Ivan woke from his dream in a cold sweat. He looked to the shutters over his window and immediately knew his dream had woken him too soon.

Eerie red light shone through his closed window.

He could have slept for another hour, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anymore. Crawling out of bed, he tried to think about the day--or night--ahead of him, singing at his father's tavern, The Siren's Moan.

What ships were in port right now? Three from the Demon-fleet, but they'd been here two days already. Fair coin in them, but pretty much tapped out. Plus, his talent didn't work on Demon-blooded anyway. Two pirate ships just hit port the night before. That was good coin, but they'd get a little grabby, especially with someone looking like Ivan. One merchant vessel from Markishna, definitely unsanctioned, but that would at least be good coin, too.

His father would demand his best.

Ivan sighed. He had to perform tonight. If nothing else, the pirates were easy coin. But damn he hated pirates. He knew one of these days his father would force him to provide 'extra company', and Ivan would oblige. What choice did he have? He should consider himself lucky, he reminded himself.

His father's words rang in his head, again, the thing he always loved to say to Ivan.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and went to his basin to begin washing his face. He'd have to clean up more for his performance, but in that moment, washing his face was his own pleasure. After he'd scrubbed himself clean, he looked up at the mirror. The mirror was the only luxury his father had ever purchased for Ivan, and Ivan wished he hadn't.

The scales stood out on each cheek, though his father assured him that only Ivan really noticed. Ivan wished he could believe his father, but he found that hard to do as he covered the scales with an expensive paste his father insisted he wear for every performance.

He smoothed out the paste, almost removing any trace of the scales, before he applied the other cosmetics his father required.

When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror once more. He had to admit some pride at the fact that he applied the makeup better than any whore in port. He looked smooth and innocent, a beautiful young lad. And he wanted to smash the mirror at that thought and how it made his stomach churn.

Instead, he stripped down and cleaned the rest of his body with the water from the basin. Scrubbing all the dirt and odor from his body. He used soap that made him itch, but his father had made sure he knew not to ever scratch, not even a little, a time long ago. It smelled faintly of the Frost-passion flower. The smell almost made Ivan sick, but if there was any smell that was worse, it was what he applied next.

He plucked the corked bottle from the shelf beneath the mirror. The small bottle needed to be refilled soon, and he'd have to tell his father. Though part of him wished he'd forget so he could go one night without using it, even if that meant taking the beating with it.

Then he began to clothe himself. The robes were absolutely extravagant. Ivan hated them, too. But his father insisted he look like a 'vulnerable, lost, little princeling.' Ivan was pretty sure that if half the people he entertained ever stumbled across an actual lost princeling, they'd be far more interested in ransoming him than forking over coin, as they did with Ivan, but he knew better than to argue with his father.

When he was done, he gave himself one last look in the mirror. He had to make sure everything about his appearance was perfect. It was, and Ivan hated it.

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Taking a deep breath and preparing his response to his father's expected reaction to Ivan being too early, Ivan opened his door and made his way to the stairs leading into the tavern hall. His father did provide him with a nice room, at least. Ivan had to admit, it was even more luxurious than his father's room. He'd told Ivan it provided 'mystique' and made Ivan seem even more valuable to the customers. Ivan hated himself for appreciating his living quarters... for liking them... for not wishing for a closet. He understood what it meant. One day, he'd have to take a guest into his room with him.

Ivan didn't think that day was today. He hoped it wasn't.

Ivan had to take another deep breath as he reached the top of the stairs. Time to be The Songbird, The Siren's Child, The Voice of Port Heinshore. He straightened his back, put on the poised gaze his father had made him perfect, and slowly began his descent, even as he felt the squeeze around his heart.

The tension in his chest eased somewhat as he reached the bottom of the stairs and realized it was mostly empty, with only the regular customers.

But he kept his poise as he walked to the bar and sat down next to two of his favorite patrons. His father had instilled in him how important maintaining his appearance was. Even when no one was really looking. He climbed into a stool between the pair, still keeping appearances up. As he put his arms on the bar, the man to his right noticed him.

"Ahoy there, Ivan," said the rail thin man next to him.

"Well, hello, Mr. Frerry. It is a pleasure to see you. Though I am still not sure why you insist on saying 'ahoy' to me for every greeting." Ivan responded in his most polished voice.

"Let's just say that's my way of letting you know I see you. No matter how distant you are." The thin man took a very deep drink of his cup. "We were hoping you'd be early tonight. I got something for you, but my wife has something she wants to say first."

Ivan turned his attention to the woman sitting on his other side. "Hello, Miss Mabilee."

Mabilee only took a sip of her drink, but did stick something small under her tongue before turning to Ivan. "Hey sweet boy. I... I-I..." Mabilee stumbled over her words and then went silent, eyes staring at Ivan, seeming to pool up with tears.

"What is it, Miss Mabilee?" Ivan asked. He worried about Mabilee. He'd never seen her cry. He'd once watched her knock out a pirate, and then hold her own against three more of them until Frerry stepped in and finished the job.

"Well... uh. Y-you know, I mean you understand, what I do, right? To make coin I mean. You know I give men company. But do you know what that means?" The tears spilled over, but only enough to let out a couple of drops from each eye.

"Yes, miss. I know. But I don't think any less of you. And not Mr. Frerry, either. I know you both do what you have to do, and Mr. Frerry never lets anyone hurt you, or at least he makes them pay for it if they do."

A few more tears fell from Mabilee's eyes. "Yeah. That's right. But do you know, I mean do you... really understand... what it is I do?"

Ivan's face darkened. "Yeah, I think I do miss. Maybe not exactly, but I know enough. I'm sorry you have to do that... but I don't know why you're talking to me about this."

Mabilee's face twisted into something like agony. "We... uh... we overheard your father might be planning on, uh... offering you to a man tonight... for... company. The-the... kind of company I provide."

"And we both think that's gods-cursed imp-shit. You're far too young." Frerry said, slamming his cup down hard and spilling half of it in the process.

"If we could do something... if we could help... we would..." Mabilee continued. She pressed a few White-eye seeds into his hands. "Stick one or two under your tongue before you... entertain the man. It'll make things easier. I-if you don't, you'll have them later."

Ivan's mind reeled. Tonight was the night. It felt too soon. And then he felt Frerry's hand on his shoulder.

"Listen, lad. The Demonlands ain't a kind place. I ain't going to pretend I can do more than this." Frerry pushed something into his hands.

Ivan looked down at the small dagger Frerry pushed into his hands. He didn't even know how to respond.

"Tonight, if you feel like stabbing... you start stabbing. And you don't stop stabbing. I'll handle your father... if it comes to that. But... I'm going to be honest, I don't know if I can get you far enough away from this place. If I did, me and Mabilee would have already ran off with you. But if I need to, I'll try... even if we all die trying. Still..." Frerry pushed the dagger harder into Ivan's hand and gave him a hard look. "Only take the pain you can take. Now tuck it away, quickly, before anyone sees."

Ivan gave a nod, then quickly pocketed the seeds and tucked the small dagger into his waist, hidden beneath his sash.