With Baron Kellis off to negotiate with Lady Hyacinth for Meya's freedom, Baroness Sylvia heading the door-to-door search for the missing Greeneyes and guarding the rest of the entourage, Meya and company had seized the Hadrians' guest quarters as base of operations, so Meya could prepare for her pleasure session with Dizadh the top courtesan.
"This is lunacy. You're staying—I'm going!"
Coris stopped pacing and stomped in for a rematch with Meya as she studied her reflection in the mirror. Leaning in, she gingerly prodded the warm blob of silvery metal on the bridge of her nose. Perhaps she could do with more to work with.
"You've seen those girls at the school, Coris. 'Tisn't like you lot have safe passage in there, neither." Sighing, she scrunched up her eyes and concentrated. Instead of piling on her nose, the liquid metal flowed onto her cheeks like alluvial fans. Swearing under her breath, she reabsorbed the goo and started over.
Coris's twin in the mirror raised his eyebrows.
"Well, at least they won't gouge out my eyes and peddle them on the black market!" He snapped.
"Coris, enough! I'm going with you no matter what you say." Meya abandoned her quest for a human nose-bridge and whipped around to the real Coris, "They're just as much your people as mine. I can't just sit by!"
"We've spied in hostile lands before. Enemies who actively seek out dragons in hiding. We're treating this as such."
Gillian, who was mentoring Meya from his spot beside her chair, attempted to mediate. Coris opened his mouth to retort, so Meya quickly added,
"Exactly. I mean, I'm a Greeneye meself, and I only knew he's one when I looked closely at his eyes. I didnae even do this nose thingy back then, and you slept with me and you were still none the wiser. The record speaks for itself, Coris."
Coris made to argue, but swallowed his words and resumed pacing, muttering darkly to himself. Shaking her head, Meya turned back to the mirror and concentrated. Metal trickled out of her pores and pooled on the flat region between her eyes. With her fingers shielded by thimbles, Meya shaped the cooling, waxlike puddle into a ridge.
As she was about to venture into a brothel known for kidnapping Greeneyes and stealing their eyes, Gillian had decided to teach her to also fashion herself a human nose, in addition to wearing Lattis.
According to the dragon, skilled Nostran spies could change their very appearance by tweaking and shaping the metal underneath their skin. But as Meya wasn't experienced enough yet, Gillian thought it safer for her to practice molding her armor over her skin first.
Adding a few prods as finishing touches, Meya turned left and right, admiring her new nose.
"What d'you folks think?" She hollered for the human lads to score her efforts. Simon, Christopher and Zier crowded around her chair. Coris ignored her and continued his parade.
"Hard to tell. Guess I'll have to see it with the skin on." Simon cocked his head at the strip of paper-thin, eggshell-colored leather on the dressing table. Coris flounced to the door and disappeared outside with a huff of contempt.
"Coris!" Meya whipped around, half-rising out of her seat. Gillian pushed her down with a firm hand on her shoulder.
"Sit. He could never be persuaded."
"But—"
"He's a man, Meya Hild. No man wants to see a woman put herself in danger if he could help it." said Christopher solemnly. Meya froze, then bit her lip as a wave of turmoil surged inside her.
She couldn't deny she was scared, extremely scared. But she couldn't just stay out of harm's way while her fellow Greeneyes could possibly be suffering a gruesome fate. She might die if she went, she understood that. But she couldn't live with herself either if she stayed.
"So what? I should just sit here and wait for news? So what if he's a man? I can't stand seeing him in danger just as much as sitting by while me friends are being—" She choked on her words. She couldn't bear to imagine what ordeals her dragon friends might have been subjected to.
"You don't have to sit by. There's a safer option—help Arinel spy on that Hasif woman." Simon cocked his head at the door.
"It'd make my job easier with one less youngling to watch over." Gillian added, his face deadpan. Meya shot him a reproachful look, then spun around at the new voice from behind.
"I'll—I'll go, too." Zier scurried forward. Meya's glowing eyes turned cold as she examined him. He shrank back on instinct, then summoned his courage,
"He'll be safe. I promise—I swear."
He corrected, his words heavy with conviction. Meya narrowed her eyes. She hadn't forgotten the anxiety, the dread of being trapped in an endless sea of sand, supplies dwindling amid scorching heat and freezing nights. Freda knew she could've easily lost her babe. Her forgiveness wouldn't be given so simply this time.
Christopher interrupted the charged silence,
"Delegation is a vital part of leadership. You can't always do everything yourself." He leaned closer, lowering his voice, "As the future Baroness Hadrian, you should practice."
Meya blinked, her cheeks heating as she glanced between the two young men. Baron Hadrian would've informed his squires about their new charge. Zier alone looked as surprised as her.
"It isn't as much of a risk for Coris. There'd be Baron Hadrian to answer to should anyone so much as upsets the ulcer in his guts." Simon quipped, tilting his head towards the dragon-man, "And unlike Gillian, you don't have to be there. Unless you didn't trust Coris to represent your Greeneye interests. Plus, Gillian's been a spy all his life, he could hold his own if need be."
"Also, the Baron's ordered us to safeguard you and your baby." Christopher added, "There's no way in these three lands we're letting you go."
Meya gawked at the mirror as her cheeks drained. She dipped her head, hiding her face behind curtains of red-gold hair, picking at the lint on her dress.
"I'm just pregnant. Not dying. I can still be useful." She grumbled, cursing Baron Hadrian in her head. See, this was exactly why she'd decided to keep mum. Secrets spread like wildfire once the first spark had leapt out of one's mouth. Simon heaved a sigh,
"Males are made to protect females. Females are made to protect the young. It's nature, Meya. You have your duty, so do we."
Meya met his calm, sad eyes through the mirror, then turned to the door. She remembered Baron Hadrian's words. He was right. She was no longer alone. She must consider the consequences to both Coris and their babe. They must communicate with honesty, and arrive together at an agreement. Coris was hurt. Her pride was the culprit.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Her eyes closed, Meya willed the metal back under her skin. The boys stared at her in surprise and relief. She stood up and took Simon and Christopher's hands, gazing deep into their eyes.
"Be careful." She spared Zier a glance, then turned to Gillian after the boys had nodded, "You too."
The boys watched as Meya hurried away to find her tempestuous husband, then Christopher turned and raised his eyebrow at Simon. He started, but just as soon feigned dumb,
"What?"
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As the shroud of evening descended upon the bustling desert city, rows of purple paper lamps mounted on poles on both sides of the road led curious tourists and seasoned night prowlers alike to peruse the vast array of illicit entertainment.
The man-brothel Dizadh worked for was one of the grandest along Hyacinth's Pleasure Lane, boasting three sprawling floors. The signature purple lamps swung from every inch of the roof. Mosaic depictions of men and women in various stages of passion blanketed its adobe walls.
Gillian, with Coris, Zier, Simon and Christopher in tow posing as his servants, stepped through the arched doorway to find a polished wooden table squatting on his path. Behind the table sat a thin, bald Hyacinth woman with enormous hoops swinging from her ears. Her eyes were glued to the page of her book. Judging from her finger caressing her devious grin, her glossy eyes and flushed cheeks, it was a safe bet what she was reading. She spared them a quick sight-over as they approached, then returned to her pastime.
"First door on the right. Leave nothing on. The Madam will see you in a bit." She drawled, pointing her thumb in said direction. All the young men in Gillian's entourage were handsome, their fair skin unmarred by disease nor weather, thanks to their noble blood and upbringing. She'd probably assumed Gillian was a procurer and the boys were hopefuls signing up to work in the brothels.
Coris blinked, a half-smile frozen on his lips. Zier cocked his head, as usual blessed with cluelessness. Christopher blushed crimson. Simon gawked at the woman. Like the seasoned spy he was, Gillian retained his composure.
"We have an appointment with Dizadh." He said. The woman's head snapped up.
"Dizadh?" She repeated, eyes bulging. She blinked blankly for a moment, before a look of horror washed over her face. She hastily dipped Gillian numerous bows,
"Oh. Oh, I see. I'm terribly sorry, good sir. Just a moment."
She dragged over the ledger to her left, set it over her erotic magazine, and rifled through it, trawling a finger down the list of names and dates.
"We have a reservation here from one Lady Hadrian. Is that correct?" She glanced up, an eyebrow raised. Gillian nodded.
"We've agreed on the price, but I'm afraid you're going to have to pay additional. You see, we assumed Lady Hadrian would be the client. Dizadh prefers women. He charges a premium to entertain male clients. If you'd feel more comfortable with staff who share your preferences, we could arrange that. If you're actually in the mood for a quick and economic alternative, we also have a vast lineup of dolls you could choose from."
Gillian rapidly calculated his next move. His mouth stretched into a grim, taut line of distaste.
"I'm here for Dizadh. Not any whore. Put it on the tab." He spat, then jerked his head at the gaggle of young men accompanying him, "Show my servants to the dolls."
The woman nodded to the man and woman standing beside the counter. The long-haired man draped in a gold-trimmed blue toga stepped forth and bowed to Gillian, then led the priority client down the hallway to the right with a gracious flourish of his painted hand. The sparingly dressed bald woman approached the remaining young men and beckoned them to the hallway on the left.
"Dolls?" Christopher hissed to Coris as they followed the hulking staff woman down a dim, low-ceilinged walkway. Walls of paper screens backlit by flickering orange lamps hosted shadow plays of men and women in the act of lovemaking. Coris slowed his pace, allowing Zier, Simon and the woman to gain some distance.
"I've heard some brothels commission life-sized dolls for low-income clients to satisfy their needs." He whispered, using the cacophony of moans, screams, creaks and slams as cover, "You two pick one each, then spread out for the search. I'll go with Zier. Gather as much information as possible. In case Gillian couldn't wheedle anything out of Dizadh."
Out of the shadows, a nondescript wooden door appeared at the end of the hall. Coris broke off. The door was left ajar. A dim, brownish-orange light leaked through the gap.
A Hyacinth woman exited, carrying what appeared at a cursory glance to be a blond, fair young man bundled in lavish folds of crimson fabric. His pale, bony limbs dangled lifelessly from her arms, jolting to the force of his new mistress's footfalls. His glassy, empty eyes reflected the light of the oil lamps in the hallway. The woman disappeared with him into a screen door to the right.
It could've been a trick of the inadequate lighting, but the doll looked eerily lifelike.
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Over to Arinel and Meya in Hyacinth Palace, the two girls were cloistered behind a sandstone pillar, eyes fixed upon the wooden door set into the wall at the junction in the hallway, behind which, they were told, was Lasralein Hasif's alchemy lab.
Like Bishop Riddell, Healer Hasif was first and foremost an alchemist. A prominent member of the prestigious Hasif clan. Her ancestor was the legendary Lashtiri Hasif, who used the green crystals to lead the women of Hyacinth to victory in the explosive-gas-filled mines.
Agnes, Persephia, Cleygar and Lors' disappearance was a conundrum. Like in Jaise, the Greeneye trade was coursing in the catacombs under the scorching sands of Hyacinth. The disappearances could easily be explained away as accidents, the losses easily paid with a few Hyacinth guards.
That meant either Lady Hyacinth or Lasralein, or both could be the culprit, and the letter was sent from someone else. A courageous defector trying to alert them. There was even the slight chance it could've been the missing four themselves.
Meya was more inclined towards Lasralein working alone. Why would Lady Hyacinth risk souring ties with Hadrian and trade one of her daughters for six dragon eyeballs? Considering the amount of dates she consumed daily and the hours of pleasure she bought from Dizadh, she wasn't in want of quick gold.
Meya and Arinel flattened themselves against the heated stone, waiting for an opening to sneak inside Hasif's lab, or at least tail her around and observe her movements. However, Hasif hadn't once left her lab since she returned from Baroness Sylvia and Lady Amoriah's spit-spraying match in the Great Hall.
Either she was that dedicated to her current pursuit, or she was spooked by the letter from the informant, and had decided her best chance was to guard her lair of secrets until the Hadrians had surrendered and left.
They could use force to bust their way in, of course, but there was no telling if they would find anything incriminating. And Meya wasn't sure how further she could push her luck, her exoneration riding on negotiations between Lady Hyacinth and Baron Kellis as it was.
"Are you spying on Hasif?"
Said a timid voice from behind. The two girls jolted and spun around, hands over their mouths barely stifling squeals of surprise.
The voice belonged to a meaty young man who stood as tall as Zier and boasted an ample belly reminiscent of Lady Hyacinth. Like most Hyacinth men, he had olive skin and wore a purplish toga. His wavy black hair was cropped short, however, and the tired, greasy locks huddled close to his scalp. Silver-rimmed glasses magnified his round, blue-black eyes. He smiled awkwardly at the sight of their abject terror.
"Don't worry. I won't tattle. I've been in there myself." He raised two bare, astonishingly slender hands. His eyes found Meya's glowing green, and he froze. Rapid calculations scrolled past his round face as he glanced between her and Arinel. At last, he reached out a hand,
"Er...I'm Ahmundi Hyacinth. You look like Westerners. You're guests, right?"
Ahmundi? The name rang a bell. Ah, Ahmundi! Lady Amoriah mentioned him when they'd first arrived, said she wanted her son to be as thin as Coris.
But what was Lord Hyacinth doing here? Keeping an eye on them for his mother? But he said he didn't mind them spying on his mother's healer. Besides, it wasn't as if they'd done anything wrong. Well, not yet, at least.
Arinel shot a quick glance at Meya. Meya stretched to full height, regarding Ahmundi with imperious glowing eyes. Arinel took it as cue to play neutral. She extended her hand and clasped Ahmundi's.
"I'm Arinel Crosset. This is Meya, the Lady Hadrian." She flourished a hand towards Meya,
"Lady Hadrian?" Ahmundi blinked at Meya then turned back to Arinel, "Isn't Lord Coris betrothed to you?"
The two girls gawked at him. The lad spoke as if he had walked straight out of last week into today.
"Haven't you heard?" Meya rasped, eyes bulging, so baffled she couldn't keep up her snooty air. Ahmundi seemed used to the reaction. He slipped his fingers through his hair and scratched his scalp.
"I'm sorry. I don't come out of my lab much these days. 'cept to steal stuff from Hasif's lab. No time to lose, you see."
"Your lab? You're an alchemist?" Meya's eyes sparkled. Arinel looked scandalized, apparently more hung-up about the other, more worrisome snippet of information.
"Ah, if only." Ahmundi chuckled, then beckoned with a wave of his hand, whispering now, "We'd better come to my quarters. We can talk freely there."