“Oh, then we ignore it?” he asked sarcastically.
“No,” she drawled, lifting her gaze skyward as if praying for patience. She took a deep breath that strained the laces of her chemise and Aryn wished she had bothered to don a little more than that and her breeches as her nipples pressed against the cloth, the peaks taunting him to madness. “We gather proof. And we let…reinforcements arrive. This snake we hunt, he’s not alone. He has at least two other mages. I am good, quite good. But I am not stupid. And Irian, beg your pardon, there is only so much you can do without a body to call your own.”
“If the stubborn swordsman would let me use—”
“It’s the stubborn swordsman’s body,” Aryn said stubbornly.
“And he has a right to it,” Tyriel agreed. “And I think we should establish that now. Can you offer your bond to no longer try to take over his body simply at your own behest?”
“I took a vow at my death, lady of the Jiupsu. Do you no longer honor vows?” Irian growled.
“We honor them. But you do not honor your wielder when you force your will on him,” she said coolly. “I understand your vow, better than you would think. While you seek to fulfill an honorable vow, forcing your will on another is not an act of honor.”
Irian was silent. And then grudgingly, “No more forcing my will at my own…behest,” he grunted. “But when the need arises…?“
“Your version of need had better have been revised very recently,” Tyriel said softly, an edge to her voice.
Aryn stared at her, hard. And then he turned his head, searching for the flickering form of Irian, but the man had not reformed again. In the back of his mind, he heard Irian’s voice, but not his words, and watched as Tyriel lowered her lashes in acknowledgment, but no words were spoken out loud.
“I think there’s something going on that I need to know about,” he said to Irian.
“No. It’s not your concern,” Irian said. “My bond has been given. I’ll not be forcing my will on you. But y’ must be understanding. My vow, I cannot break, not now, not until I am no more.”
“Bloody hell, you stupid piece of tin, I’m here, aren’t I?” Aryn snapped, resisting the urge to take the blade off and fling it against the wall. It wouldn’t hurt the enchanter any and worse, he knew better than to treat a weapon like that.
“Exactly what sort of proof do we need?” he asked slowly, lowering himself to the floor, shifting Irian to an angle and staring at Tyriel with hard eyes. “And why do I get the feeling you’re going to send me to this house?”
“Have you any idea how many times I’ve heard ‘poor Tyriel’, or worse—’she must not be very good in bed if he has to wander so much’. Look at it this way, darling. You owe me.” She gave him a sly smile. “Otherwise we could have waited until Jaren arrived.”
“Jaren?”
“Back up,” she answered. Her amber eyes gleamed. “One of my father’s men. An elvish…you would probably call him an assassin. He was one of my teachers. He will be here come morning. But you will sort of wander into one of the pubs tonight—I’ve sensed some of his...flock, you could call them and I know where at least a few like to gather after the day is done. You’ll go there, have a drink or day, mingle, then leave.”
Skeptical, Aryn eyed her. “That’s it?”
“You’ll be on the look out for whatever information you can glean.” Her mouth went tight. “They have dark tastes there. Pain lingers like a bloody stain on the night.”
Chapter 10
Aryn stood at the bar, unimaginatively painted black, and drank his ale.
A slim courtesan, barely old enough to be called a woman, stood at his elbow, trying to coax him upstairs with an offer to let him ‘discipline’ her as he chose.
She wore only heavy gold rings pierced through her nipples.
And her eyes were frightened.
Frightened. Most of the girls here were frightened, frightened and broken.
Aryn’s gut churned and rage painted a red wash across his mind until it was a miracle he even see straight.
This poor girl, he wanted to take her away and find her a safe place, some clothes to wrap around her slender body, wash away the paint they had applied to her face.
She didn’t want to be here.
So far, he hadn’t seen a single woman who actually looked pleased about where she was.
He had a healthy respect for the sex trade when the whores enjoyed their work and were treated well, such as those affiliated with the Whore’s Guild.
But this place…it was no guildhouse. It was as far from one as a brothel could be.
He wanted badly to take the young woman at his side out of there, wrap her in his cloak, take her someplace warm and safe.
Yet he hesitated.
Tyriel’s words lingered in his thoughts. It wasn’t just her words that kept him here. The very place made his skin crawl. The iron-rich scent of blood. Bitter smoke that came from no wood-burning fire. The cloying taste of fear that lay on the back of his tongue.
There was something else going on here besides a whorehouse where the women, and a few men, were treated like chattel by clientele.
If he took this sad little waif out of here, it would destroy his chance of helping the others he sensed were trapped. So he told her no, trying to act as though he was just curious about the place as he offered her a flirtatious smile. “Maybe next time…?”
“Eira,” she said with a sad smile before she left to go find somebody else. Only problem was, he had been the only one who didn’t look at her like he’d enjoy hurting her.
Aryn blanked his face as he watched one patron bend his whore over his lap and administer a spanking. He didn’t have a problem with spankings—but then the man stood and had her unfasten his breeches right there as the young woman’s face flamed with humiliation.
Now that, he had a problem with.
She shook and fumbled as she realized how many people were watching her.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“Anybody can cut in,” a silken voice offered. “And if you pay…oh, twenty-five silvers, she’s all yours. Of course, Eira would be disciplined since she offered for you first.”
Aryn turned his head and met a pair of boldly painted blue eyes and a slicked red mouth. The woman staring at him had to be none other than the madam. Dressed in a rather elegant evening gown that was a buffer against the cool night, while her whores wore nothing.
Aryn set his ale down and started to decline, but then he saw the whip being pulled out across the room, Eira trembling as she cringed away from one of the uniformed guards.
Grimly, Aryn reached for his money belt instead.
“How much for both?” he asked, sending the madam a smile.
“I think I’d rather have you for myself.” He watched her eyes settle on his mouth and she hummed slightly. “Too bad I have a policy of never taking a customer to bed.”
“But I didn’t offer for you, did I?” Aryn bared his teeth at the viper before him, ignoring the flash of insult in her eyes. “The ladies? How much?”