Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(32)

“You got yerself some followers,” he says.

I dig into the food, swallowing a hot mouthful of eggs. “What?” I ask, eyes watering. The others share a grim look.

“Two men. Never seem ‘em before, so I guess they aren't taking their eyes off these barracks because they’re taggin’ you for someone,” he replies.

A thought occurs to me. I open my mouth to speak, but I’m cut off. “Not king’s men,” Ice continues.

It’s gratifying to know Jovan didn’t go against my request.

“Can you find out who they belong to?” I ask.

Ice snorts, spraying eggs over Crystal. Shard and I share an amused glance as Crystal picks the bits out of her strawberry-blonde hair, a disgusted expression on her delicate face. “‘Course I can, girly.”

I start to rise from the table, eggs forgotten, but a pointed look from Avalanche has me sinking back down and picking up some bread. He’s as soft as fur despite his scarred features, but he’s still four times my size, and he gets offended when people don’t eat his food.

“I’ve got things to do today. I’ve got to go see Wi-, uh, Leila,” I say.

“You need the tags gone?” Ice asks. I nod.

“Preferably. I don’t want to cause trouble for the brothel.” I shovel the last bite in and stand. This time Shard stands behind me. Across from me, Blizzard folds his arms over his muscled chest and grins.

“You’ll have your chance to visit the whorehouse. But I think it’s high time you did some training. That fancy stuff at the castle has probably taken your edge away,” Shard says.

They do have a point. I have all day. A smile spreads across my face. A little training can’t hurt…

*

I hobble down the laneway in the direction of the courtyard. Training hurt.

I blink as a hunched woman waves at me, displaying all three of her teeth. I swear that very same woman told me to fuck off last sector. It doesn’t stop. As I continue, children run ahead of me, giggling, and toothless men dip their head as I pass.

The thrashing crowd parts like a hot knife through butter.

What on Solis is going on? The habits from my childhood kick in, I measure my gait and relax my shoulders, never once giving away my discomfort. But unlike my mother’s court, the people around me don’t seem hostile. In fact, it seems like ... approval? I’ve seen the masses part for Willow, in lust. And I’ve seen them part for Blizzard, in respect.

“You’ll help us kill ‘em all, girly,” a man slurs. I push him out of the way, then recall Shard’s words about “feeling the difference.”

I look back for the man, but he’s disappeared in the throng of poor. My eyes dart side to side. Did people used to have their heads together in whispered conversation? I don’t remember, but there are several concentrated groups of dodgy-looking men.

I enter the whorehouse and keep my expression neutral at the multitude of naked women before me. At least I know what to expect this time. A finely dressed older woman I’ve seen before but never spoken with whispers to a young girl—I shudder to think how young. The naked girl runs up the stairs and the woman approaches me.

“You are Frost,” she states.

“I am.” I nod. “And you own this … establishment?” I ask politely. The woman gives a tinkling laugh in response. I wonder if she copied it from Willow, or the other way around.

“I can see what Willow means.”

I frown. “I’m not sure—”

She grips my elbow in a clawed hand and directs me to the side. She leans in close, breath sweet. “I must thank you for ridding us of Slay. He was a menace to this world. This house is glad to be free of him.”

I remove my elbow from her grip and level a look into her keen blue eyes. From the limited bits of information I gathered during my time in the Outer Rings, I know Slay raped and brutalized many women here. There’s a connection between the whorehounds, Hale’s barracks, and the brothel. The scum must own, or have power over the whores here. “You’re welcome. He lived far longer than he should’ve. Ursa’s family and the countless others here can rest easy now.”

The woman’s eyes become misty, but she doesn’t trouble to hide it from me. “We are each other’s family. And yes, it’s … easier now he’s gone.” She looks over her shoulder at a group of men, moving away without another word when one scowls in our direction. One of Hale’s men? Or a whorehound?

I’ve always assumed the workers here would leave once they found another way to live, but perhaps it isn’t that simple. Maybe the women here are not allowed to leave.

A chiming laugh lights up the room. A smile spreads on my face. It’s hard not to smile around Willow—the real Willow, that is, not my Ire persona. I climb the stairs to meet the Outer Ring’s most sought-after whore. She takes my hand in a tender hold. I give her a dry look and see her eyes dance with mischief.

“Come, my lover,” she says in a throaty voice. I snort quietly at the deep groans below us.

She doesn’t break character as she draws me up the stairs, giving me smoky looks. A few men trail us up the stairs until she closes the door of her room in their faces. She’s the best whore for a reason. I know many of her clients are from the middle and inner ring. With her long black hair and lithe, barely clothed frame, she drove the men wild, drawing in those around her without effort.