Chapter 33
Riella followed Sehild and Olivier to the salon.
Jarin had vanished into the crowd before she could object to splitting up. Then, she saw the mounted patrol of royal guards heading into the square and understood. He wanted her out of sight and away from trouble.
But where did he go?
“I’m pleased to have run into you,” said Sehild as the trio slipped into a quiet side street. “I’ve dearly missed Yvette and Odeya since they left Klatos. Yvette took off at once to the countryside to study Healing, and Odeya is sailing to Morktland, where she’s from. It’s a long journey by ship, and far too cold for my liking, but she was thrilled at the prospect of going back.”
“That’s good news.” Riella smiled, falling into step beside her friend. Olivier walked behind them. “Any word of Madame Quaan?”
Sehild grimaced. “Yvette didn’t go back for her, I know that much. Certainly, no one has seen or heard from her, nor Gerret. I suppose they’re dead.”
Olivier held a door open for Riella and Sehild to an elegant salon. Once the door was closed behind them, the difference in atmosphere and sound was as pronounced as the ocean and earth. Riella exhaled in relief. She’d not realized how overwhelming she found the festival until she left it.
The salon was furnished in brass and jewel-toned velvets. A maze of narrow corridors leading to nooks and intimate bars was lit with chandeliers and candles. The clever acoustics transformed all conversation into an ambient hum. String music played from one of the bars.
“Let’s have a drink while we wait for your strapping man,” said Sehild.
She winked at the siren, leading her by the hand to a gilded bar. Differently shaped and colored bottles filled the mirrored shelves.
Olivier passed a menu to Riella.
“The drinks here are potions,” he explained. “Enchanted by mages. Pick your poison, so to speak.”
She perused the list. There were brews promising seductive abilities, but also good fortune or heightened senses or the promotion of healing. What she really needed was the ability to find and destroy her enemies at will, which sadly was not on offer.
“Do they actually work?” she asked.
Sehild shrugged. “They don’t hurt, I’ll say that much. It’s a bit of fun.”
“Alright. I shall take good fortune, then, I suppose.”
Olivier and Sehild chose the potion that promised heightened physical sensation.
The bartender mixed their drinks, making an elaborate show of shaking and stirring and pouring. He slid a tall glass of sparkly red liquid to Riella, and shots of dark blue to her companions. The trio clinked their potions together and drank.
The drink was sweet, and delicious, but did not feel particularly magical to Riella.
“This place is leagues better than Madame Quaan’s,” said Sehild, gesturing around the salon. “We work for ourselves, you see. Many of our old clients have drifted over here, which is nice. Although, you’ve got to be careful who you speak to. There’s been some particularly nosy folk around lately.”
Riella put down her empty glass. “Nosy, how? And?—”
She glanced at Olivier, unsure how much to say in front of him.
He bowed his head. “I’ll go and get us a table. Come over when you’re ready.”
The siren felt a flare of gratitude for his tact.
“Go on,” said Riella to her friend when he’d left. “Who’s been nosy?”
After what had happened to Ferrante, the idea of anyone asking questions made her uneasy.
“A series of people I’ve never met.” Sehild absentmindedly traced her fingertip around the rim of her glass, making it sing. “Asking about a map.”
“Yvette stole a map from Artus, remember?” whispered Riella, leaning close to her friend. “You didn’t tell any of these people, did you? Who were they, anyway? Pirates? A sorcerer?”
“Of course I didn’t tell anyone.” Sehild chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Give me some credit, please. They weren’t pirates or sorcerers, that I could tell. Just normal-looking people. I don’t know.” She downed the last few drops of her drink, giving a little shiver of pleasure. “But I figured it was important, for them to keep trying, so I played dumb. I only talked about the map to Yvette, when she came in a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, well, I suppose that’s alright.” Riella frowned. “But you said she moved to the countryside at once.”
“She did. She came back for a patient.” Sehild tilted her head, toying with her long red braid. “The patient was with her, actually. An elf, quite near death, sad to say.”
The siren swayed on the spot, suddenly dizzy. Polinth. Word had obviously spread about the map, and he’d used Glamour spells on Sehild to get the information out of her. Finally, when he’d impersonated Yvette, he’d succeeded.
“Did you mention to her that I took the map?” asked Riella, her heart thudding.
“Well, I suppose.” She arched her brow. “What’s wrong with that? Yvette already knew.”
Riella felt sick. She and Jarin came to Klatos to ambush him, but what if they’d walked into a trap? He already had her Voice. Now he knew she’d read the map, too. He would surely be hunting her.
At least Seraphine had been spotted alive. Riella could still save her. She ground her teeth, a familiar burst of siren rage and determination fortifying her.
Perhaps this was good. She wouldn’t need to waste precious time trying to find Polinth, if he was indeed hunting her. Let him come. She wanted to face him, and she would.
But what became of Yvette? To assume her form, Polinth must’ve met her. Perhaps Madame Quaan survived, and helped him. What a vile thought.
Head pounding with stress, Riella allowed Sehild to lead her to the table where Olivier sat.
“Do you feel the potion working?” asked Sehild cheerfully.
“I don’t believe so,” replied Riella, sinking into the seat.
She felt the opposite of fortunate. And the room suddenly seemed too small, and strangely airless. Her thoughts would not slow down.
Sehild trailed her fingertips across the back of Olivier’s hand while they gazed drunkenly at each other. “I’m feeling it,” she said with an impish grin.
“I need a washroom,” said Riella abruptly, rubbing her temples.
More specifically, she needed water. Cool, peaceful, beautiful water. All she wanted to do was dive headfirst into the ocean, away from her ever-mounting problems. But she could not.
At least not until her death, she thought dolefully. Ferrante said she’d be washed away with the tide. In a bleak way, her wish to disappear into the ocean would be granted.
“I’ll come with you, if you like?” asked Sehild, starting to stand.
Riella stopped her, wanting to be alone. “No, stay here.”
“Oh. Alright. I’ll check on you soon, though. Your pirate friend did charge me with taking care of you.”
“I can take care of myself. But thank you.”
“Of course you can,” said Sehild with a small smile. “But that doesn’t stop people from caring about you.” She pointed at a door leading to a hallway. “Right down there, and turn left. You can’t miss it.”
Riella followed her directions, running her fingers along the wallpaper as she walked down the hallway. The potion had been a mistake. Her stomach churned and rocked, like the sea during a monsoon.
It was strange to think that land-walkers cared about her. Would they mourn her death? Would Jarin? He said he’d kill for her. She’d kill for him, too. But then, violence was in their natures.
He also said he’d die for her. Were they just pretty words, knowing he’d never be put to the test, or did he really mean it? Did he care for her as she cared for him?
Riella was so distracted that she didn’t register the man in the shadowy hallway until she bumped into him.
Four men flanked him, wearing matching brown uniforms with swords on their hips.
“Apologize this instance!” one of them barked.
She focused her gaze on the man she’d bumped into and she groaned.
It was Count Zemora. He wore green brocade and heavy gold jewelry. The jewels had presumably replaced those Riella had stolen from him, flagrantly, right off his fingers and neck while he was tied to a bedpost. So much for the potion of good fortune. This really was the worst luck possible.
She swallowed hard, knowing she should apologize for running into him. Too much was at stake to justify fighting with a courtier right now, especially under the hostile gaze of his bodyguards. Her mouth opened, to say the words, and yet she could not.
“I’ve never in my life given a fake apology,” she said before she could stop herself. “I won’t start now.”
After all, she was dying tomorrow. She would not compromise her values at this late hour. Especially not for a ridiculous man like Count Zemora.
At once, she realized her mistake. The Count’s eyes widened and he began to tremble. His four lackeys moved their hands to their swords in unison.
“I can’t believe you,” said Zemora, taking a step toward her. “The trouble you landed me in!”
Riella balled her fist, preparing to punch him in the face.
“No one has ever treated me so poorly. No one. It was marvelous!” He clasped his hands in front of his ruffled shirt and beamed at her. “And look at you! You’re as miraculous as ever. Such luck, that I should see you again. I’ve thought of nothing and no one else since our little rendezvous at Madame Quaan’s.”
Without tearing his rapt gaze from her, he gave a vague wave at his men. They let their hands drift away from their swords. A pair of them exchanged identical looks of knowing resignation.
“I trust you’ll be at the wedding?” asked the Count. “I’d love to see you there.”
Riella hesitated. Perhaps the good fortune potion had worked, after all. Count Zemora could make her life markedly easier, if he agreed to her request.
“I’d like to go,” she said. “But my friend and I misplaced our invitations.”
The Count held up a bejeweled hand. Despite herself, she considered robbing him again, just for fun. He did quite literally ask for it.
“Say no more,” he said in a pompous tone. “I will personally see that you, and a plus one, are on the guest list. You know it’s a masquerade? Such a pity to cover your face, but alas, the bride and groom have insisted. Rather odd, for a wedding.” He bowed deeply. “It will be my honor to serve you, my lady. And an even greater honor to behold you tomorrow night in your finery.”
She didn’t bother hiding her disgust at this last sentiment, her lip curling. He straightened up, catching her expression, and gave a little squeak of joy.
“May I?” he asked, reaching for her hand to kiss it.
She smacked his hand away. “You may not.”
“Ah! Sublime.”
He gazed at her with such adoration that she couldn’t bear his presence any longer. Forgetting the washroom, she returned to Olivier and Sehild. The two of them were stroking each other’s forearms.
“Are you alright?” asked Sehild as Riella sat down.
“Fine,” replied the siren.
She really did feel better. The absurd meeting with Count Zemora had realigned her sense of purpose. Tomorrow night was the night that mattered, and now she had access to the wedding.
“Riella.”
Her heart leaped at the sound of Jarin’s deep voice. He strode to the table, placing his hand on her back. His skin was hot through the thick fabric of her dress and his face was flushed.
“Thank gods you’re alright,” he said. “Did anything happen?”
Olivier offered him a seat, which he took, pulling his chair close to Riella. He appeared unhurt, although she thought she detected a red smear on the underside of his wrist. In the low light of the bar, it was hard to tell.
He noticed her looking and moved his hand into his lap, out of sight. She decided not to muddy the waters by discussing Count Zemora in front of Sehild and Olivier. Once she was alone with Jarin, she’d tell him.
“Not particularly, no,” she replied. “How about you?”
Jarin shifted in his seat. “Uh, not really. Nothing to speak of.”