With her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel, Becka grabs me by the scruff, leaning back, her warm breath running along my ear. “You try sitting still with this fat harpy squeezing you like a cheap whore.” She grits her teeth, glaring at the Madame who threatens to squeeze her breast till it pops. 

“This harpy has claws,” she returns to examine Becka’s piercings. Digging between the golden globes, hugging Becka’s nipples. “Honestly, it’s always a hammer and nail with soldiers.” 

“Can you get them off?” I finish by applying a damp cloth to my work.

“I suppose I have the tools to cut them off.” She looks to Becka, who covers herself at the Madame’s choice of words. “The clips, not your nips,” her eyes dig into me, looking for an opening. “You know you’re the last person I thought who would own a slave Colton.”

The Madame was always a shrewd businesswoman, but she did show me kindness. Back then, I opened up to her. But after she cast me out for helping Whisper, our relationship was strictly business. “It’s not by choice,” Becka gives me a hurt look. “But it’s not all bad.” She grins at my relief. However, it ends when the Madame stands.

With only a pair of trousers and a shirt between us, Becka and I dress, following her out of her private bath. Though the sweet aroma floods my nose, I don’t feel like I’m in a dream. Whatever Whisper gave us is working its magic. Even as guests enjoy their distractions, a few give us unwelcome stares, but I don’t care anymore. A lesson the Madame taught echoes in my ear. All they care about is what they can get out of you. When girls learned who I was, a couple of them tried their luck, hoping to get pregnant so they could blackmail me. Thankfully, Aunt Luna’s herbs stopped that from happening.   

When their little ruse came to light, Giselle lectured me for letting my guard down, and the Madame worked me like a dog to make up for the money the girls lost. I hate admitting to myself, but I was glad to leave. Though the guard tower was unpleasant, I didn’t have to worry about a knife in the back. 

We climb the stairs, scurrying between patrons offering the Madame thanks—a few offering gifts that quickly disappear from prying eyes. The plane bar, once filled with mugs of ale, now had a carved mural depicting every depravity imaginable. The few tables once filled with drunkards eyeing up the girls are now decorated with perfumes and oils that only the wealthy can afford. 

“You’ve done well,” I say.

“I’ve been at this a long time, my little soldier.” She turns her arms wide open. “Now I get to enjoy the fruits of my labors.” She gestures to us to follow. “Come, we’ll talk about payment in my study.” She leads us past some gruff-looking guards into a familiar hallway. Like the bar, murals litter the walls, enticing guests to pleasure for a price.

“Right,” one of the girls offers a drink from her tray, but I decline. I want to get this over with and go home. “And who’s dick did you have to suck to buy out the competition?” Becka raises an eyebrow, holding in a laugh. “Last I checked, your neighbors weren’t keen on selling.” 

I remember the Madame’s ambition; she wanted to expand her influence. But it is a cutthroat business. Yet, in less than a year, she made impossible gains. “Colton, a woman doesn’t kiss and tell.” A faint grin leaves her dyed lips. Nails between the cracks, she opens a pair of doors hidden in plain sight. “Come on.”  

Entering her study, we’re met by a Madame’s attendants. Glinting head to toe in gold accessories, the warm light of the afternoon only adds to their allure as it flickers between the silk drapes. If we weren’t in a brothel, I’d have mistaken for nobles’ daughters.

One smiles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, her hair ornaments ringing like a wind chime. She whispers into her friend’s ear, earning a giggle. Scurrying away when I meet their stares, their attention either on a wall of scrolls or eyeing various items on the tables.    

A year ago, this room housed plants for brewing alcohol and other vices to get people to spend their hard-earned coin. But now, no matter where you stepped, something elaborate stood in your way. Fancy tables are littered with gifts from wealthy patrons to marble statues of holy figures. 

At the center of it all is a desk carved from northern pines, blanketed in eastern silk, with precious stones from the sea of Mem acting like little islands in a sea of purple fabric. 

Becka bumps into me, dumbfounded at every little glint and shimmer, reminding me of a crow. The Madame snaps her fingers and gestures for us to follow her. Climbing the stairs, we join her out on a balcony. From here, the area below looks different. Safe from the intoxicating mist, the creatures tantalizing the guests are no longer otherworldly, just performers in elaborate costumes.

The Madame clears her throat, sitting at a small table with a bottle of wine. Becka enjoys the view, so I join her, refusing the wine she offers. “I’ll remove the piercing.” She swirls her goblet, admiring her crimson prize. But I expect payment?” she takes a sip. “I’m not running a charity,” she says, placing her drink back on the table.

My gaze falls on Becka, who’s leaning on the railing, her tunic barely covering her ass. The events in the bath flood my mind, but Becka’s flushed glare brings me back to reality. She tries covering her ass but settles for sitting on the edge of the balcony. “Perv,” she mutters, but I swear a grin escapes those lips.

Crossing my arms, I lean on the table to gather my thoughts. “Becka’s piercings are mostly gold. I will pay you with one, but I want the other for yourself.” 

“Oh, Colton, I would have taken that offer a few months ago.” 

What is she getting at? Gold is gold; it’s unlike her to reject easy money. “It’s not like you to reject money.”

She gestures to the area, “Look around you,” her ringed fingers shining in the sun. “I have more gold than I’ll ever need, no,” pulling a small crystal decanter. “I’ve gotten a taste for something more refined.”        

“No,” I clench my fist, hiding my frustration under my breath. Many arena fighters have perfumes made from their sweat. My Aunt Iona is no different. However, she refused to give it to anyone but her closest friends. She has no right to ask for such a gift. “Ask for something else.” 

Unsatisfied with my answer, the Madame takes another sip from her glass. “Do you remember Atius? That boy you threw out of my establishment last year?” Those eyes peer over her cup like a pair of suns on the horizon. “He was found dead in an alley today. His head crushed like a melon, and his slave was covered in cuts, his throat slit like a pig.” 

My heart drops into my stomach, and panic rushes through my body. Keep calm, I chant in my head. You covered your tracks. There is no way she could know how things played out. I glance over to Becka, who rubs her shoulder, agitating her wound. She winces, looking at her hand. She’s relieved at the lack of blood, pulling out one of her dagger hilts tucked between her breasts. When she sees my staring, the hilt disappears between the mounds, crossing her arms, refusing to meet my gaze.

Shrugging my shoulders, “The streets just aren’t as safe as they used to be. Atius’s drinking problem likely didn’t help.”

“Indeed,” the Madame finishes her drink, placing the glass on the table. “I told him time and again that his drinking would be his downfall,” She looks between Becka and me. “Whisper said the two of you were injured when you arrived.” She focuses on Becka. “Tell me, how did you get that gash on your shoulder, girl?

A finger stops me from uttering a word. Dammit, she’s testing us. Glancing over my shoulder, Becka twirls her slave tag between her fingers, ignoring the Madame’s question. When she sees us looking at her, the Madame repeats the question. Looking to me for answers, I can only gesture to the Madame.

Standing, Becka walks towards us with her arms crossed. “We cut through the alleys,” she looks at me, continuing. “Someone jumped me with a knife, trying to steal this,” she holds the shiny slab of metal dangling around her neck. “I fought him off,” Rubbing her shoulder. “He got me on the shoulder.” She wraps her arms around my neck, resting her cheek against me. “Thankfully, Colton chased him off.  

Taking me by the arm, the Madame examines my cuts. “Hmm, that would explain these.” She looks me in the eye like a cat cornering a mouse. “Do you inform the sentries?”

“No,” I pull away from her grasp, only for the cut to open. I apply a handkerchief the Madame offers to the wound, a smear of red dyeing the white fabric. “We handed it, no point in getting them involved.”

“I see,” the Madame pours herself another drink. The cat-like stare is still on her face. “A bit of advice, my little soldier, to report such a crime is always a good idea.” She finishes her drink in a single gulp. “If you don’t, rumors spread.”

What is she playing at? I clench my fist on the table but force myself to relax. I can’t show she’s getting under my skin. “And what rumours would those be?” I can feel hairs on the back of my neck warning me. 

Leaning forward, the Madame rests her chin on her hands. “Stories are racing through the streets that a blonde man and redheaded woman were running through the area where Atius was found.”

Becka’s nails dig into my chest, so I cover her trembling hands, praying the Madame didn’t notice. “You don’t believe these rumors, do you.” My heart starts thumping in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I need to calm down, but the Madame’s smile hides a viper, ready to strike when I let my guard down.

“Of course not,” she tilts her head, her eyes barely a slit, as she continues to smile. “In fact, I would like to stop these rumors from spreading.” She stands, walking to the edge of the balcony. “Your mother has such a burden to bear.” Her eyes land on me, cold as ice, yet she smiles calmly. “I can’t imagine hearing the rumor of her adopted son murdering a noble’s son in cold blood.” She returns to her seat, calm as an autumn breeze.

Now, it all makes sense. I lean forward, weighing my opinions. I can’t give her the perfume, but if I don’t, word of what happened will spread. It gets harder to breathe, and I can’t focus, but Becka pulls me into a hug from behind. My heart stops pounding, and the haze starts to clear. I cup her hand on my shoulder, telling myself it will be ok.

A glint from the curtains races across my eyes, pulling me from my thoughts. Without a thought, I shield Becka with my body, reaching for where my blade would be. I step back until Becka’s piercings are pressing into my back. I don’t hear the cocking of a crossbow or the twang of a bow. Instead, the head of an axe creeps through the curtains, pulling them aside, revealing the wraith in the shadows. Stepping into the light, a man clad in leather and fur joins us on the balcony. I know this man. Those cold blue eyes make me uneasy, just like the day he came to the estate.

“Hunter,” I say

“The two of you were due back hours ago.” He steps forward, ignoring the attendants, and panickedly apologizes to the Madame. “Your mothers were worried, so they sent me to fetch you.” 

Standing, the Madame eyes Hunter head to toe. “Who are you? How did you get past my security? Was that a twinge of fear or admiration in her voice? 

Looking her in the eyes, Hunter keeps his composure even as one of the guards rushes out with a hand on his sword. His cheek is bruised from a blow to the face. “Madame, are you ok?” He says through panicked breath.

Her answer, was a flick of her wrist, telling the guard and her assistants to leave. Though hesitant to leave their mistress, they comply, though I’m sure they’re not gone. “Now, I’ll ask you again, who are you?”

Holstering his axe, Hunter looks coldly at Becka and me. “I work for ambassador Giselle. These two were due hours ago, so Giselles sent me to find them.” 

“I see,” the Madame returns to her seat. “Well, we were just negotiating.” She slides the decanter to the side, giving her arms a resting place. “Colton, I can silence these rumors, but it will cost you more than your aunt’s perfume.” She eyes me, ready to go for my throat if I don’t play her games. “Think about your family, little soldier. Surely it’s worth the price?”

Her fake niceties make me want to vomit. Behind those honeyed words is a venom that could tear my family apart. If I don’t give her what she wants, she could hold that debt over me for the rest of my life. 

I look at Hunter, whose calm has remained unchanged since his arrival. He walks up to the table, reaching into his cloak. “I agree.”

Why would he agree? Is there something I’m missing? 

“I believe we can come to an arrangement.” Pulling out a sphere-shaped sack, the stench of rotting meat hits like a hammer. “Silence for silence.” A dark red liquid oozes from the fabric. We all know what it is, but none of us say it aloud.

The Madame pales, yet she keeps her composure. Straightening her back, she looks at the rotten sack spilling blood on her expensive table. Though she stands her ground under Hunter’s gaze, it is like a cornered mouse against a lion.

“Ambassador Giselle has had me hunting smugglers since before this attack on the frontier.” He walks behind us, leaning on the balcony’s edge. “For years, holy sites have been desecrated for their herbs.” He takes a deep breath. “Herbs that are now being used here.” He turns around, sitting on the balcony’s edge, crossing his arms. “I’ve been working with these herbs my whole life. So, I hope you were not aware of this sacrilege.”

Sighing, the Madame joins Hunter on the balcony’s edge, “If these herbs were stolen from the north as you claim, I can assure you I had no part in it.” She rests one hand over her heart, playing innocent.

Hunter walks to the table without a word, unraveling the sack and the fumes erupting like ash from a volcano. The skin is pulled tightly against the bone, and the nose is curled back like a pig. Dried-out lips leave a grizzly smile, with eyeless sockets completing the look of terror. Grabbing it by the little hair felt on the head, Hunter’s gaze returns to the Madame.

“Before life fled, this poor wretch gave me names in exchange for a quick death.” Hunter puts the head back on the table, making a wet, squishy noise. “I’ve been following these trails, which led me here.” He gestures to the district.

“I admit the man decorating my table was known to me, but again, I had no idea where he acquired his goods.” She goes to the table, eyeing the head. Cup in hand, she finishes the few drops of wine. “However, I fail to see how his demise would pay for my silence regarding a lord’s murder.”

Standing next to the Madame, Hunter looks out across the district. Stoic as a statue, he rests his hand on his axe, pointing at Becka. “The man who took out your northern garrisons.” He stares with cold eyes, making it clear how serious he is. “Is her father.”

“What?” I look at Becka, who is trying to avoid my gaze. “Becka, is this true?” she refuses to answer, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck. “Becka?” 

She trembles, hanging for dear life, calming down when I take her by the hand. I can see why Becka wouldn’t say a word if it's true. Her father sounds like a monster. Looking at the Madame, she agrees with my sentiment.

Hunter turns his attention to the study, his hand still on his axe. “The girl and her mother’s capture have given all the justification Baer needs.” He pulls his axe out, “If word were to reach him about his daughter’s mistreatment or how the Empire was smuggling sacred herbs.” He let the handle slide through his fingers until the pummel kisses his hand. “Many more northerners would rally to him.” He says in a cold tone. “But if the smugglers were all dead, and these rumors were silenced, it would be in the Empire’s best interest.” He turns, towering over her like a mountain. “All the smugglers are dead, right, Madame?” The glint of his axe shines as he raises his arm over her head.”

“Yes, I believe he was their leader.” She points to the head, sighing when Hunter sheaths his weapon. “A pity, I’m going to miss being able to purchase such lovely herbs.” She looks behind her, finding a faint smile on the hardened warrior’s face.

Taking her hand, Hunter gives it a gentle kiss. “Thank you for your hospitality, Madame. I’ll ensure the right people know. Now, will you be so kind as to remove Miss Becka’s piercings, and I’ll see if her mother is willing to part with one of her recipes.”

The Madame’s eyes shimmer like gold with the prospect of future money. “Well, then, I have to prepare some appropriate attire. I can’t have her leaving like that.” She claps her hands, ushering her handmaidens out onto the balcony. “Girls, prepare some clothes while I work on our guest.” They both bow, one leading Becka while the other leads Hunter and me to another room.

Closing the door behind us, I find the only pieces of furniture are a table and a chair. I have a shirt and a pair of boots prepared for me. If not for the light from the tiny windows high on one of the walls, we’d be in complete darkness. I get dressed while Hunter leans on the wall with arms crossed.

“Did you intend to kill him?” Hunter says.

I freeze in place, debating on how I should answer. I barely know the man, but my gut tells me he is ok. “No,” I pull the shirt over my head. “He said he’d force himself on my sister if I didn’t let him have Becka.” I sit, sliding a worn boot around my foot. “I didn’t mean to go that far, but he would stop laughing.” I clench my fist, but it doesn’t help. 

Pushing himself off the wall, Hunter joins me at the table. “If he threatened your sister like that, I can see why you wanted to hurt him.” He leans forward, resting his head on his hands. “But by pulling that stone, you may trigger an avalanche.”

I’ll deal with it.” He starts sounding like Giselle, which only adds fuel to the already stewing emotions I’m fighting to control. “Did Giselle actually send you?” I pull the other boot on, tying the laces. 

“Is that so hard to believe?” I ignore his words, which he notices right away. Pushing himself to stand, he walks around the table to stand next to me. “Colton, I know you believe Giselle doesn’t care. She can be cold and distant, but you must know behind all the stoicism that you and your sister are her world.”

I tap the front of my boot on the floor, “Well, we must be talking about two different women.” The bad memories flood my mind, and I feel like that ten-year-old boy again. “I can’t remember a time where she said that she loved me or was proud of anything I did.” I sit on the table’s edge, crossing my arms as I look to the floor. “It was never enough.” I look at Hunter, wondering why I’m sharing this with him. “The only time I saw her happy was when I wasn’t there.”

The door flies open, and I have to hold back a laugh. Standing in the doorway, my redheaded companion scowls in a lovely green dress that hugs her frame. A pair of earrings adorn her ears, creating an upside-down triangle with her slave tag, which has a partner in the form of a polished stone held aloft by a rope. “It had to be a dress,” Becka says, stomping into the room. “Here.” She plops two golden piercings in my hand. “Now we’re even.” She pulls me into a kiss. “And thank you.”

She takes me by the hand, making a mad dash for the door. But Hunter’s hand grips my shoulder, foiling her plans. I turn around, finding those cold eyes looking at me, yet they are softer. “When we return, you, me, and Giselle will have a long overdue chat. It’s about time we clear the air on a few things.”

I pull away. “Good luck with.”