Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
Faolan
There was a time when the Wolf would dock his starlit ship on Painted Claw, and a runner from every brothel would come racing to make their bids.
After weeks of sailing, we’d lie in the arms of the most beautiful people in the Crescent as they sponged us down, fed us fruits and cheeses by hand, and saw to our various tastes.
And in return, we’d spread our coin throughout the city, sampling all of its eclectic wares.
But as with anything, we all had our favorite.
“Welcome to the Tit’s Tempest!”
A tall woman with umber skin and a halo of black curls shot through with gray stretches an arm over her head, silver bracelets clattering together.
A whisper of pink cloth just barely conceals her shape below, caught up strategically by beaded charms so that every movement reveals another glorious tattoo inked into her skin.
Lorcan shoves me aside and wraps her in his arms before I can say a word.
“Good to see you, Mam!”
“Hatchling!” She kicks her legs with pure glee, and I can’t help laughing at the look on Aidan’s and Kiara’s faces, the former going scarlet while the latter glares at me.
“Is this stop really necessary?” Kiara mutters in my ear as her crew filters in.
“You’d deprive my bosun of his mother?” I ask as Lorcan makes the rounds with his “aunts,” letting them hug and kiss him while the others look on with envy. “You said we could track the apothecary before heading to Ashen Flame.”
“And that requires a visit to a brothel why?”
“I’m a patron of the arts.” At her scowl, I snort. “Where do you think I’ve gotten half my information over the years? People like to feck about, then prattle on once their better parts are empty. What, did you not believe me when I told you before?”
It’s a damn wonder my cousin’s teeth don’t break given how loudly she grinds them.
I pat Kiara’s cheek. “Relax. Enjoy yourself—if you remember how. I’ll just have a quick chat with Aidan and my favorite bird, and we’ll all be on our way.”
Ducking around her, I shepherd the lad toward a window, keeping an eye out for a length of flaxen hair. “Now, my dear young king, please tell me that flush isn’t a bit of prudishness surfacing. I can’t be doing with high morals just now.”
He blinks, and a touch of indignation banishes the red from his face. “High morals?”
“Aye. Are you as sheltered as Saoirse was?” I can’t hide my own doubt. “Never seen a breast before—”
“Gods spare me,” he mutters, and grabs a jug of whatever’s on the nearest table we pass, taking a swig before sitting beneath the window. “I’ve seen plenty, but breasts don’t generally interest me.”
“Ah, you’re one for the flute, then? You’ll want to find Declan if he’s about. The lad’s made a proper art of it. Last time we were here—”
“Stars above, I don’t want to hear it.” Aidan moves to cover his face with one pale hand, then stops. Glares at me. “Why do you care about my morals?”
“Because the last thing we need is a barrier to our means of gathering information, and morality has a nasty habit of doing just that.”
His eyes sharpen. “Is that a fancy way of saying you don’t want me telling my sister we’ve stopped at a brothel, or—”
“It’s me saying if you’ve a problem with our tactics, keep it to yourself.
” Rolling my eyes, I reach for the jug of mead and try to ignore the twinge in my gut at his implication.
Even the idea of looking at another person, let alone bedding them down, leaves me feeling hollow inside—like Saoirse’s absence has carved something vital out of me.
I drink long and slow, until Aidan frowns and wrestles the jug back.
“Fine. I won’t hinder your process, but—listen. I agreed to help you find Sionn, but that’s it. Once you have the apothecary, you have to drop me back on Reborn Stalk. I’m king now—”
“And doing a fine job of it, I’m sure.”
Aidan stops talking as I reach past him for an abandoned cup, waiting for some brilliant retort.
It never comes.
Instead he’s wearing a look I’ve seen plenty of times across the Docklands: throat tight and eyes glazed. Before her voice can ring out, I know exactly who he’s seen.
“Look what the tides dragged in.”
“Rowan.” I set the cup down and turn, offering my arms.
Rowan walks straight into them, and for someone so lean, her embrace is nearly enough to break my spine.
Like Rí Callen, Rowan was born on this island and grew up worshipping its shape-shifting god.
Over a decade, she grew from a scrawny kitchen wench whose jawline bore the marks of flour as often as stubble to the Tit’s Tempest’s prize jewel.
Lovely, talented, and wickedly clever, she was my favorite to visit when Declan, Flanna, or Eireen were otherwise occupied.
But when Rowan goes in for a kiss, I turn so she gets my cheek.
“Ah, lass.” I shake my head and let a foolish sort of grin cross my face. “I hate to tell you, but I’ve gone and done the unthinkable.”
“What’s that?” Her voice is a throaty purr—one I used to love listening to while she was tucked against my chest.
I sigh and rock a step back, peeling her arms free as I do.
“I’ve fallen in love.”
She quirks her head, nose wrinkling above her smile. “So I’ve heard. The Wolf Tamer, isn’t it?”
“The very same. But I won’t leave you empty-handed.” Thrusting an arm out, I grip Aidan’s shoulder and give it a slight tug to break him out of whatever odd trance he’s fallen into. “Rowan, this is Aidan.”
Her eyes widen, lashes fluttering like a butterfly’s wings—a trick of glued feathers most of the girls here wear. They almost distract from the catalog she’s making of his fine silk tunic and the pendant crafted like a caipín baís mushroom hanging at his chest. “Rí Aidan?”
What a talent. “Aye, but we’re keeping it quiet. For now.”
“Understood.” Rowan looks at him with renewed interest, then cocks her head when the fool keeps gazing at her. “Is there something you’re looking for?”
“What?” Aidan blinks hard. “No.”
“So you’re just being rude?” An edge enters Rowan’s voice.
Aidan frowns. “No.”
“Then why are you staring—”
“You’re beautiful.” He looks bewildered by the news. “I’m not used to finding women…beautiful.”
She cocks one pale brow, then shoots a smile at me. “I can’t imagine you find much beautiful on an island as dark and gloomy as Reborn Stalk. Odd to think it’s just a stone’s throw away.”
“Odd indeed, but that’s not what brought us here.” I drum a knuckle on the table. “Rowan, my love, have you seen or heard of a walking corpse coming through the Firelight district?”
She stares at me, somewhere between puzzled and amused.
Aidan shakes off whatever stupor he’s been trapped in and leans forward. “The man’s name is Sionn, but I doubt he’d give anyone that. He is tall, thin—skeletal, really—and traveling from Reborn Stalk.”
“Don’t forget the fingers.”
Aidan glares at me, and I try not to take too much satisfaction in it. “Sionn’s fingers are also damaged by his trade: gray and flaking at the tips?”
Her expression clears. “The apothecary with the crumbling hands.”
I pound the table once, grinning. “I told you she was a rare gem.”
“Rare indeed.” Rowan leans back against the wall. “Which is why my price has gone up, darling.”
“Of course it has.” Kiara steps around an amorous couple, that hard look back on her face. “How much?”
Rowan taps her chin. “Double.”
Kiara snorts. “No.”
“Kiara.” I stand, knocking into the table and tipping the pitcher of mead onto Aidan as I do. He swears, but I pay him no mind as I skirt Rowan and catch my cousin by the shoulder, dropping my head near hers. “You want to find information? Track the apothecary—and the relic—down?”
Kiara shoves my hand aside. “If that girl can be bought by our coin, she can be paid off by others.”
The air shifts as heat settles over my body. A storm cloud rolling across my lungs.
It’s the immediacy of it that annoys me most.
Anger used to be something I could shake off without much effort—slipping free of it like an eel through mud and stone. But since the island’s resurrection, and the months I spent trapped on its shore…it’s damn near impossible to let go.
Still, for Saoirse, I try.
“Rowan’s an old friend. She’s the one who gave us the tip on where to find Stiff Wind, and how to survive bottling it—the same stuff that raked you a fortune at the Scath-Díol?
And if you’ll remember, we’ve yet to have competition on that front because she knows how to keep her mouth shut. Believe me, her word’s reliable.”
A muscle in Kiara’s throat tenses as she glances back at Rowan, who’s drying the mead from Aidan’s chest.
I tilt my head. “Kiara?”
“Fine.” She blinks and shakes her head. “Pay her the coin, get the information, just…make it quick.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t need to waste our time on empty pleasures.”
I tilt my head, ready to volley back another argument—and that’s when I see it. Tucked under the wings of duty and honor, hidden by a layer of fuss.
Desire.
Kiara’s arguing with me, but staring out at them—all those bodies draped in the thinnest cotton weave and silks.
Only a year ago, I would’ve buried myself in the lot—spent days nursing whiskey nestled between soft arms or strong thighs.
But now when I try to picture it, I can only see Saoirse.
The press of her lips that first night beneath the mask—and how bloody awful she was at kissing then.
It makes me smile, which makes Kiara frown.
And it strikes me that for all my cousin’s triumphs, and all her many, many faults, she never got to have adventure.
To explore beyond the bounds of herself or her known world.
And even though she loves Aisling, they met when they were both alone and young.
A stab of pity finds its way into my stomach—unfamiliar, and very much unwelcome.
“Right.” I start back toward the table, shrugging it off. “We’ll pay the fee.”
Rowan looks up from where she’s pouring water on Aidan’s fine linen shirt.
“Grand so.” Spitting into her palm, she waits for me to do the same and shake.
Then she straightens, the soft blue gown shifting to reveal most of her narrow back.
“Two months ago, the apothecary docked as the moon waned to nearly nothing. There were already rumors—plenty of people here used his potions from the caipín baís for their art—so it didn’t take much for him to set up a wee shop. ”
“Fantastic.” I clap my hands together. “Why don’t we—”
“I’m not done.” Rowan wrings the shirt out and tosses it back to Aidan.
“The apothecary, as I’m sure you can imagine, wasn’t well-liked.
It wasn’t long before people decided to take him to task for wiping their lovers’ or families’ memories with his nasty concoctions.
Last I heard, the shop was in shambles.”
I stare at Rowan like that might make any feckin’ difference. She offers up a pitiful smile and an even less enthusiastic shrug in response.
All that fire in my chest dwindles to nothing. “You’ll still take us to it though, won’t you?”
“If you pay me up front.” Rowan glances across the room to where Nessa lounges in the lap of a dark-haired man as another braids Tavin’s hair. “I’d hate for you to see how little is left and be disappointed.”
“Fair trade. Kiara?”
I beckon forth my cousin, who glowers but reaches into her trouser pocket for the leather pouch and her coins. She tosses it to me, and I dump half into my palm—ignoring her swears as I hand it over. “Go on, then, Rowan.”
Grinning, she drops the coins into a wee pouch slung at her hips by a chain of silver. “I’ll take you in the morning, after breakfast.”
“Oi,” I say as Kiara shoves my shoulder. “You didn’t say—”
“It’s nearing the witch’s hour.” Rowan waves a hand toward the window. “You arrived late, and friendly as these streets may be, I have no interest in tripping through them in the dark.”
“This was not part of the deal,” Kiara growls, but Rowan just smiles.
“Relax, Your Majesties.” She points a finger to the room. “You’ll find plenty of warm beds to rest up in tonight.”
I clap my hands to keep Kiara from arguing further.
“You heard the woman. Now, Rowan, tell me—Flanna used to apprentice with a master jeweler, did she not?” At Rowan’s nod, I smile and slip a hand back into my satchel, pulling free a bumpy sack.
“Think she still knows her way around pearls?”