Chapter 11 #2
She chews her lip before nodding. She gives me a quick hug before leaving my room and heading for the bathroom.
I loathe leaving her alone now, with Berttom being so unpredictable and very clearly angry, but I can only hope my warning earlier will make him more than a little hesitant.
I change quickly just in case. I opt for my fanciest bustier and trouser set, completely foregoing the tunic underneath.
They’re both a lovely emerald color with gold leaves embroidered across the bust and at the hem of the trousers.
I saved for three months to afford them.
Today is a special day, after all. I know in my heart that the image that flashed through my mind earlier is going to come to pass, that Otyx is going to punish me violently, then brick me up in my room for the rest of my days. There will be no mercy this time.
Isi returns to my room in a pretty, dark red dress with small embellishments on the hem.
It is high enough in the neck and long enough in the sleeve to cover most of her scars.
Too bad it doesn’t hide the godsawful collar.
I’ve spent years trying to convince her that her scars are beautiful because they prove how strong she truly is, how resilient.
She never seems to believe me. Nevertheless, the dress suits her.
We sneak down the stairs, into the kitchen, and out the side door without interruption, and our last day of freedom opens up before us.
After a day spent traipsing through the Rookery, visiting Feron—but not training because Isi would’ve had my head—eating sweet little treats, and avoiding the bordello, we decide the best way to end our day is with some ale.
The tavern is overflowing with people. The stench of bodies, urine, and vomit assaults my nose.
The smoky haze of tobacco is stifling. This is the busiest pub in the Rookery.
It’s why we always come here. It’s easier to blend into a crowd if the crowd is enormous.
Berttom doesn’t let his whores out; their whole lives are in his bordello.
He doesn’t want them to “give it up for free” as he likes to put it.
Isi and I have been sneaking out since we were eighteen to do exactly that, partly to spite Berttom, but mostly to just feel as though our bodies belong to us.
My first time was terrible, sweaty, and swift.
Ever since, I’ve been more selective about my partners.
Isi doesn’t often sleep with anyone when we’re out.
When I asked her about it, she said it’s like working for free.
I can’t argue with that, though I don’t point out that’s exactly what Berttom says.
Instead, she drinks and flirts and dances and whatever else she can think of to make her body feel like her own.
I worry about her though; opium and other substances like it are far too easy to come by and I've seen too many people answer their call. She swears she has never and will never touch them and I have no reason not to believe her, though I’m not sure I’d blame her if she did.
“What did you say to Bottom this morning?” Isirae snaps me back to the present, yelling over the commotion of rowdy, drunken patrons.
I eye her. “Nothing.”
She gives me a pointed look. “I know you went to his office Vay.”
“How do you know? You were asleep.”
“Because I’m not stupid.”
We snag a couple of worn barstools at the bar, elbowing people out of our way. Isi caught the barkeep’s attention almost instantly. She has that effect on men, though she never acknowledges it.
I sigh. “Nothing that wasn’t true,” I answer.
We order two ales. The barkeep produces them so quickly I could swear they were just waiting behind the bar. I take a swig. Warm. Definitely waiting behind the bar.
“I passed him on my way back to my room after my bath. He wouldn’t look me in the eye but he was raging.”
I scoff. “He’s a coward and a pig. Fuck him. We’re here to have fun.” I clank my tankard of ale against hers and take a large swig, hoping to change the subject. Isirae doesn’t need to know I threatened Berttom. It would only make her worry.
“Hello beautiful,” a deep voice says over my shoulder.
I glance over my shoulder and see Boreus, the man I’ve been fucking for the past couple of months.
Tall and slim with curly brown hair that reaches the nape of his neck.
He was always attractive enough for the occasional lay, but it will never be anything more than that despite his best efforts.
Seeing him now, it hits me. Boreus is nothing special. I frown as he smiles down at me.
Well. I guess this is over.
“Hi Boreus,” I say, turning my back to him, facing the bar. He comes around and wedges himself between Isi and me, cutting her out altogether. I want to smack him for that alone.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says, his eyes heavy with lust as they rake my figure.
Not even an offer to buy me a drink. Classy.
But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He thinks a woman's only worth is what she can do in a kitchen and in a bedroom. Sadly, it’s not an uncommon belief in Kalsevden.
Even among the elite and the Exalted, women are mostly irrelevant.
“No,” I say to the mirror behind the bar. His reflection’s face screws up in confusion, and I watch as his mind tries to make sense of the word.
“No?”
“That’s what I said.” I swivel in my stool, stand, and grab Isi by the hand, leading her away from the bar. He grabs my arm, spinning me harshly, causing me to spill my ale all over him.
“What the fuck!” he whines, trying to brush off the ale soaking into his already stained tunic.
Gods, what did I ever see in him?
“You did that on purpose!” His whine permeates the noise around us. I half expect him to stamp his foot like a petulant child.
I snort. I didn’t, but I wish I had. I try to walk away again but his arms snake around my waist and he pulls me to him, my back to his front. I make eye contact with Isi, who seems unsure of what to do. I shake my head at her, telling her not to get involved.
“I know you want my cock,” he hisses into my ear, grinding his crotch into my ass.
I roll my eyes. Men like him are all the same.
Thinking the gods’ greatest gift is the appendage between their legs.
“I know how to make you scream.” His free hand comes up and cups my breast, squeezing.
There are people all around, but no one notices or cares.
Fury burns the blood in my veins.
I flip around and meet his lust-filled eyes, a small flirtatious smile on my lips.
The smug, shit-eating grin on his face tells me he thinks he’s won.
He actually thinks that worked. I stifle a laugh.
Cockhead. I run the hand not holding my now half-empty tankard up his torso, distracting him as I take a small step back.
With the small allotment of personal space, I rapidly bring the heel of my hand up to meet his nose.
I hear the crunch of bone and barely dodge the spray of blood.
He crumples to his knees as I finally make my escape, dragging Isirae along behind me.
I can still hear him screaming obscenities at me from across the tavern while Isi and I look for another spot in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd.
The barkeep finally gets sick of his whining and throws him out.
We find an empty standing table in the center of the room.
“Well,” Isi says, failing to hide her smile. “That was exciting.”
I snort.
“Safe to assume Boreus is out of the picture for good?”
I give her a look that says “of course, you idiot.”
She laughs, looking around the room. “See anyone that can take his place?”
I bark a laugh. “Isi, I’m not out tonight to meet anyone. I’m here to get drunk with my best friend and have fun. Men don’t factor into either of those things.”
“I don’t know, men can be amusing.” She stares off into the distance, and I’m left wondering if she’s thinking about a specific man. She hasn’t mentioned anyone in months.
I snap my fingers in front of her face. “Come back to me.” She shakes her head, clearing the emotion that had gathered in her eyes. Though I couldn’t say what emotion it was.
“Who’s got your attention, you little flirt?” I ask.
“No one. Never you mind.” Her cheeks turn a crimson so deep it’s almost purple.
“Oh my gods! You’re fucking someone? Who? How do I not know? How does Bottom not know? How have you hidden it?” The questions hurl out of my mouth, one after the other, like vomit.
“Woah!” She holds up her hands, silencing me. “We’re not sleeping together yet.” She gives me a pointed look. I get the message. Stop cursing.
“I met him about a month ago when Bottom sent me to pick up his laundry, and I can’t stop thinking about him.
” A dreamy smile and a far-off look creep up on her again.
I don’t have the heart to snap her out of it, so I let her have her moment while I stare at her, dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open like the gaping maw of a village fool.
Coming back to reality and finally looking at my face, Isirae laughs. “Gods Vay, you couldn’t look more shocked if you tried.”
“I’m sorry! I’m just so excited for you!” I practically shriek. If her new lover isn’t a client, maybe he can help get her out from under Bottom’s thumb. Maybe he can convince her to run. “Does he feel the same way you do?”
“Yes. I think so.” She smiles shyly.
“What’s his name?” I’m practically dancing with giddiness for my friend. She has wanted to get married and have children for as long as I’ve known her. She’s never let herself believe it could happen.
“Orryn,” she says, sighing like a lovesick teenager.
I have to cover my mouth to stop from laughing.
I’ve never seen her act this way, and though I’m happy for my friend, the whole staring-wistfully-off-into-the-distance thing is painfully cliché.
“Orryn Desai.” Her cheeks tinge pink again. “He’s my new hope,” she whispers.
I burst out a very unattractive laugh. I can’t contain it. She gives me a look. One that promises violence if I continue to laugh at her.
“I’m sorry,” I say to her, wiping off a stray tear. “But come on, you look like someone just told you that you won a fortune. He’s just a man, Isi.” Despite my cynicism, I’m happy for her, ecstatic even. This is the first big hope she’s really let herself have.
“Hey don’t spray your bitterness around me, you skunk,” she teases, waving her hand around her face as though swatting away an irksome fly, mirth and happiness dancing in her eyes.
“You’ll find someone too. One day you’ll meet a man who will put all other men to shame.
And I will be there laughing when you do! ” She points her finger at me.
I roll my eyes and chuckle again. “Don’t bet on it.”
I scan the crowded pub, not looking for anyone or anything in particular, just observing.
Sitting at a table in the corner is an uncommonly handsome man.
A man that almost every woman in the room would beg on their knees for a chance with.
My breath gets caught in my throat and my heart starts beating like it’s trying to escape my chest. His wavy, dark hair hangs to his shoulders but is styled away from his wide, angled jaw, where a neatly trimmed beard sits.
Full lips sip at a honey-brown liquor in a small glass, and I can tell from here that he’s strong under his clean black tunic.
A dark lock falls over a beautiful viridian eye as he scans the room.
I’ve seen him somewhere before, but where?
The longer I stare, the more the cobwebs shake loose.
The gijire. The dream.
What in the abysm is happening to me?