Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The black ribbon
Nik
Viridian-green feathers drifted lazily across the table and tumbled over the edge, caught in the soft breath of evening air that slipped in through the open balcony doors. Of course. That’s what I got for leaving the lid off the container. I should have shut it when I’d thought of it.
I placed the fine-tipped paint brush down on the tabletop, its bristles hardening from a blob of clear glue.
My gaze travelled over the small glass pots filled with coloured paint that littered the table’s surface.
To my right, a tin lay on its side, spilling wooden spools wrapped in metallic silk threads—purple, blue, and green gleaming like dragonfly wings.
Sharp silver hooks, and invisible line took up residence inside a canvas bag to my right—the one I always carried when I went fishing.
The wooden legs on my chair scraped against the floor as I stood.
Usually, I loved to get lost in the art of tying flies and streamers for my rods.
There were so many different ways to recreate the colourful bugs that caught the eye of fish.
Father had taught me how to make different designs using all of the supplies scattered in front of me—including the feathers.
A sigh escaped my lips as I collected the runaway plumes. There was no joy in creating today. My mind was too lost. The quiet of my home too loud. Maybe Adalia was right. Perhaps I should get a pet—or finally settle down. Start a family.
The sweet scent of honeyblossom trees drifted up from the streets below, carrying on the gentle breeze that drifted through the still open balcony door.
Spring lingered at the edge of the season, close enough to taste.
Soon, the trees that lined the cobbled roads would be heavy with bloom, their branches bowing under the weight of pale petals and cloying perfume.
I picked up a loose thread. Cerulean. It reminded me of The Night Jewel’s hair, though her strands shimmered even brighter than this.
Warmth bloomed in my chest at the thought of the feisty woman with the eyes that matched the deepest depths of the Drayton Sea—the woman whose brief touch ignited something in me that I hadn’t been able to shake.
I glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen.
It was almost time for me to head into The Grey.
Back at the compound, I’d asked some fellow Lightner soldiers where the Silver Finch might be, but it didn’t show up on any of our maps.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to find it, but there was a very good chance that if I waited outside a tavern long enough someone would drunkenly slur its whereabouts.
I couldn’t focus. Even if I tried to sit back down and concentrate, there’d be no point. I’d probably end up making a tangled mess that would be unrecognisable to any of the scaled species.
After packing everything away, I bathed and dressed in all black.
Trousers, boots, loose tunic tucked in, and a floor-length wool cloak.
If I was going to find a lady of the night, there was a chance I’d have to reveal myself, so I needed to look the part, like a wealthy man who had coins to spend, even if it was just a facade.
~~~~~
Bitter wind danced around me while I waited outside the Grinning Fox, leaning against its stone walls, arms folded and hood up.
I’d been here for over an hour, but was yet to eavesdrop on conversations that would lead me to the Silver Finch.
However, the night was still young and patrons hadn’t had their fill of booze yet.
I’d have to be patient for a little while longer.
The golden sun had long set, taking any heat with it. I was pleased I’d opted to wear the thickest cloak I owned. How the Shadowkin fared in this climate, I didn’t know. Lucius' warmth warmed all the way down to the marrow of my bones, the perfect temperature at all times.
A jolly tune tumbled from the tavern window, glowing with firelight and blurred silhouettes.
The fiddle’s screech tangled with the stomp of boots and the bard’s rough tune—a song that grabbed you by the collar and wouldn’t let go.
The floor shuddered with every beat, the air thick with sweat and spilled ale.
I couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound.
I remembered nights like that when I was alive.
Cold outside, warm inside, music too loud and ale too cheap.
Back then, that was enough to feel like life was good.
Voices grew louder as two well-fed men stumbled out, laughter slurring on their tongues, their fur-lined cloaks swaying as they clapped each other on the back.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ve been saving some extra coins so I can have a taste of her—The Night Jewel,” one of them muttered, eyes gleaming with drink and something darker.
The male with the burgundy velvet jacket grinned, his yellow teeth gleaming under the oil streetlamps. “First your cock, and then mine.”
My head swivelled in their direction, top lip curling in disgust. The words snagged like a fish hook in my chest. I turned, keeping to the shadows, and followed as their voices carried through the winter air, echoing off the stone walls like a dare.
They veered off the main road, laughter growing sharper as they turned down a dim street lined with shuttered windows and half-rotted doors.
As I followed, I released my glamour, allowing myself to be seen.
My boots crunched softly over grit and frost. This was the kind of place that stank of stale liquor and broken promises—where gambling dens bled coin and dignity in equal measure.
Oil streetlamps flickered weakly overhead, casting shadows that twisted and mocked, but I kept my focus locked on their swaggering forms. If they knew where she was, I’d find out.
They led me to a dully lit two-storey building buried in the shadows at the very end of a long winding street. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it—though I suppose rutting pigs always know where the trough is.
I shoved my hands into my trouser pockets, teeth clenched, a shiver rippling through me as if the very air had curdled.
This was it. This was the Silver Finch.
From the shadows on the other side of the street, I watched as the two men I’d been following stumbled up the steps and through the front entrance. Music and laughter poured onto the cobblestone for a moment, before it was muted by the door closing.
I kept to the shadows, watching—waiting. What for? I didn’t know. My gaze traveled to the hand-painted wooden sign that hung from the first story roof. I’d never been inside a brothel before, never had a reason too.
Movement from the room on the second floor caught my attention. A shadowed figure climbed out of the window. My brow pinched together.
Curiosity overcame me, and with one quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, I put my glamour back on and pushed off the ground. My wings unfurled around me as I hovered in the sky.
A few beats later, I landed gently on the slate tiled roof. I wasn’t prepared for who I might find. There was a high chance I’d come face to face with a sleazy male who thought he’d rut and run. Escaping from the rooftops.
However, I found her . . . The Night Jewel.
She sat perched on the windowsill, knees tucked to her chest, feet hidden beneath the folds of her lilac robe.
Eyes lined with coal—though void of light—glittered under the black, velvet sky.
Dark lashes dusted her cheeks every time she blinked.
Twice I’d seen her with her cerulean hair tumbling in waves down her back, but tonight they were pinned on top of her head in a loose sort of way.
My breath hitched ever so slightly. She was so beautiful that even the stars might have paused to look at her.
A black ribbon kissed her throat with its satin touch, but beneath it, I could see the purple and grey markings mottling her skin. Heat surged through me, a burn I couldn’t shake. My fists curled without thinking, nails biting into my palms. Instinctively, I wanted to reach for her.
What kind of brothel lets their most prized jewel end up with bruises on her skin? Better yet, what kind of soul lets the women under their roof be hurt?
Between her fingers, she balanced a stick of rolled paper, its end alight with a burnt-orange glow. She brought it to her lips, dragging a deep breath into her lungs before releasing a cloud of curling smoke into the winter chill.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, relishing in its effects. Was it for pleasure? To combat the pain? I needed to know more about her. I wanted to hear her story from the lips that rarely turned upwards.
Perhaps the king wanted me to show her that even in the darkness there was light?
“Sapphire!” a voice called from the other side of the door in her room.
Her head swivelled in the direction of the sound.
Sapphire. That’s her name?
No wonder they called her The Night Jewel.
She quickly snuffed her cigarette out on the sill, swinging her legs around and ducking inside. “Coming!”
I remained, leaning against the side of the house as she closed the window.
Once she’d moved away, I stepped closer, peering in.
The glass was clouded at the edges, but I could still make out the shape of her room—small, plain, but kept with care.
A folded blanket at the end of the bed. A single candle flickering low beside a small, gold edged mirror.
No clutter. No luxury. Just enough to survive.
My gaze lingered on the worn chair by the window, her shawl draped over it like she’d just slipped out and might return any second. Quiet. Tidy. And somehow, it made my chest ache.
I needed to find out more.
Pushing off the roof, I leaped into the air, my wings pushing against the current. I couldn’t reveal myself here. Too many men gathered outside the Silver Finch. So I flew to a dark alleyway, dropped to the ground, and removed my glamour—obviously keeping my wings hidden.