by Scottie Kaye
"It means I'm a spymaster," he said, leaning one shoulder into the wall. He crossed his arms, his belt still hanging loose, as if he were completely at ease.
Lodged in the corner, Lassyne couldn't back any farther away, so she slid to the side. "Are you going to tell my father?" she asked.
Jorr Portent smiled at her. "Whyever would I do that?"
Lassyne blinked at him. "Why would you not?"
When she said this, he laughed. He stepped close to her. He gripped her cheek in one hand. Then he kissed her.
"Because I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he said.
Lassyne didn't believe him.
But she would.
For one hour she'd been a prostitute, and a poor one at that. She hadn't even used her mouth before she'd left Mirage. The madam smirked at her as Jorr led her out.
"Just like that?" she asked Jorr, as he opened his carriage door for her. "I thought prostitutes were basically prisoners...."
He laughed as she stepped past him, into the uncomfortable dark.
"Not in Soma," he said. "Sex workers have rights here. Contracts and lawyers and consent and all that. But I'm sure that seems foreign to you."
She bit her lip, settling onto the carriage bench and ignoring how small the space was. This country really was different. Her books had not mentioned all this.
"And you'll really take me to Loren?" she asked. "Right to him? Using this whole 'House of Thorns' thing?"
"Something like that," Jorr replied, knocking twice on the partition between himself and his coachman. The carriage lurched into motion, and she nearly fell into Jorr's lap. He smiled as if he had meant that to happen.
Once the two of them were settled again, Jorr said, "You know, a woman like you shouldn't settle for being some noble's wife. Especially with magic like yours."
The words turned her stomach. A noble's wife was exactly what her parents had always wanted her to be. But Loren wasn't just "some noble." He was more than that.
She leaned closer to Jorr, resting her hands on her knees. "If I marry a noble, I rule a duchy. How would this House of Thorns be better than that?"
He'd told her all about this supposed spy ring in the Blue Room, after which he'd offered her a place there. She might not have believed him, except that—on the walk out of Mirage—he had stopped to hand the madam a silver coin. "From Bane Orra," he had told the woman, who bowed at the waist. It was exactly the thing a spymaster might say.
"Well, for one, if you're going to be holed up in a small space," Jorr said, "you might as well be able to fuck whoever you want." When she flinched at this, he added casually, "And read what you want. Do what you want. Make your own power, and not have others decide it."
She nodded. The carriage had passed the palace gates while they spoke, and now it was slowing. As promised, he'd gotten her inside the castle grounds. Closer to Loren.
But if she went with him to his spyhouse—if she cast her lot with Soma—
"And I can get out of this Rose Contract with fifty thousand marks?" she said evenly. She watched his eyes for any sign of a lie. Having spent her life as a truth mage, she could tell lies without magic. She had done it so many times that it became second nature.
"Yes. You can marry your dear Loren, if he pays enough."
Lassyne thought of Loren's mansion, of the wrought-iron gates. Imported Olfact iron. He had the money.
She crossed her arms as the carriage came to a halt. "But what do you get out of this?" she asked him.
He chuckled. "You can't figure that out?"
Lassyne pulled her lower lip through her teeth. Jorr's silver eyes dipped to her mouth. A smile grew out of her when she caught his lapse, and he looked up again. She wanted to ask how he liked the merchandise. To ask where he might like her to put it.
"You're hoping Loren won't pay," she stated instead. "And that you'll have a truth mage in your retinue, forever."
Jorr grinned with one side of his mouth, his eyes crinkling. "I knew you were smart."
With that, he reached up to grip one of the metal ceiling bars and push open the carriage door. "Are you coming, Lady True, of the high family Read, of Olfact?"
She reached for his hand, clasping hers over his, both of them gripping the bar, their faces close.
"Just Lassyne, now," she breathed, brushing her nose against his.
He blinked, backing away, but only barely. Only enough for him to look back at her mouth.
"Lassyne, then," he said, his voice rougher than before.
Then he turned and led her out of the carriage.
Fourteen
Not very loyal, are you? she thought to herself, once Jorr had deposited her in a room on the top floor of his spyhouse. She had flirted with him in the carriage. Had suggested intentions to him. Even now, she was remembering his hardness and his size, wondering how exactly he might fit in her mouth.
But that was all just excitement. Jorr had given her a solution, a real one this time. Loren was closer now than ever—which meant she should stop her bad habits. She'd spent too much time using fellatio as a bargaining chip, and now she saw every man as a target to practice on.
Still, the fact was, she liked doing it. She liked the way she broke men down. The taste of their pleasure as they shuddered on her tongue.
"Stay here," Jorr said, once she stood in the center of the bare-walled room where she planned to only spend a few days. "I have a task for you. Your first task as a Thorn."
Lassyne crossed her arms. "I thought I wasn't a Thorn until I sold off my cherry?"
He smiled crookedly at her. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She stiffened. "Enjoying what?"
"Being able to say what you want," he said, his hand on the open door. He put his weight on it, making it swivel. "I know all about you, you know. It's my job." He swung the door in wide arcs as he reeled off a list of her traits: "The beautiful, fragile princess of the Read empire, prone to fits, kept behind closed doors to keep her from jumping off a cliff." He stopped swinging the door. "But that's not who you are at all, is it?"
Lassyne dropped her gaze to his toes and back up again. "I don't know," she said. "Have you got any cliffs?"
He laughed, a deep-throated sound, his silver eyes flashing as he looked up at the ceiling. She had already understood that he was handsome, but when he laughed and looked to the heavens like that, he became more than handsome. If she hadn't loved Loren—if she hadn't just now resolved to stop her silly, rebellious flirtations—then she might have been drawn to this spymaster. Might have been. Just a little.
"I'll be back soon," he said, meeting her eyes again. It made her notice a faint scar at his hairline. "I'll send in your floor maven, Orra. She'll lay out the rules of the House, just in case you happen to stay. It should at least keep you alive until you get away from me."
With that, he shot her a grin and closed the door. She stood for a moment, unsure what to do; and then she plopped her palm on the post at the end of the triple bed. A triple. Wasn't that a bit much?
I'll be on my back on one of these soon enough, she thought, eyeing the bare mattress. She drew a breath, focusing on the way it made her breasts rise, a trick her mother had inadvertently taught her. It put her back in control of her own thoughts, somehow. Reminded her of the power of her beauty, of the way no one decided her next breath but her. She would always have her body, her brains, and her breath. If any one of them were gone, then she would be, too.
I wonder if Jorr finds me beautiful, she thought, and then she laughed aloud to herself and slapped the bedpost before stepping up to one of the colored-glass windows. They cast red-and-gold shadows across the burnished wood floor—a nod to her country's colors, perhaps. She found a latch and popped it open. Lo and behold, she could have fit through if she wanted to. Two stories up; the drop could kill her. Jorr didn't believe she was crazy.
How could he figure that out in only one hour with me, but my own parents couldn't see it in twent
y years? She shook her head, amazed at their density. But Roseless King, Jorr was a spymaster. He was supposed to be able to read people, right? But Loren had only ever been a soldier. And he'd known she wasn't crazy even when she was ten.
Loren, she reminded herself, nodding to no one. This was all for him. Therefore, she would stop thinking about Jorr, and stop licking her lips whenever she saw a half-decent-looking man. Lassyne would work her magic on Loren and Loren alone. She couldn't afford for him to distrust her loyalty. And she needed to learn how to please him, to keep him from straying. Gods knew the man liked his brothels. Darrik had listed off three.
The room she'd been assigned was a bare one, with screaming violet walls at odds with the window colors. The wooden bed frame had been carved by a careful hand, each post stylized to look like different flowers. Several mirrors glared out from the walls, and one of them—she curled her lip when she saw this—had an iron ring set into the stone just above it. A ring like the one on the floor at Mirage.
Am I going to have to use that? she thought. Jorr had told her the other things his House of Thorns was known for, but Lassyne hadn't minded all that. She'd sell her Rose Contract—her virginity—to Loren, and then she'd fulfill her responsibilities to Jorr. If Loren paid enough, she'd be free of the House. And then she'd never have to screw anyone else.
Hells, if any man even tried, she could throw Soma's consent laws in their face. Apparently, rape was punishable by death in this country. And why would that have shown up in her studies? Her tutors always kept the salacious things away from her. It was too much to handle, for such a weak will.
Behind her, the door cracked open, and she turned to see a familiar Gustatory face peeking into the room. The woman beamed as Lassyne gaped at her.
"Why hello there, chickadee. Remember me?"
Lassyne snapped her mouth closed, frowning as she crossed her arms again, a habit she'd thought long broken. Pouting, her father would have called it. Stop that, Lassyne, that's not a diplomatic face, her mother would have said.
Yet this ebony-skinned woman said none of those things. She merely watched and beamed. Lassyne had seen her face earlier this very same day—the single customer in the shadows of the Lotus.
"You were spying on me," Lassyne said, dropping her arms.
Laughter bubbled out of the woman, a small happy sound, like bells. She stepped inside and closed the door, resting both hands on the handle behind her. The smile turned sly, but the good kind, the gossip kind. Not the Ossyne kind.
"I'm Wolfsbane Orra," she said. "And you're Lassyne True. Yes, I've been spying on you. Ever since the day you went missing in Olfact, actually. I happen to have a guard or two in my pocket, over there, and also one rather pitiful agent who had recently been thrown from the temple by the very same woman he later glimpsed in the streets."
Lassyne stared for a moment as Orra spread her hands. A man she had thrown from the temple...?
The spy. The Auditory man that she'd used her magic on.
"You—you're the Student," she breathed.
Orra tapped her lips. "Am I, now?"
Lassyne shook her head. The wonders never cease. She took a moment to think over this revelation, trailing her fingers through the dust on the windowsill. Outside, the warm grasses of the courtyard were going yellow in the late afternoon light.
"You knew where I was going, then?" she asked. The Student was infamous, at least to herself and her father; half the spies they uncovered were in her employ. "You knew I was headed to Touch?"
If Orra hadn't known, then she would have deviated Lassyne's trip. That much was obvious; Jorr wanted her here.
"Bribes, dearest," Orra said. "They're a most effective tool. But I wouldn't feel upset with the people who helped you. I made sure that they knew you'd be safe if they talked."
Safe, huh? Lassyne thought, tracing the castle's outer wall with her eyes; the structure was much shorter and stubbier than the wall around her parents' palace. "And the innkeeper?" Lassyne asked. "He notified you when I arrived?"
Orra cocked her head, confused for a moment. "Oh, you mean Rock Barren?" she said. "No. He refuses to work for any of us, now that—" She stopped. "It was another patron who sent word that a lovely Olfactory woman had appeared at the Lotus. Just another man at the bar, the night you took your coachman upstairs."
Lassyne looked back to watch the woman's eyes sparkle. There wasn't an ounce of judgment behind them.
"And the madam at Mirage?" Lassyne asked.
Orra shrugged, looking suddenly bored as she surveyed Lassyne's bed. "She's one of Jorr's personal agents," the large woman said. "But I was already sending Jorr to you by that point. You are quite the valuable asset, you know."
Lassyne scowled. She knew.
A quick knock on the door then, and without any leave, a young man popped his head in, making Orra step forward.
"Hey Orra. So where's the fresh mea—"
He stopped when he saw her. He was Soma, blue-eyed, hair done up in thick rows. Creamy skin, smooth and hairless, as well-kept as a noble. He instantly reminded her of the people she hated most, even if his skin tone was different.
"Lassyne, this is Mikail Haze," Orra said, indicating the frozen young man. "He's the only other member of our first floor of outcasts. All the other ones have died or moved down."
Lassyne wasn't sure what to make of that statement, but she knew exactly what to make of Mikail. He gaped at her, as if transfixed. She was used to men looking at her and her mother that way. He thought himself madly in love.
"Stop it," she snapped at him, making him blink. Lassyne turned back to Orra without elaborating, and then she sat on her bed. "What now?" she demanded.
With her hands still behind her, Orra rocked back on her heels. "Now, I tell you the rules."
"When do I get to see Loren?" Lassyne said.
Orra cocked her head and stopped rocking, curiosity burning in her hazel eyes. "I can arrange something tomorrow night, if you like."
Lassyne nodded. "See that you do."
"Mmm, we got ourselves a bossy one," Mikail said, still standing between the door and the frame.
Lassyne narrowed her eyes at him, then darted a look back at Orra. Waiting to be told that being bossy would not do. Men didn't like to be bossed around, so how could she expect to be an effective spy if she did that?
But once more, Orra surprised her. "That will serve her well enough, in this business," she said, never losing that hint of a grin. "But perhaps not with the lieutenant general." She winked. "He likes his women a little more... malleable."
Lassyne thought, unwillingly, of her mother. So malleable that she took three men at once. And then she thought of the prostitute who had put on the collar.
And she glanced back at the iron ring in the wall.
Fifteen
She kept her eyes on the iron ring as Orra rattled off the rules of the House. No sex before your contract. No taking credit for others' work. Lassyne barely paid attention; she wouldn't be here that long.
"You thinking of using that?" Kail said suddenly. Lassyne only noticed because he'd cut Orra off; she'd had no clue what the other woman had been saying.
She turned away from the iron ring, and he grinned at her, raising his eyebrows at the metal loop on the wall. Lassyne instantly hated every part of his face. It was a mad smile, the same smile as Ossyne's. The sort of smile that put others at ease.
Lassyne looked down her nose at him. "Wouldn't you like to know."
He rubbed his hands together, still smiling, and Lassyne wasn't about to let him talk anymore. She stood abruptly from her bed. "You said something about a library?" she asked Orra. "What do they have there? Books on sex?"
Orra made a weird smiling face at her, as if to say, Did you really just ask that?
At that moment, a set of knuckles rapped against the door, and it opened before anyone could answer. Hells, Kail had never even closed it.
"We all good here?" Jorr said, stepping through.
He inclined his head to Lassyne as he stepped aside to make room, and two more Thorns slipped past him. One of them was pale, Auditory, but rather big-boned for one of her race, with mousy blonde hair a bit darker than was usual. In this woman's shadow, a teenager stepped in—a girl of eighteen, if Lassyne had to guess, since that was the Soma age of consent. She was Gustatory, like Orra, but slim and beautiful in that unfinished way that commoners had. But she wasn't dressed like a commoner—she wore what had to be twenty different layers of white silk and ruffles. Lassyne wouldn't be caught dead in that.
"Initiate True," Jorr said to her, formally, "this is Glory Hellen and her floor initiate, Zaina. Zaina seals her Rose Contract today, and she needs her purity tested."
Lassyne rolled her eyes. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been made to ask questions like this. In Olfact, impure women were shunned, and her family loved to parade Ossyne's love interests past her, and seeing how many he'd managed to deflower. Never his fault, of course; always the woman's; and of course, her parents would do anything to keep the word from getting out. Half the sway that the Reads held over their duchy came from Ossyne's conquests, and their blackmail of the young women's parents.
But she was thankful to Jorr for what he'd done for her, even if she barely knew the man; and so she fished around in her pockets for one of her perfumes. She nodded to Zaina. "Your hand?"
The girl darted a look at Helle, and tremulously raised her hand, her wrist limp. Lassyne could already see where this was going.
Hellen scowled. "I thought Orra was going to do it," she said, blowing a stray blonde lock out of her face. She shot a dark glance at Jorr. "She's always done it."
Jorr was leaning against one of the bedposts, the one carved with roses. He tapped the handle of a blade at his waist—a dagger, by Lassyne's guess, and a big one. Suddenly he reminded her of his brother, Jaen, and she breathed out the chill that ran through her.
"She's new," he said, nodding to Lassyne.
"And temporary," Lassyne added, snatching Zaina's wrist and bringing the scent to her nose. She frowned and glared at Hellen. The big woman kept her scowl plastered on her face as she took the nullband off Zaina's wrist.
