Chapter 5
Zyla
Sometimes the secret to a successful hunt is not in the chase, but in the trap that nobody sees.”
— ZYLA BASHKIRIA, AUTHOR OF A brIDE’S GUIDE TO HUNTING THE HUNTER
“Iwant to speak with Rhykus,” I tell the Mouse, when he returns the next morning. He carries with him a bucket of water that’s presumably to replace the filthy bucket in the corner that I hadn’t touched.
The Mouse pauses outside my cell, and I realize I may have been too blunt.
“Please,” I whisper, heart racing with adrenaline.
I’d been hoping for someone new, but the Mouse is perfect. A little weed of a man who finds his bravery in company, but is otherwise weak.
I tugged wisps of my hair free from its confining braid before he arrived, and unhooked the top few laces of my virginal gown so that the bodice clings to the upper curve of my breasts. I said I’d never bow to a man again, but I lower my eyes, just as I did with the Knights of Malus.
Very demure. Very modest. Just don’t look too closely at the slight bulge strapped to my thigh with one of my laces.
Bael watched the entire show, one wrist resting on his bent knee, his head leaning against the wall.
“Don’t stop there,” he’d teased, as I’d tugged my skirts down to cover the blade.
I’d snorted. “It’s not for you.”
“I hadn’t guessed.” He’d seemed amused. “Happy hunting, little lioness.”
He’s silent now, thankfully.
“You don’t want to speak with Rhykus,” the Mouse assures me, turning toward the stairs. “He’s none too happy with you.”
“Wait!” I rush the bars, fingers curling into my palm as I force myself not to be too desperate. “I could… I could make it worth your while. Please. Don’t leave me here. Not with him.”
I cast a stricken look toward the enormous stranger in the cell beside me.
A stranger who is grinning unrepentantly as he rests his elbows on his knees.
I shoot a glare at him, where the Mouse can’t see it. If you thwart my escape attempt, I’ll return your knife, alright. I’ll shove it down your throat.
Bael laughs as if I spoke the words out loud.
“Listen.” The Mouse scrubs at his mouth. “Rhykus has plans for you. They’re not nice plans. He’s still upset about that knife you threw. Give it a few days, perhaps wait for his temper to settle. He’ll be well pleased after this afternoon’s auction.”
“I just want a chance to apologise to him. I’ve changed my mind. I could be a bride. He could sell me off. I can dance. And a man like you… I know you’ll speak for me. I heard you last night, stopping that evil man from hurting me. You were so brave.”
I vaguely remember the swaying of my mother’s people, the bells at their wrists and ankles, the undulation of their hips when they lit the fires and danced to the Blood Moon. It was a gift for the Gods, meant to distract them from their mayhem when the moon burned bloody.
My mother died before I was taught the moves, but I remember watching as Aylin laughed and tried to curve her fingers in the air the way mother did—and failed miserably.
She had no rhythm.
But I do.
“Watch.”
The Mouse turns, his expression resolute as I began to dance.
My eyes lock on him, wrists circling in the air above me, hips undulating in a sinuous rhythm only I can hear…
A sharp intake of breath comes from the left, from Bael.
But it’s the Mouse who is caught in my trap, his suspicion fading as I wrap a hand around the bars and lift myself in the air, one leg striking directly up so that my gauzy skirts fall around my thighs.
Locking gazes with him, I let myself slide to the ground, wilting forward, one palm splaying flat over the floor as I arch my back and lift my ass in a sinuous cat-curve and crawl toward him.
I have him.
I can see it in his eyes.
“Do you think I could be a bride?” I whisper.
“You make it worth my while,” he says, unbuckling his belt with one hand as he fumbles with the keys with his other hand, “and I’ll take you to Rhykus.”
“Of course,” I agree, sitting up, knees parting slightly as I entreat him to enter my cell.
Leather shifts in the cell beside me as if Bael leans forward, but I don’t dare take my eyes off the Mouse.
Eyes on me, little man.
“They don’t let you touch the girls, do they?” I whisper as he unlocks the cells. “You should get some reward for all the work you do down here. First dibs, perhaps?” I tug at a lace, revealing a little more slope of my breast. “Nobody has to know.”
The cell door creaks open.
The Mouse enters hesitantly, but I bite my lip, tugging the edge of my neckline lower, revealing the lace of my corset. His doubts fade as his eyes lock on the hint of rosy nipple there, and his breeches hit the floor.
“You know what they say about a man with his trousers around his ankles?” I whisper.
“What?” he asks, groping himself and tugging.
I spin, kicking his feet out from under him. He goes down with a yelp, and I’m on him, hauling him to his knees, to his feet.
“All of his thinking power has ventured south.” I haul the Mouse back against my chest, digging the knife blade into his throat.
“Don’t move,” I whisper in his ear. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t make me cut your throat.”
A splash of liquid splashes against the floor. By all the thorns of Malus, he’s pissed himself again.
Growling under my breath, I slam the hilt of the dagger into his temple. His weight sags against me and I haul him further into my cell, stained shirt and all.
“I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who fell for that,” Bael growls as I dump the Mouse in the corner and kick him in the ribs to make sure he’s well and truly unconscious. “You are dangerous.”
“I’m dangerous?” I arch a brow at him as I rifle carefully through the Mouse’s pockets, finding another set of keys that might come in handy. Ripping his belt loose of his trousers, I bind his arms behind his back.
Bael slowly smiles. “Consider me intrigued.”
Then his smile slips as I move toward the door.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
Flicking my braid off my shoulder, I grace him with a winsome smile. “I have plans, you know. Rescue the girl. Kill the wicked prince. Burn the manor.”
Bael wraps his hands around the bars, staring at me intensely. “Unlock my cell. I can help you get out of here. There will be more guards than you can handle alone.”
“I’m not a fool. I don’t intend to fight my way out of here.”
Still…
I eye every dangerous inch of him. Men like him aren’t to be trusted. He might have spoken up for me the night before, and he’s seemed more amused with me than anything else, but he still joined this hunt.
He’s only here for one reason.
And that reason means I can’t trust him.
I toss the keys into my cell, not quite close enough for him to reach though. Then I bow with a flourish, “Looks like you’ll have to hold off on that spanking. May the Laughing God favor you.”
And then I bolt up the stairs, determined to find Kari and get as far away from the Fleshmonger and his crew as I can.
Laughter echoes through the upstairs rooms, as well as sensual music.
I managed to locate a diaphanous gown that drapes over my figure, and a tray with a handful of tankards upon it. My thick dark hair tumbles down my back in loose curls, and I’ve even found a glittering gold mask. The second I slipped it on, I became invisible.
Not a single one of Rhykus’ men glances at me twice as I offer them drink, managing to get a good layout of the manor’s auction rooms. Broken Nose scowls at his empty tankard over two bruised eyes, but he has no idea the cause of them is right in front of him.
There’s too much happening around him to pay attention to me. Guests flood the room, an odd array of rich noblemen and well-clothed merchants. The bidders, I guess.
And they’re clearly not competing in the games themselves.
Somehow, Rhykus has managed to create an operation that hunts down prospective brides and auctions them off to outside influences.
Someone is skirting Kasaros’ rules.
I wonder what the God thinks of that?
The girls to be auctioned are being held upstairs in small rooms off a hallway. Two guards are stationed there, according to one of the serving girls. One at the locked door leading to the hallway. One inside it.
I make my way up there and offer the first guard a tankard of mead.
“And one for your friend?” I suggest loudly. “It must be long, lonely work up here, when all the fun is downstairs.”
The locked door opens. The other guard peers through, desperate to see what his friend has procured.
I’ve made an artform of pretending to be some cheerful, helpless woman.
Within two minutes, both of them blink, tankards falling from their hands thanks to a very helpful herb I discovered in the kitchens.
The cook scolded me heartily when I touched it, warning me away from it and telling me all of its very helpful properties.
I suspect it was meant to be used on the more…
combative women. In the right dose, Cook said, it tends to make one mildly buzzed.
In a stronger dose, it will send you to sleep for hours.
The guards hit the floor and I glance over my shoulder before stealing their keys, and dragging them both inside the hallway before someone sees them.
“Kari?” I call softly at the first door.
“Hello?” A girl gasps. “Hello? Who’s out there?”
It takes me half a minute to find the right key and then I ease the door open, revealing two frightened women.
Neither of them has red hair.
“Here,” I tell one of them, pressing a set of keys into her hands. “Start on the other side of the hallway and begin unlocking the doors.”
“What’s going on?” the other one whispers. “Who are you?”
“Just someone looking for her friend.”
Room after room reveals women gowned in virginal white.
I hurry to the last door.
A plaster frieze lines the wall, men grappling each other with bloodied knives, and women caught in their frenzied embrace.
Just as I reach the last door on the right, one of the plaster heads turn, mocking eyes locking on me through its laughing mask.
A prickle slides down my arms, all the hairs lifting.
Kasaros.
I hear his laughter in the distance.
“Rhykus is cheating, you know?” I whisper, because a capricious God is the last thing I want to deal with right now. “And you know how much you’d enjoy it if I burned his operation to the ground.”
The plaster figure smiles, then falls still, the spark of life leaving the warrior’s eyes.
I don’t know if that’s approval or not.
I haul open the door just as Kari and two other girls leap to their feet. Fear is etched across their faces.
“Zyla?” Kari throws her arms around me. “You came for me. Oh, ashes. You came.”
“I came,” I confirm, glancing at the nine women behind me. “Now… Who can serve a tankard of mead? There are a lot of thirsty men downstairs.”