30

The Fellhome Bar, Triah

CODE TOSSED BACK ANOTHER whiskey, hardly having time to taste the stuff as it burned its way down his throat.

“Another,” he grunted, slapping the bar. The innkeeper grunted in return, reaching for the most accessible bottle, and poured another swig into Code’s glass.

He had a lot to think about. This business with the vampires, first of all. Goddess be damned, he’d never thought the creatures had such a presence in Triah, let alone that their powers could be so… broad and terrifying and peculiar, all at once. He’d informed Kosarin about the details he’d gleaned of the Coven, of course, and he was sure the Nazaniin would investigate the presence further. Code just hoped he wouldn’t be part of it.

Breaking into Canta’s Fane had been exciting, until Cinzia had insisted he remain outside the bloody door. He hadn’t even been able to go with them to the Triunity’s quarters, let alone the Vault itself. And he’d been curious about it, too. Damn the ex-priestess for ordering him around, and damn himself for letting her do it.

He still had no evidence of who had brought Alain and Morayne to Triah, though he suspected one of the Triad members had a hand in it. Alain and Morayne had mostly stayed out of sight, thank the Goddess. It wouldn’t do to have the former crown prince of Maven Kol strolling about Triah during all this chaos. The two of them wanted to visit the Odenites, and the tiellans on the cliffs, of all things. Code would be damned if he let them go more than a few blocks away from their inn, let alone out of the city.

Then there was the business that had gotten him involved with these insane people to begin with: Knot and, ultimately, Winter. He still had yet to make contact with the tiellan woman—Oblivion, Knot had yet to make contact with her, and the two were married. Code had informed Knot of Winter’s presence on the cliffs just the other day, but instead of going to see her, he’d remained in the Goddess-damned Odenite camp. There was no way Code could reach the infamous Chaos Queen until Knot did so.

Which, he was slowly beginning to realize, was fine by him. Kosarin’s orders appealed to him less and less, lately. Other things appealed to him far more.

For that matter, there was the ex-priestess’s claim that he had come to her, confessing his sins, some Penetensar years ago. That didn’t make sense at all. He could remember doing something vaguely along those lines when drunk, once or twice, but he was sure he would have remembered Cinzia. Beauty aside, Cinzia had something about her…

Code shook his head, and knocked back the glass of whiskey that had been waiting for him, the burn calming him all the way down into his gut.

“Let me guess: you’ve had a long day.”

“Long day isn’t the half of it,” Code muttered, slurring his speech slightly. He wasn’t as drunk as he appeared, but he didn’t want to have to pretend to care about whoever in Oblivion was talking to him any more than he had to. Hopefully his disoriented air would throw them off.

“I can help you with that, if you like.”

A woman’s hand on his wrist, then the fingertips slowly making their way up his arm toward his biceps. Code fought the urge to snap out of her grasp and twist her arm behind her body, incapacitating her. His mind knew she wasn’t a threat, but his body didn’t, and right now the two weren’t having the best of times communicating.

“Mm-married,” Code lied.

“I don’t see a ring.”

Goddess, there was no quality more annoying than persistence.

Code turned to get a good look at her, taking in her features. Round face, small nose. Alizian, almost certainly— come to think of it, he should have known by the slight lilt to her accent. Dark hair and dark, narrow eyes, with tanned skin. Something of an ageless visage; she could have seen twenty summers or forty, and Code would’ve believed either. Her simple dark dress, not modest but not particularly revealing, didn’t scream harlot. The strong scent of perfume and painted face could have indicated anything from a noblewoman to a merchant experimenting with new beauty products. But the way the woman’s fingertips grazed back along Code’s forearm told him enough.

“Left it at home,” Code said.

That brought a smile to her face. “Must be a reason for that.” She sidled up onto the barstool next to him, one foot positioned strategically on one of the stool’s crossbars, the leg nearest Code draped casually, the slit of her dress open nearly to the hip.

An exasperated sigh leaked out of him. “You’re not giving up anytime soon, are you?”

“I know what I’m looking for.” Her delicately laced boot grazed his foot.

Code almost left the bar right then. He had no interest, not at the moment. Too much on his mind. A few weeks ago something like this might’ve been a welcome distraction, but… he tried to envision himself with this woman, tried to see their bodies together. She was attractive, objectively speaking, but when he closed his eyes, it wasn’t her he found himself tangling with.

“I don’t have any money,” Code said, his throat dry despite the drink he’d just gulped down. He nodded to the innkeeper. “Another.”

“You’ve got enough money for all the whiskey you’re downing. What’s a few more silvers?”

Code cursed inwardly. His guard was down, just slightly, and he didn’t know why. Just enough for him to make a stupid mistake by saying he didn’t have any money and then ordering another whiskey in the same breath.

That little ex-priestess has got you all out of sorts.

“Look,” Code said, finally meeting the woman’s eyes, “I’m not interested. You’re an attractive woman.” He nodded around the room. “I’m sure you could have any bloke in here. No need to go after me.”

“All the more reason,” she said, a smolder in her eyes that almost made Code uncomfortable. One of her feet brushed up against his, and even after the touch was gone Code still felt the echo of it there, tingling against him. “These other men would treat me as an object. I’ve had my fill of that. You would treat me like a woman.”

Code snorted.

“I’ve been at this a long time,” she said. “I’ve had my share of… unfortunate encounters. We all do in this business.” She rolled her shoulders back, standing a little taller. “I choose my customers, now. And I sure as Oblivion won’t be going back to what it was like before this.”

“None of that means I’ll be taking you home.”

She seemed confused. “You really are different, aren’t you?”

Code rolled his eyes.

The innkeeper, who’d been helping customers at the other end of the bar, finally made his way down to them, pouring Code another glass of whiskey. He nodded appreciatively, and slung it back, his throat and mouth burning.

“Goddess, you’re a poor whiskey drinker. You can’t even taste it like that.”

“Don’t care about tasting it,” Code said. I just want to get drunk, go home, and forget for a while.

The innkeeper was already pouring him another glass.

But the woman didn’t move away, and the silence began to bother him almost more than their conversation.

“Different how?” Code finally asked.

“Sorry?”

“No need for games with me,” he said. “Goddess, it’d be refreshing to drop all the pretense for once.”

It’d be nice to do that with Cinzia.

“That’s how,” the woman said, inclining her head toward him. “You speak plainly. No honeyed words.”

“Every woman’s dream, I’m sure,” Code muttered.

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’m not always this plain-spoken.”

“I’m just that lucky?”

“Guess so.”

Code swirled the glass of whiskey the innkeeper had most recently poured him. He’d reached his limit, but here it was in front of him, and he didn’t fancy wasting a passable whisky. A conundrum for the ages.

“There’s more than that, though, if you care to hear it,” she said.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

She gripped her stool with both hands and scooted it closer to Code. She looked decidedly unsexy while doing it. For some reason, Code appreciated that.

“I’ll tell you a little something about fucking,” she whispered.

Code spluttered into his glass. “Shouldn’t we at least tell each other our names first?”

She smiled at him—was that the first time he’d actually seen her smile? Really smile, anyway, not the fake smile that so obviously came with her profession. With his profession too, for that matter.

It’d be nice to see Cinzia smile like that, wouldn’t it?

Goddess, he was obsessed. If Cinzia knew he thought about her this often, she’d probably never speak to him again.

“Enura,” she said, extending a narrow arm.

“Code.” He took her forearm with his hand, and she did the same. He liked that, too. Not a greeting with a kiss on the cheek or a demure glance, but straightforward and to the point. Businesslike. Perhaps he could like this woman after all— although when he pictured it, once again it wasn’t her body he saw himself moving with, pressing against.

This is what she does for a living, he reminded himself. She discerns people’s weaknesses, tells them what they want to hear.

Goddess, that’s what he did for a living—though he doubted her profession left the trail of dead bodies his did.

“You were saying?”

“Yes…” Enura cocked her head to one side. “What is it about, do you think?”

“What? You mean what you do for a living?”

“And what everyone else lives to do. What is the point of it, for you?”

The point of it. Oblivion, no one had ever asked him that before. “The point… would be fairly obvious, wouldn’t it? To get you both… er, both parties involved, to… um…” Code blushed. He could not remember the last time he’d done that. The embarrassment itself was refreshing.

Enura’s soft chuckling added to both his embarrassment and delight.

“What?” he asked, unable to stop one side of his mouth from creeping up in a half-smile. “I’m not the one that should be embarrassed, it’s you who’s asking the question.”

Enura’s laugh faded, but her smile remained. Her eyes left Code’s, and moved from person to person around the bar. It was late, nearly midnight, but the Fellhome was busy, as it would be for another few hours. The bright fire burned merrily in the large hearth. A darts game in one corner, a card game at a large circular table near the center of the room.

“I’d be willing to bet,” Enura said, “That each one of the people in this room would answer more or less the way you did. It’s about finishing, isn’t it? Climax. And that might actually be what some of them think. But, beneath that response, whether consciously or unconsciously, every single person in this room thinks that sex is about power.”

Code, his eyes following hers as she gazed at the other punters, grunted in surprised agreement.

Enura’s eyes returned to his. “You think I’m right?”

Code ground his teeth, leaning back. “Well, I don’t think you’re wrong, I’ll say that much.”

“And what do you think, Code? Is sex about power?”

Code’s head was too fuzzy to come up with a good answer. “I think that sounds right,” he said slowly, “but I think it sounds wrong, as well.”

Enura nodded. “Too many think sex is about power. One person’s power over another—usually a man over a woman, let’s be honest, but there are always exceptions. Perhaps someone doesn’t feel fulfilled or in control of their job, their life, their relationship. They vent that feeling the only way they know how, one of the only ways they’re taught. Selfishness is involved, too—they want to make sure they get off, and only then do they think of their partner, if at all. But power always takes center stage. Sex is the only way some think they can exert power in their lives, so they take every opportunity and advantage they can. For the already powerful, sex is the culmination of that power. The most personal, complete power a person can experience.”

Code found himself nodding. Though his brain fuzzed against the inside of his skull, he felt what Enura said was true. “You can hardly call that sex, though,” he said slowly.

“Indeed,” Enura continued. “And yet that is all everyone in the Sfaera seems to think the act is about.”

“So…” Code began, but shook his head. He took a few deep breaths, trying to sober up. “If it isn’t about power…”

“Ideally? It’s about forgiveness,” Enura said.

“Forgiveness,” Code repeated. His brow furrowed.

“Forgiveness. Yes. But what I’m talking about has nothing to do with gods or goddesses. It’s just one person with another— or with a few others, what do I care—and choosing to accept that person for all their faults, their foibles. The flab on his belly. The way her breasts hang down. The failure to rise in society, past infidelities, harsh words said the night before… but here they are anyway, together and choosing one another. Never an obligation, always a choice, and all parties involved must make it. ‘I accept you, I love you, and I want you, all of your flaws and imperfections aside.’”

Code found himself shaking his head. “Nobody does that.”

“Not everyone,” Enura said, her voice quiet. Her eyes bored into his. “Certainly not enough. But everyone should.”

Forgiveness. The word echoed in Code’s mind, and with it, the thought of Cinzia. All thoughts of Cinzia, and ultimately the fact that he could not imagine what he would have to forgive her of, and at the same time how impossible it was for someone to forgive him for all he had done.

Something interrupted his thoughts, then, a light tug at the back of his mind.

He was being voked.

He reached into the pouch at his belt, instinctively knowing which stone to grasp, and glanced down at it. A bright green rune inscribed on a dark blue stone.

Kosarin.

Code cursed under his breath.

“Are you all right?” Enura asked.

“I…” Code did not know what to say.

He stared down at the stone, and a realization struck him.

He felt confused about Cinzia, that much was certain. He liked her, but this bizarre conversation with Enura only emphasized the fact that there was no possible connection that could exist between them.

And his troubles went deeper than that. His orders from Kosarin were to befriend Knot, to infiltrate the Chaos Queen’s inner circle and discover her plans, her plots. To use the people who had become his friends, and report all of the intelligence he gathered back to the Triad. But as far as he had seen, these people had no connection to the Chaos Queen anymore—she had left them long ago.

But Code had seen the Nine Daemons at work in Arro and Mavenil—both had been the scenes of terrible massacres. Kosarin’s orders seemed to him counterproductive, if they were to prevent another such massacre—or a greater disaster, one that stretched across the entire Sfaera.

Code had seen such terrible deaths. He could not let that happen again.

And yet, this was Kosarin Lothgarde. He could not very well ignore the man, either. Not to mention the coin and prestige that came with being one of the Nazaniin.

“You sure you’re all right?” Enura asked.

Code puffed out his cheeks. Then he stood, his last drink untouched.

“I thought about making a life-changing decision just now, to be honest with you,” Code said. “But looks like that isn’t in the stars for me.” He tossed a small pouch of silvers down the bar toward the innkeeper, who swept up the payment in one hand and nodded to Code.

Code inclined his head toward Enura. “Thank you for the conversation. I appreciate what you’ve said, but I’m afraid duty calls. I hope you find…” He hesitated. He’d been about to say, “I hope you find forgiveness,” but that sounded ridiculous, even to his fuzzy mind. “I hope you find something good,” he finished lamely.

He left before she could respond, marching right out of the Fellhome and toward the Citadel to see what in Oblivion the Triadin wanted at this hour.