Chapter 9
Elva
“Where are you going to put your daggers?” Leifur asked as I tugged on the strings to tighten the corset I’d chosen.
“Nowhere. I’m not taking them.”
“What about your sword?”
“No.” I turned and glared at him. Leifur sat cross-legged on his bed. “Stupid second brother,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, you annoying trout.”
Leifur stood and crossed his arms as he stared down at me. I ignored him and continued preparing myself in the mirror. We’d switched to a new inn to make sure the man I’d bedded and robbed couldn’t find me too easily, and in the process I'd given in to my twin's request for a nicer establishment.
“Sindri would ask the same.”
I let my siren surface just enough for my eyes to shift to black, the first sign she was coming. By the time my incisors grew to twice their length, he backed off.
“ I forgot how much easier warrior sirens can shift into a vicious killing beast. I know you can take care of yourself, but I’m allowed to worry.”
I sighed, letting the siren recede as I finished pulling my hair out of the braid. My locks, now a dull brown, cascaded around my shoulders. “Thank you, but I’m more than capable of handling myself, especially where one male is concerned.”
Leifur spun his finger in the air, and I turned obligingly for him. “I like the new corset. The color suits you.”
Sticking my tongue at Leifur, I thrust my hand into the corset and adjusted my tits to position them in the most flattering way. After that, I was ready.
“I would wish you luck, but I know you won’t need it,” he said.
“Don’t wait up,” I said, heading for the door. The walk to the center of town was a lot faster this late in the day, as most people were likely at dinner or preparing for the celebrations. Our inn was in the poorer part of town, but it was at least cleaner than the Pirate’s Booty.
The closer I got to the castle, the more elaborate the decorations and houses became. Plain windows gave way to ornate flower boxes and shutters, and the sizes of the houses doubled and then tripled. Laughter and fiddle music drifted toward me before I even rounded the last bend.
The King’s Path inn stood against the wall that separated the castle grounds from the proper part of town.
The building was larger than I’d expected, and the walls were made from carved and polished stones that glistened in the setting sun.
A man emerged from a side street, lighting the torches lining the road.
The tall poles were crafted from stone and held huge oil lanterns that cast a soft light, their warm glow spilling over the cobblestones as the scent of roasting venison and fresh bread wafted through the air.
I waited until he disappeared down the main street before adjusting my corset a final time and stepping inside.
Laughter and music filled the crowded inn.
The bar was beautifully carved from stone and stretched the length of the room.
An older man and woman were scrambling to serve the patrons drinks.
Fiddlers were set up in a corner, surrounded by a group of young guests drinking ales and singing along to the music much too loudly.
Every table was occupied with locals and tournament participants; the latter being easy to spot by their non-Tyndorf colors.
A pair of young ale maids was carrying trays of food and drink through the crowd.
I tried not to disturb their work as I crossed the room to the bar.
The older man took a lascivious look at me and nodded. “You’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re here to see Baldr—the satyr. He has a type, and you fit it to perfection.” He slurred the last word and ogled my chest.
I crossed my arms and glared at him, waiting for him to provide me with further information.
“The satyr’s room is on the top floor,” the woman behind the bar said. She tossed me a large brass key. “The stairs are at the back, and if things get out of hand … the girls are on the second floor.”
A wicked grin slowly spread across my lips.
“Don’t worry, I’ll try not to hurt him.” I winked at the man’s startled expression and headed to the stairs.
Unlike our inn, everything here was new and smelled of cedar and vanilla.
The fiddle music faded behind me as I gripped the iron rail and climbed the stairs.
The second-floor hallway was long and lined with doors, each inscribed with a name rather than a number.
Oh, it’s a brothel. A satyr living in a brothel made sense, but it made me wonder about the women he would usually be with.
I continued to the top floor, where a single door awaited, secured with a brass lock.
I slipped the key out of my pocket and bounced it gently in my hand.
The door was solid wood with bronze fixtures and a huge lock and handle, but the knocker drew my attention.
It was a goat’s head with a ring in its mouth.
Its horns curled upward, just like Baldr's, and its sapphire eyes gleamed invitingly.
I resisted the urge to pocket them and instead slid my key into the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open.