Chapter 12
twelve
Orelia changed into a dark green tunic and a comfortable pair of brown leather pants Vade had purchased.
How he’d gotten her size right was a mystery, but it was clear he had a sharp eye for clothing as they fit just right.
The pants were form-fitting so they wouldn’t snag on brambles, and the long sleeves of the tunic clung to her arms, but the bodice was loose enough to allow her to breathe.
The neckline was higher than she was used to, but at least her chest wouldn’t get sunburned anymore.
She’d spent most of her life hiding under long skirts and plain tops so as not to garner unwanted attention in the brothel, though it wasn’t enough to deter persistent men who offered to buy her time even though she wasn’t for purchase.
Orelia had always wanted closer-cut clothing, as she enjoyed her wide hips and large chest and wanted to show them off, but with what little money she had, and knowing it would only make her more susceptible to harassment, she’d let the idea pass.
Standing in front of the mirror now seeing her legs defined and her shape present for the first time, Orelia smiled.
She looked good. She just needed a new pair of boots, and the wardrobe would be complete. Orelia dug through Vade’s pack and pulled out a small but heavy coin purse, figuring he wouldn’t miss it amongst the many others.
Orelia padded into the washroom and found a trinket tray in one of the cabinets. She filled the shallow dish with water from the pump and set it inside Bute’s jar, noticing the flies she’d gathered for him earlier were gone.
Bute hopped into the water bowl, soaking himself up to his eyes.
“Wish me luck, little guy. I’m going exploring.”
Bute croaked, and she giggled. Sometimes she could swear the colorful amphibian knew what she was saying.
The sound of her footsteps on the creaky stairs was drowned out amidst cheering in the main room as the fiddles picked up their pace. Women stomped their boots and shook their skirts while men howled up at the ceiling, ales raised high.
She peeked through the banister, seeing Vade and the barmaid still sitting at the table. The woman played with his hair, and his eyes were locked on hers.
Orelia made a sour face. She waited until Vade’s view of the stairs was blocked by the barmaid’s unruly hair, then she rushed down the steps and out the front door.
The brisk night air gave her a rejuvenated sense of freedom.
For the first time since she’d accidentally bound herself to the broody fae, she was free of his eyesight and grouchy personality.
Knowing she couldn’t stray more than half a mile before the spell’s tug gave away that she had snuck out was fine with her, especially since there was so much to see right outside the door.
Orelia picked her way through the crowd and returned to the scarf stand, smoothing her fingers over the sky-blue one that was still there. The merchant looked around, probably searching for Vade. When he realized she was alone, his shoulders relaxed. “Two silver, miss?”
She plucked out two pieces from Vade’s purse and handed them to the man. Orelia beamed as she placed the soft scarf around her neck.
She took her time working her way through the market, unable to take it all in.
The fluid movements of the dancing women in feathered masks from earlier caught her eye.
Their beaded clothing swayed with their bodies, barely covering their most private parts.
Orelia stood there mesmerized for minutes, watching them move like eels through water, lips painted dark colors and eyelids covered in cosmetics.
The women wrapped themselves around each other, shaking the circular instruments that jingled, and when they had finished their dance and froze in a tapestry of beauty and femininity, Orelia clapped louder than anyone else watching.
People tossed coins inside the hat near their feet, and she dropped one in to show her appreciation. Orelia continued down the street, passing a few meat carts before something flashed. Gemstone necklaces sparkled in a stand to her right, immediately calling her over.
She admired an emerald the size of her pinky nail hanging on a gold chain.
“Like it?” a smooth voice said.
Orelia startled. She hadn’t noticed the woman standing under the canvas overhang, the top half of her face hidden in shadow.
She had never seen someone so glamorously draped in jewelry.
Her umber arms were lined in gold and silver bracelets, and her dress was made of sheer, ocean blue fabric wrapped around her body in a thin layer, accentuating her lean limbs.
Long braids with interwoven silver rings rested over her small chest.
When the woman stepped into the lantern light, Orelia’s eyes went wide.
“You’re a witch,” she blurted out, taking in the Mark on her forehead. A silver half circle tattoo that hit its lowest point just above her brows. Silver teardrop shapes were inked into the bottom of the two lines, spaced evenly apart, almost touching her eyebrows.
The woman smiled a beautiful, warm smile. “So are you.” Her voice was sweet like honey, the color of her eyes.
Orelia cocked her head. “How do you know?”
The witch rested her elbows on top of her cart, and beneath the rings lining all her fingers, Orelia noticed her permanent healing tattoos.
“I can sense it. One of the benefits of being Marked.”
Orelia’s eyes apprehensively returned to her brow tattoo.
The witch chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t curse you.”
She cautiously approached the merchant’s stand. “But witches have to inflict curses to become Marked.”
“Do they?” The woman set her chin in her palm, grinning like she knew something Orelia didn’t. “You probably think I’m well-versed in necromancy, too.”
“Well . . .yes.” That’s what all of Morton’s books on witches said. Orelia had thumbed through them plenty of times learning all she could about her kind, but she’d never actually spoken to a devout witch before. “Aren’t you?”
“There are some witches who chose to dabble in dark magic, but it’s not a requirement to become Marked. It certainly happens, and is more common than not, so I don’t fault you for assuming.” She clicked her shell and barnacle-covered nails on the cart.
Orelia swore she saw something crawl out of one of the barnacles and slide into another.
Intrigued, she stepped closer. “So, you’re not devout?
You haven’t renounced the gods?” Morton’s tomes mentioned that when witches made the decision to officially renounce the gods, that’s when they received their tattoo.
As an honor for their beliefs. Or rather, non-beliefs.
“Oh, I am,” the woman said.
Her brows scrunched. “I don’t understand. Wouldn’t that make you—”
“Evil and scary?” The woman cocked a brow with a thick gold ring hanging on the outer edge.
Before Orelia could respond, the witch resumed.
“Devout means you have done something deemed worthy of being Marked. It can be an evil deed, like renouncing the gods and only worshiping the three devils, or something related to the natural gifts of our kind. You seem like someone who has made good use of our ability to heal others.”
“I worked as a healer in my hometown brothel.”
“Using our gift for good can earn you the tattoo.”
“But how? Does it just . . .appear?”
The witch pushed her braids over one shoulder.
“Mine appeared when I saved my niece from drowning a few years ago. We were headed to Oak Harbor, and she fell overboard.” Her honey eyes glistened.
“I dove in, and I’m not even sure how I reached her.
It felt like I was swimming for minutes, and I couldn’t see her because it was so dark the deeper I went.
But I felt a hand brush mine, and by some miracle, we both made it to the surface in time.
I still don’t understand how it was possible. I’m terrible at holding my breath.”
Orelia found herself drifting closer, wanting to offer her fellow witch some comfort.
“Maybe because it was a life-or-death situation your body helped you reach her. It knew you needed to save her.” She placed her hand atop the woman’s tattooed one.
“What you did was good, and I’m sorry I judged you before I knew you.
I only know what I’ve read, so I just assumed .
. .” Orelia trailed off, feeling like a naive fool.
The witch gave her a gentle smile. “You’re too sweet for this place, love. Ricaboro will eat you alive if you’re not careful.” She plucked the necklace Orelia had been eyeing off the hook and handed it to her. “What little corner of the world are you from?”
“Minro.” Orelia took the necklace and smoothed her thumb over the small emerald. “This is stunning. I’ve never held a gemstone before.”
The woman cocked a decorated brow. “Never?”
Orelia couldn’t stop smiling at the fine cut jewel resting in her hand. “Never.”
“I don’t know much about Minro, only that it’s a small place. First time in Ricaboro?”
As the witch had been nothing but kind, Orelia relaxed and sidled up next to the stand. “Is it that obvious?”
The woman chuckled and waved a hand in front of her. “You do have that ‘first timer’ look about you.”
“Funny. Someone else said that to me earlier.” Orelia stuck her hand inside Vade’s coin purse, giving the witch a playful grin. She held up the necklace. “How much?”
“Eight silver.”
Her eyes widened. “Eight? That’s it? But this is a gemstone. It must be worth, well, more than eight.”
“You can give me more if you’d like.”
Orelia had never haggled, but she didn’t want to be taken advantage of like Vade had warned, so she offered five silver.
The witch tapped her long, sharp nails on the table. “Can’t let it go for that much, love.”
Orelia twisted her lips to the side. “Six?” The emerald appeared legitimate, and the gold chain looked real enough, but she couldn’t really tell.
Another shake of the merchant’s head as she played with one of her braids. “No can do.”
“Let’s call it seven,” she said with her chin held high.
The witch chuckled and smacked her palm on the table. “You’ve got a deal, Minrosian.”
Orelia handed her the money, then slipped the chain over her head, eyeing the gem resting just above her cleavage. Now her most prized possession.
“What’s Minro like?” the witch asked as she reorganized the necklace stand.
“It’s definitely not like this place. Quieter, for sure, and positively boring.”
Her laugh was as warm as her presence. “I might like boring. This place can be exhausting sometimes.”
Orelia looked around at the street that had gotten more crowded since they’d been talking. “Is it always like this?”
“Every night. Tough to get any decent sleep, but the money is good. Especially when I meet sweet little things like you who overpay.”
Her head whipped around. “Did I overpay?”
“Only by a coin.” She winked. “Or two.”
Orelia couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll do better next time.”
The woman pushed off the cart and returned to her spot hidden beneath the awning. “Take care, my fellow witch. It was a pleasure.”
“You too.” Despite having overpaid, Orelia held her head high at her first fairly successful negotiation.
She purchased a few spices she’d never heard of from a man down the road and debated going back to buy another necklace from the witch, but guilt crept its way in at spending all Vade’s money. It was nothing to him, but still.
Though the moon had arched higher into the sky, Orelia wasn’t ready to go back to the inn.
She went to the next street over and made her way down the cobblestoned road until she came upon a massive building with a white stone facade.
Enormous gray and white vases overflowing with luscious ivy framed the steps leading to the building.
Humongous lanterns holding trulights in a size she didn’t know existed bracketed the doors, and the sound of collective mirth swept into the street.
A man with flecks of gold paint on his face and neck stumbled out of the establishment and fell down the steps, laughing as he went.
The White Pony.
Two stone-faced batalins stood at attention guarding the entrance as patrons gathered in a line to get in. One of them picked the drunk off the ground and threw him into the grassy area across from the Pony.
The pastel blue-skinned batalins clutched sharp glaives that were at least two feet taller than they were, and the men had to be at least seven feet tall. Battle axes were strapped to their backs, accompanied by two longswords on each hip. Their matching pastel eyes scanned every person walking by.
Overkill for simply guarding a pleasure house, she thought. Orelia noted a side door propped open with a rock, and an idea struck. Surely someone inside needed healing, and Millie had said the Pony didn’t have witches on staff.
No one came in or out of the side door as she watched from the safety of an alcove across the street, debating what to do. After a few minutes, Orelia made her decision.
She managed to disguise herself amongst a group of rens who were so drunk they didn’t even notice her joining them. She shimmied out through a gap in their sloppy group, hurried up the steps, and slipped into the brothel. She’d just heal a few girls, then be on her way.