“If you were Ogenra though—”
His face contorted with anger. “My mother was a Doltari who left me to die on the garbage heaps of Gallthis. Happy? She was too stupid to know she could buy a fix from the Temple of Caless, or any blue house, for ten silver chalices to keep her from taking with child. And so she abandoned me at birth. I am not an Ogenra. Yes, blue eyes are one of the god-touched marks, but there are plenty of people with eyes all colors of the rainbow. Hell, Surdyeh’s eyes were green before he went blind. It doesn’t mean he’s related to whichever Royal House controls the Gatekeepers,* it just means he’s from Kirpis. I’ve never seen the inside of a mansion in the Upper Circle and I never will.”
Morea flinched and drew back. His anger—Caless! She whispered, “But … you look just like him…”
She started to cry.
After a few seconds, his hands wrapped around her, his voice whispering as he stroked her hair. “Oh hell … I’m so sorry … I … I didn’t … was he important to you? Someone you cared about?”
She drew back. “No! I hate him.”
His expression turned stony. “Wait. I remind you of someone you hate?”
Morea wiped away her tears. This wasn’t going the way she’d wanted at all. “It’s not like that. I just wanted—”
“What? What did you want so badly you’d make a play for someone who reminds you of a man you hate—someone you hate so much, that the thought of him sends you to tears? Because now I’m curious.”
She edged away from him on the divan. “It’s not like that!”
“Explain it to me then.”
“If you were Ogenra, you could find out where the Octagon’s slave auctioneers sold my sister Talea. You could ask for a favor from your family, if they were noble. I thought you had to be Ogenra. You’re even wearing his colors…” She pointed to his chest.
He touched the blue stone wrapped in gold around his neck. “His colors. I see.” He nodded, his expression hard. He wasn’t looking at her with tenderness anymore.
“Kihrin, I like you—”
“Really.”
“I do! I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“Who you should have turned to was your new owner. Ola’s friends with half the people in this town, and she’s blackmailing the other half. She could have found what you needed from the Octagon. She could probably buy your sister too. But Ola would want something, and you didn’t want to owe her any more than you already do. Me? You thought you could rook me on the cheap.”
Morea’s throat dried. “I don’t know Madam Ola like you do. I’ve never had a master who wouldn’t beat me for asking a favor like that. But you … you’re sweet, and you’re beautiful, and you stood up to those men … why do my motives have to be any more sinister than that?”
His expression didn’t soften. “Because you’re selling something, and you thought I was eager to buy.”
Morea tried to slap him, but he ducked away from her. He was quick.
He ignored her attack and stood. “I’ll ask Ola. She used to be a slave. And she still knows people in the Upper Circle. Someone will know what happened to your sister.” There was no smile in Kihrin’s eyes. He no longer looked at her like a lovesick youth pining after his latest crush.
Morea looked down at the floor, hating the way she felt, hating what she knew came next. “What would you expect in return?” she finally asked.
He grabbed his father’s sallí cloak and tossed it over his arm.
“Nothing,” he said. “I know this is the Capital, but not everything has to be a business deal.”
Kihrin bowed, the graceful flourish of a trained entertainer, and left the room without a backward glance.
* * *
Kihrin stalked into the main room of the Shattered Veil Club, and scanned the room for his father.
“So how’d it go, my little Rook?” Ola’s voice whispered from behind him.
“Ugh. I don’t want to talk about it.” He wished she wouldn’t call him Rook at the Club. He didn’t call her Raven here, did he?
The large woman raised an eyebrow. “That house last night didn’t have a guard out, did they?”
He stared at her for a moment, blinking. She wasn’t talking about the rehearsal. She’d meant the Kazivar House burglary. “Oh! Um.… no. No, that went great. Better than great. Best yet.”
The woman grinned and gave him a hug, ruffling his hair while she trapped him in her arms.
“Ola—” Kihrin gave his standard protest, habitual by this point. He straightened himself up as Roarin led Surdyeh toward them. “I’ll tell you about it later. We need to talk.”
Surdyeh reached them and said, “We must hurry. Landril is very wealthy; it would be ill if we were late to our first commission from the man.”
Kihrin picked up the harp in its cloth case. “Sorry. I was delayed.”
“I’m sure you were, little one.” Ola winked at him.
Kihrin grinned back at her, shameless. “No, it’s not like that.” Then his expression grew serious. “I need to talk to you about that too.”
The whorehouse madam tilted her head to the side. “One of the girls giving you grief? Which one?”
“Morea,” Surdyeh said. “It couldn’t be anyone else.”
“Pappa, I can answer for myself.”
Madam Ola pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t be too hard on her, Bright-Eyes. That one’s still a bit of a mess from her last owner. Give me a few months to soften her up a bit. Why don’t you play with Jirya instead? She likes you.”
Which was true. Jirya did like Kihrin, mostly because Kihrin used afternoons spent in Jirya’s crib as an opportunity to catch up on his sleep after all-night treks on rooftops. She’d also proven to be a fantastic alibi. Of course, the alibi was needed for his father Surdyeh, and not the Watchmen. Surdyeh may not have approved of what he erroneously thought Kihrin was doing with Ola’s slave girls, but he approved of burglary even less.
“No, it’s not—”
Surdyeh shook his head. “You spoil him, Ola. You’d think he was a royal prince from the slave girls you let him take his pick from.”
It had been Surdyeh’s favorite argument of late, and it made Kihrin scowl even more than normal. Ola noticed, and raised an eyebrow. Kihrin pressed his lips together, shook his head, and said nothing.
The madam stared at Kihrin for a moment.
Then Ola laughed and chucked Surdyeh under the chin. “Men need to have good memories from their youth to keep them warm in their old age. Don’t try to tell me you don’t have some good ones, because I know better, old man. And you didn’t have no owner’s permission, either. Now get going, before you’re late.”
She shoved them both out the door.
9: SOULS AND STONES
(Kihrin’s story)
I woke to pain and the rhythmic seesaw of The Misery under sail. I had been jammed into one of the child-sized bunks, naked again, with Teraeth’s black robe draped over me as a makeshift blanket. The man himself leaned against the cabin wall, his expression sullen. His mother, Khaemezra, sat next to my bunk, pressing a wet cloth against my face.