately wish I could.
I reach my hand out, but the dream shifts into something else entirely before I can reach them.