88: EVERY BROTHEL IN THE WORLD

(Kihrin’s story)

I paused and shifted the harp case on my back as we prepared to enter the House of Spring Rains. Much as I was glad to have the harp again, I really needed someplace to stash the instrument so I could travel with something much, much smaller. A flute, perhaps. “So I’m curious. Are we still not talking about Senera?”

Thurvishar glared at me.

I grinned. “She seemed awfully flustered there at the end for someone who you could never possibly be interested in or have a romantic relationship with.”

Thurvishar paused. “I’ll admit that did go somewhat differently from what I’d expected. I just assumed she would never … I mean…” The most spectacularly idiotic smile I’d ever seen decided that would be the perfect time to take up a position on Thurvishar’s face.¹

I slapped him lightly on the chest. “Come on,” I said, “let’s find us a wizard.”

Since it hadn’t been particularly light outside the brothel, it took no time at all for my eyes to adjust to the interior. This was a nicer establishment than the one that we had first entered upon finding ourselves in Bahl-Nimian, but only marginally. I suspected Bahl-Nimian just didn’t understand or see the need for high-class, well-maintained facilities for its sex trade. Sex was something seedy here and was treated as such. Tiny little shops tucked out of the way where they could be ignored or people could pretend they didn’t exist.

But I bet the sword and poison shops were immaculate.

A woman ran this particular brothel, almost as pale as Senera, with bright blue eyes and an easy smile. I held up my hands in a gesture of peace. “Do you speak Guarem?”

She responded with something that made me think the answer was no.

I clapped a hand on Thurvishar’s shoulder. “You’re not ducking out of this one.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Thurvishar put a bright smile on his face and walked forward. He initially wasn’t even trying to speak the same language as the woman. However, as he said things in Guarem and she responded in whatever she was speaking,² I realized that her language had a whole lot of loan words from Guarem, and I could almost but not quite follow the meaning. Sometimes.

After a bit of haggling and a whole lot of what was often hilarious pantomime, a great deal of money changed hands. She was grinning at the end, and why not?

She led us to another door, which led to a bar. Or rather it led to a place where one could, if one was so inclined, drink oneself senseless before or after indulging other appetites. It was as clean as the rest of the velvet house, meaning no place I’d ever want to actually drink—or do anything else, for that matter, including spill blood.

Thurvishar spotted our target right away.

I’m not sure what I’d been expecting. He wasn’t particularly imposing, although he was taller than the average Quuros, with curly black hair. He didn’t quite possess Relos Var’s excruciatingly well-crafted normalness, but I wouldn’t have glanced twice at him on the street either.

“Gahan!” the woman screamed, followed by what I assumed meant something along the lines of “People to see you.”

The wizard raised his head and blinked. I’d been wrong on one detail; his eyes were extraordinary. Amber gold and glittering.

He was also very drunk. He didn’t so much look at us as look through us, a distant stare that spoke not only of deep and serious inebriation but of naked grief.

“Might we speak to you in private?” Thurvishar asked.

“Fuck off,” the man said succinctly and put his head down in his arms. As he did, something flashed red, and my focus centered on his hands.

He was wearing a Gryphon Men ring. Just like the one my adoptive father, Surdyeh, had carried. Just like the one Thurvishar’s father, Sandus, had carried—that Thurvishar wore now—inscribed with his father’s real name on the inside. Just like the one I wore.

Sure, maybe there are intaglio ruby rings out there that aren’t magical communication devices, but I haven’t found one yet.

And it was the mark of membership to a secret cabal whose goals were still a bit fuzzy to me, but I knew one thing: Surdyeh had likely raised me in the back of a velvet house on their orders. That meant on Emperor Sandus’s orders.

And I’d always wondered if Sandus had been working with someone else, or worse, for someone else.

The anger I felt rise in response caught me off guard. On some deep visceral level, I knew that Sandus hadn’t really been responsible for Surdyeh’s death, but …³

But Sandus had been my father’s friend. And he’d repaid that friendship by hiding me away in the Lower Circle so I could be raised in the slums of the Capital. Sandus was a poor target for my anger, but Grizzst? Sitting right here, telling me to fuck off.

“Nice ring,” I said flatly.

Thurvishar’s quick hiss of breath told me he’d finally noticed.

Grizzst wiped a hand across his bleary eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I stole it from a baby. Now piss off before you make me angry. You’re interrupting my drinking time.”

I reminded myself that this was a deadly wizard who could probably turn us both to a fine sludge even if he was too drunk to stand. Beating the crap out of him wasn’t practical, no matter how much I wanted to.

And, oh Veils, how I wanted to.

I set my hand down on the table in front of him. “Ask me if I care,” I said, “Grizzst.”

Thurvishar looked around as if he was worried who might have heard me say the name. He also seemed a bit surprised by my anger. I suppose he just hadn’t put together exactly what Grizzst wearing a Gryphon Men ring meant. Or what it meant to me.

Grizzst turned to face me, looked me up and down, and started to say something. (I assumed it would contain his favorite four-letter word.) Then he recognized me. I saw the moment he did, the look in his eyes as he figured out just who was staring down at him. He cursed under his breath and stood, knocking over his chair in the process.

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered. “Somewhere private.”

He led us through a battered door into a chamber that appeared to be used for all sorts of purposes and never cleaned. He rubbed his eyes, leaned against the wall, and then immediately wiped his hand as he came into contact with something unpleasant. He swayed in place, gazing unsteadily at the two of us. “What do you want?”

“Let’s start with sobering you up,” Thurvishar suggested. He held none of my anger. Indeed, he was gazing at Grizzst with quite a bit of affection.

“Kid, I haven’t been sober in twenty years,” he growled. “And that was just for a special occasion—”

The bastard actually looked in my direction.

“Yeah, okay,” I said. “Thurvishar, open a gate. Let’s not have this conversation here.”

Grizzst straightened. “Good idea. Avoids any colloidal … collaterval … collat—” He paused. “No sense wrecking the place.”

I crossed my arms over chest and gave the man a thin smile. At least he realized how this was going to go.

Thurvishar shot us both a worried look, but he opened the gate. The destination on the other side appeared to be someone’s messy study or library, which was somehow even more in need of cleaning than the room we were in. Impressive. I honestly hadn’t thought that possible.

Grizzst focused on the gate, the room beyond it, and then he drew back in shock. “What the hell?”

“I thought we might want to go someplace where you’d feel more comfortable,” Thurvishar explained. “I promise I’ll explain how I know that later. Just not here.”

Grizzst blinked. “You’d better, or I’m turning you into a goldfish and feeding you to the giant carp that lives in my lake. Fuck.” He sighed and passed a hand over himself. He immediately shivered and looked bright-eyed and sober. He did something—probably cast a few spells—and then marched through the opening.

I caught Thurvishar’s eye, shrugged, and then followed.