Chapter 9
The house had become crowded while Riella was in the washroom.
Prettily-painted women populated the hallway, chatting and laughing softly to each other. They filed downstairs from the second floor, where they resided. The bawdy laughter of men traveled into the hallway from the other direction, at the bar.
“Our guests are important people,” said Madame Quaan as she walked. “You’ll treat them with the respect they deserve.”
“Oh, I will,” replied Riella.
Madame Quaan halted abruptly, turning to glare into the siren’s face, as if trying to detect insubordination.
The madame’s eyes were sharp and hard, like flint. Riella realized Madame Quaan was trying to intimidate her, which made her want to cackle. She could’ve thrown Madame Quaan through the ceiling if she felt so inclined.
But her mirth quickly subsided when she remembered that humans had more ways to hurt and coerce people than sheer force. The women of the house surely feared Madame Quaan for good reason. Riella would need to keep her wits about her and take nothing for granted.
The other women in the hallway averted their eyes as Riella and Madame Quaan came near, as if not wanting to draw the attention and seemingly inevitable ire of their boss.
“Do you know how to please a man?” demanded Madame Quaan in an imperious tone.
“It’s a man,” blurted out Riella. “How difficult can it be?”
Annoyance soured the madame’s features, but only for a second, after which she sniffed in a manner that could almost be mistaken for amusement.
“Be warned, siren, that if you fail to entertain Count Zemora to his satisfaction, I’ll send in Odeya and Sehild, both of whom are far more delicate in disposition than you are, and therefore less suited to his particular proclivities.”
Riella’s stomach clenched. What did the Count expect of her, exactly? Whatever ghastly perversion he enjoyed, she vowed to protect her new friends from him.
Before she could demand elaboration from the older woman, Madame Quaan stopped at a door and tapped on it. A pair of bodyguards in nondescript brown clothing stood at attention on either side of the door, swords on their hips. They were immobile except for their eyes feasting on the bodies of every woman who passed.
“Yes!” called a man from inside the room.
Madame Quaan stepped back and jerked her head at Riella, indicating she should enter.
For some reason, the siren had not reckoned on going in alone. She thought Madame Quaan would introduce her to the Count. Apparently, she was on her own already.
Bracing herself for strangeness or violence or some ugly combination of both, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
Count Zemora was younger and better-looking than she had expected.
He posed by the vanity, a crystal glass full of amber liquid in his hand and his nose in the air. Dressed in luxurious maroon brocade trousers and jacket, with a white ruffle at the chest, he resembled an exotic, slightly ridiculous bird.
His brown hair was meticulously styled and his pale face was freshly shaven. A rather beaky nose complemented his large brown eyes and prominent cheekbones. He wore heavy gold jewelry beset with gems.
At the sight of Riella, he gasped, his eyes widening and traveling the length of her body. “My dear, I am afraid Madame Quaan lied to me.” He placed his drink on the vanity and moved toward her, slowly and at an angle. “When she said she had a siren for me, I was delighted and intrigued. She declared you pleasing to the eye. But you are, in fact, far more glorious than she led me to believe.”
As he came within striking distance of her, she fought the desire to, in fact, strike him.
Instead, she swept the room with her eyes, trying to formulate a plan. There were no windows, and candles in sconces lit the room. The only furniture was a four-poster bed in pale wood with black silk linens. A flat pewter box sat on the vanity, piquing her interest. The Count was clearly wealthy—he would definitely have coin with him. Was it in the box? His pockets? With his guards?
“What’s your name, my dear?” asked the Count, reaching to touch her hair, which was like spun silk after being washed in fresh water.
Without thinking, she smacked his hand before his fingertips could reach her.
He stared at her in shock, his mouth a perfectly round ‘O’. Riella winced inwardly. The Count was a member of the Royal Court. He’d expect deference and licentiousness from everyone he came into contact with—especially someone he was paying for. It’d taken her exactly fifteen seconds to land herself in trouble.
Would he call for his bodyguards, or Madame Quaan? Riella knew she should apologize, and try to smooth things over. While she was prepared to punch and kick her way out of here, it’d be better to rob the Count and Madame Quaan with relative stealth. Less dangerous for her friends, too, who might get caught up in the violence.
And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say sorry. The words refused to leave her mouth. To give an unwarranted apology was too much of a betrayal of herself.
A siren could only take so much. Which was very little at all, it turned out.
Well, he wanted a siren. Everyone knew they were vicious and unforgiving. What had he expected?
Zemora blinked several times, before spluttering in delight.
“Oh, you are lovely. You are too perfect.” He clapped his hands. “Now what?” he asked, looking at her keenly.
Riella blinked in confusion. Was he serious? What now, indeed.
Since he didn’t seem to be upset by her rebuff, she led by instinct. “I want you to get away from me. Now. Stand in the corner, while I search you.”
He almost fell over himself hurrying to the corner of the room, where he stood with his head bowed and his arms at his side. Riella could sense his whole body quivering. What in all the seven seas was going on?
He seemed to enjoy being pushed around by her. Would it truly be as simple as barking orders at him to get what she wanted? It couldn’t be that easy—she had to be missing something.
Of course, he could yell for help at any moment and she’d be set upon by his bodyguards, and possibly Gerret. Despite the Count’s apparent harmlessness, she was still in a precarious situation.
Keeping a wary eye on him, she moved to the wooden box on the vanity, dragging her fingertips across the top of the lid. The Count whimpered pathetically.
The box held an array of polished silver weapons, and coils of black rope. She snorted. It was like Zemora and Quaan were daring her to rob him.
“I know,” he said with a moan, catching the expression on her face. “I am disgusting. You would be right to deride me. I deserve it.”
She exhaled, making up her mind. If she was to save Seraphine, she needed coin. Despite the risk of robbing a Count, the opportunity was too good to pass up. So, in the end, she withdrew the coils of rope.
“Stand by the post of the bed.” She spoke as evenly as possible, because every time she injected feeling into her voice, he enjoyed it. “Put your arms around it.”
He obeyed. She tied his wrists around the wooden post, binding them tightly, followed by his ankles. The whole time, he gave little yelps and sighs.
“Ah!” He grimaced. “That’s tight. I can not escape you, siren.”
“That’s the idea.”
The last thing she did was gag him, using rope. It wasn’t until she started methodically rifling through his pockets that she sensed some reservation in him. He frowned, trying to speak in muffled grunts.
“Too late,” she said as her fingers closed around a small yet pleasingly heavy velvet pouch. “Found what I wanted.”
The pouch was filled with dozens of gold coins. She smiled in relief. Next, she removed all of his rings. The Count curled his fingers in protest, trying to stop her, but her strength far outstripped his own.
Soon, she’d liberated all of his weighty rings and bracelets, adding them to the velvet pouch with satisfaction.
On impulse, she tore off one of his shirt ruffles and blindfolded him, too. The less aware he was of his surroundings, the longer she’d have to escape. As she put her ear to the door to listen, she stuffed the pouch down the front of her dress alongside the parchment.
“You’ll be pleased to know this coin is going to an excellent cause,” she said to the Count. “I’m going to rescue an elf.”
The Count struggled harder, his face turning red.
Steeling herself with a deep breath, Riella opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Before she could close it again, the bodyguards sprang to attention. One threw his arm across her path and the other stuck his foot out to prevent the door from shutting.
“And where do you think you’re going?” asked the guard who’d thrust out his arm, which she was trying very hard to not break in half.
For the second time in one day, she found herself in a serious enough situation to deploy her siren charm.
Riella gazed deeply into the guard’s eyes, lowering her voice and smiling impishly. His eyes hazed over and his jaw dropped open. As much as she liked fighting, she had to admit that crippling men with a mere smile was satisfying, too.
Women had the same skill, of course, although they often didn’t use these powers to their full extent. Probably because women had to live among their male counterparts. Sirens, on the other hand, could escape to the ocean after provoking men.
“The Count requested another girl to help me entertain him,” she whispered, so that he had to lean closer. “I’ll be right back.”
The other guard, who wasn’t under her spell, squinted through the cracked door before she could leave. Riella tensed. The moment he saw his boss trussed up like a trout, the fight would be on.
And he definitely saw. But apparently Zemora being tied to a post was a routine occurrence, because the guard simply gave a quick, embarrassed nod of comprehension. He closed the door and waved his hand at Riella to go about her business.
Flushed with success, she hurried down the crowded hallway toward the stairs leading to Madame Quaan’s study.
Halfway there, she realized she was being followed. The guard she’d hypnotized was trailing her like a suckerfish, slack-jawed and cloudy-eyed. His colleague frowned after him in bewilderment.
She clapped her hands in front of the guard’s face. “Go back to the door.”
He nodded dutifully and turned to leave.
“Wait,” she said with a sudden stroke of inspiration. “I want you to keep the black-robed man and Madame Quaan away from me, alright?”
He nodded again with a dopey smile.
“Now go!”
She shooed him away, not wanting to loiter in the hallway. Madame Quaan and Gerret were around somewhere. To her intense relief, the guard did as she commanded.
Keeping her head bowed, she continued toward the study. She was paces from the top of the stairs when a huge hand clamped down on her shoulder and spun her around. The man who’d grabbed her was familiar, but also, she would’ve never expected to see him at that moment.
“I vow to kill you!” she hissed at him. “Artus sold me for coin, like I’m a curio!”
Jarin towered over her, his eyes serious. “You can kill me later. But right now, a patrol of royal guards are about to raid this establishment, by order of the Countess Zemora.”