by Scottie Kaye
Then her foot struck something heavy. Something with a slight give to it, but heavy-feeling and thick. She knelt down, eyes peeled, straining to make out the shape.
Lightning flashed.
And Lassyne started to scream.
Twenty-Four
She stifled the cry quickly, slapping a hand to her own mouth.
A person lay on the floor. A girl.
Still kneeling, Lassyne checked for a pulse. It was there, weak. She felt for a wound. None, but the girl was bound at the wrists and the ankles, and she wore a tight gag. Thunder boomed, a distant follow to the flash.
A bound woman. In Loren Stone's closet.
Her mind seemed to tremble, desperate for an explanation. Any explanation except the only one that was true.
How did you know that I liked that sort of thing?
I always did wonder why I liked it this way....
Lassyne knelt, deathly still, counting the seconds. Finally, the lightning came again.
In that moment, she understood what she was looking at. She understood the head wound, the slight foam at the mouth. Her brother had done this to her, once. Used a poison that kept her still. Knocked her out, putting her at his mercy.
But Haru—oh sweet Haru—she had taken his antidotes. She hadn't trusted her dinner, and she'd taken a drop of every tonic. One of them had saved her.
But none had saved Zaina.
Lassyne backed away, then stopped moving. Backed away, and then stopped.
Zaina ran. But he never saved her....
That was a head wound. She wasn't here willfully. He wasn't hiding her. He was keeping her. Why?
How did you know that I liked that sort of thing?
I always did wonder why I liked it this way....
Lassyne felt herself close the closet. Felt herself whisper out of his room. Her feet silent, but her heartbeat so loud.
What would happen, she thought, if a victim had no antidote? If someone had to endure the most horrifying moment of their lives—but had no way to ever escape it?
She had escaped. She had done it. But Loren—Loren was still here. Still here, in this city, with Ragen. Still working under him.
And he'd risen so far....
How many times? she asked herself. How many times did he do it? Because she knew now that it had been more than once. Loren had stayed beside Ragen, had chosen his career. He'd stayed a victim these past ten years.
And how had he survived it? Not like she had. Lassyne had been a shut-in, not allowed to go anywhere. No one to talk to, but no one to hurt. But Loren had money and freedom and power.
Now, she understood what he'd done with it.
Upon reaching the big door to the House of Thorns, Lassyne rapped on it, as quiet as a mouse. The door guard identified her and let her back into safety.
But Zaina was not safe.
"You all right, miss?" the guard asked. Her mind felt dead as she recognized him. Tom—Tommy—the man from the library. The man Hellen had sent to get Loren.
"You must be the night shift," she said faintly.
"Well, yeah," he said. "We haven't met. My name's—"
Lassyne moved faster than she'd ever moved in her life. In an instant, the man's nullband had clinked to the floor, and she'd brought his palm to her nose.
"You went to get Loren," she said, inhaling the stench of old wine. "Yesterday. So that he'd rescue a girl. Right? Zaina?"
Tom nodded, wide-eyed. He tried to pull away. But her magic was a tide, and he swam against it. He would be too weak; they always were.
"Have you done this before?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"He's deflowered Thorns before their contracts?"
"Yeah, lots of times. But he doesn't usually get caught. Not until you showed up."
She frowned. "So what do you mean, you've done this before? If the other girls got away with it, if they never needed to run?"
His eyes darted. "I—well, I help girls get in. To see him." He was sweating now. There was more. "And I help Thorns—get out, when they want to run."
Roseless King, Lassyne thought. He's been running a racket.
"So when a Thorn wants to leave, she goes to him," Lassyne said. "And no one ever hears from her again, right? Because no one expects to. Because if Jorr ever caught her, she'd be dead."
He blinked. "Yeah, that's right." His face fell, and he tugged on her again. "Please, Miss True. Lady True. Please, if you tell someone, I'm dead—"
"Never again," she said, but her mind was somewhere else. He takes women into his rooms, and they think that he's saved them. And instead, he chains them up in his closet. And then what?
She thought of the mansion with the dark iron gates. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what came next.
He only visits us on occasion....
A heavy nausea thumped into the pit of her stomach. Lassyne licked her lips, still feeling Loren on her. Feel him using her.
He had meant every word.
"You don't do it again. Ever," she said to Tom. "Do you understand me? Not for Thorns. Not for city girls. Ever."
He nodded frantically. She let him go and bolted for the stairwell, dropping down the spiral stairs three at a time, her hair flying loose behind her. Jorr's office was down here, basement floor, end of the hall—
But tell Jorr, and Zaina was dead.
She stopped halfway between the basement and first floor landings, breathing hard, thinking. If they caught Zaina, now that she'd broken her Rose Contract—
Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the castle foundations, as if to remind her of a cruel, creeping truth. She looked back up the stairs, seeing her own Rose Contract in her mind.
I, Lassyne True, do hereby give Loren Stone my virginity, in exchange for fifty thousand marks, and Loren Stone's hand in marriage.
She had fulfilled her end of that bargain. And in doing so, she had sold herself to a monster.
Her knees weakened, and she sat on the cold iron steps, trying not to hyperventilate. She was sold to Loren. She had signed the document. Nothing could break it now—nothing. She had given herself in exchange for his money, his hand. He couldn't not give her those two things, now.
If I marry a killer—and if he knows that I know—
It would be Ossyne all over again, contract or not. Loren would happily try to kill his own wife, if he thought she was a liability against his good name, his career. He'd kept all of this a secret for a decade. How many women had he already killed? If she told Jorr about Zaina—if she tried to save the poor girl—then not only would Zaina likely die, but Loren would kill Lassyne too. At the very least, he'd make her live in fear.
And there was no way out of that contract. It was already done.
Except....
Lassyne shot to her feet.
The addendum. The words Jorr had added....
Lorr can't sleep with someone else before we're married. If he does, the contract is broken. I'm free, and then—and then what?
Even if she made it happen, even if she got Hellen to help, even if Loren fucked half a whorehouse tomorrow....
Zaina would still be in void of her contract. The House of Thorns will still kill her.
Her Olfactory mind spun its wheels. There was one last way out.
Lassyne True needed to make a deal.
She walked calmly down the last stretch of hallway, toward the door where she knew Jorr to be. She didn't see a single Thorn, though the lights were turned up, and outside, it was only edging toward the end of the day.
But she didn't stop to think about why they might have closed their doors. Instead, terms and conditions floated through her anxious thoughts. She wouldn't sign something, if she wasn't sure.
And then after she made her deal, she'd still have to convince Hellen. The woman hated her, but if it meant saving Zaina, surely she could seduce Loren Stone...?
When she came to Jorr's door, its wood blacker than the hall, she knocked quietly.
&n
bsp; A pause. And then, "What do you want?"
His voice sounded rougher than usual. "It's Lassyne," she called softly back.
A beat passed. Why did he think she had come? He must know she'd already been with Loren.
"You can come in," he replied.
She opened the door into darkness and stillness. This was the basement level, so none of the rooms could have windows. Another door frame, a bathroom, was lit from behind, just enough to help her make out shapes.
"What is it?" he said shortly, drawing her eyes to the desk. It was long and black and glassy, and he leaned on his forearms on the surface, his face hidden between both his hands. Most of the light didn't touch him. She almost asked him if something was wrong.
In the bathroom, someone groaned.
Her thoughts stopped dead. She stared at the bathroom. She could make out a scrape of red on the floor.
"Sit down," said Jorr's voice, cold and dangerous. He pulled his head from his hands, sat back in the chair. "Or you can go. One or the other."
The other man groaned again, sobbed in the bathroom. It was none of her business. She sat.
"I have something to tell you," she said. "About Loren Stone—"
"Take off your nullband," Jorr said.
She hesitated. She still didn't know what sort of magic he had. The surname Portent meant he could read part of the future, but she didn't know which part.
Lassyne unclipped her band, placing it on the table. Jorr reached out and touched her wrist.
Maybe he's checking to make sure I'm not here to kill him? she thought, as the magic tingled a path up her arm. Then it was over, and Jorr took his hand back.
"If luck was a magic, you'd have it," Jorr said. Thunder again, almost the suggestion of it. There was so much stone above them, blocking it out.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied. What did he just see?
Jorr leaned forward into the faint crack of light.
"No," said Jaen Portent. "I don't think you do."
Twenty-Five
She recognized him from his hair, slicked back, in a tail. From the cruel, empty look on his face. This wasn't Jorr Portent—it was his brother. Jaen Portent, Housemaster of Soma's Guard. A man she'd been afraid of for years.
Lassyne wanted to cry, to break down, to collapse. Lucky. He had called her lucky.
The man in the bathroom made a noise again, a small, timid moan in his throat. Fabric shuffled as if he were curling into a ball. Lassyne suddenly understood who he was.
"Look at me," Jaen said. "That doesn't concern you."
She did as he asked her, trying to think. There was a way out of this. She hadn't said anything—
"So you're going to get Ragen Wise killed."
Her eyes refocused, sharp and sudden. She could make out his gaze, the flinty gray of his irises. Beyond the storm, it was somehow still day. She didn't want to see those eyes when they turned full black.
"I—I don't—"
Five gods, she was dead.
He steepled his fingers, cocking his head. "Don't worry," he said. "I want to help you. What exactly did our dear Loren do?"
She stared at him. He had seen her future. He'd seen her desire to take Ragen down....
"Oh, stop with the mental gymnastics," Jaen said. He flicked his fingers at her. "You tell me the truth, or I kill you. The future is fluid, you know."
Lassyne wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't like it. She counted her options. The man had seen her future. If she lied, how likely was he to know she was lying? What lie would she even tell?
"Loren has a girl in his closet," she blurted. "Tied up and drugged. I think he's been doing it a long time, pretending to help Thorns run away, and then trapping them." She swallowed, wondering if she might be next. "I'm not sure what he does with them, after."
Jaen cocked his head. "Huh. Seems like something my spymaster should know." He spun his fingers as if to tell her to wrap up her case. "So? What do you want me to do about it?"
She drew a breath, feeling the rise of her breasts. For the first time since she'd left Loren, she realized her dress was torn. She'd been holding it together absently, but it definitely showed off her cleavage. But Jaen had never once looked.
Yet he radiated cold interest and violence. There was no way he would help her.
Still, she had to try.
"I need Loren to sleep with another woman today," she said. "After that, I need you to arrest him."
His tongue snaked out, wetting the center of his bottom lip. It hung there for several seconds until he pulled it back in.
"You're going to have to explain that to me."
Lassyne nodded, more to shake her thoughts into place than anything. Then she explained her plan. As she did, he listened intently, putting his hands together and drawing his knuckles to his mouth. At one point, he pulled something out of Jorr's desk. A piece of paper—two pieces, stuck together.
He pried them apart, glancing over both of them before looking back at her as she finished her argument.
"And you'd do that," he asked, without any inflection. Every word dripped with a tranquil malevolence. "You'd pay fifty thousand marks to pay Zaina's buyout. To save a girl you don't even know."
She nodded. "Yes."
"You'd remain a Thorn. Forever. In exchange for her life."
She closed her eyes. If she paid the buyout for Zaina, there'd be no buyout left for her. But she could still see that girl, the poison foam on her mouth. Foam Lassyne had once licked off her own lips.
"Yes. I'll stay a Thorn." She raised her eyes. "That's what you want, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said instantly. "In fact, it's not negotiable. But you need to tell me why."
Lassyne ran her hands down her dress, trying to get the wrinkles out. The coins clinked somewhere past her knees.
"If I let her die, then a bad person wins." She shuddered. "You wouldn't understand."
He laughed, so short it was more of a huff. But he didn't reply, merely pushing one of the two pages across the desk to her. She recognized it as her Rose Contract.
"How was the sex," he said.
Her alarm rose. "What?"
"The sex. Did he tie you up?"
She gripped the seat of her chair to keep from shaking. "How could you know that?"
"Just answer the question."
"Well—yes. He did."
"Did you like it?"
This time, the question had inflection. She understood that to lie would mean death.
"No," she said. "I mean—I don't think so."
"Then I have good news," he replied coolly, leaning back. "You don't have to bother with Hellen. The contract's addendum states that, and I quote—" he tapped his fingers on her contract, but kept his eyes directly on hers "—he will be faithful to me until his dying day, and allow me free rein of my person at all times, or else forfeit all his rights to my name. Should he break any part of this pact before the date of the marriage, then the agreement is rendered null in all terms, and Loren Stone will forfeit to me both the original fifty-thousand-mark rate, and a reparations fee of thirty-five thousand marks."
He waited. She said nothing.
"He tied you up," he said. "And you didn't want to be tied."
"Yes...?"
"That sounds like restricting free rein of your person to me."
Her chest seemed to pop. She felt lighter. "But... I gave consent...."
"Doesn't matter. You didn't have free rein. Like I said, lucky you." With that, he stood and rounded the table, his gaze locked with hers. He dragged the second piece of paper along with him, filling the silence with the scrape of the page.
He stopped beside her, within strangling distance. To sit below him felt like having Loren's hand on her neck again, his weight keeping her in her place.
And yet she knew innately that Jaen was worse than Loren. He put no value on her life, on her magic or her money. He would kill her, he would rape her, he would do whatever he wanted.
The question was—what did he want?
"You let me take care of Zaina," he whispered, leaning close. The raw power of his presence wiped her mind clean.
"I just need you to do one thing for me," he said. The words were simple, innocuous, but it was clear what they meant.
You will do this for me—
Or you will die.
Jaen left her in his twin brother's rooms. When he closed the door, she finally started to cry. She could feel the nearness of her own death like a second person in the room. This was the closest she had ever come to the end of the rope, and Ossyne had had nothing to do with it.
Tears stung down her face as she shook. The thing he had asked made no sense. But she would do it. Of course she would do it.
You're going to sleep with your dear lover Loren again.
He's going to hurt you.
And you're going to let him.
Her chest shook, and she finally lay on her arms and wept, pulling her contract to her face, staining it with her terror. What had Jaen seen in her future? What horrible thing would she let Loren do? And how many women would he kill, before he could be punished? Would he ever be punished at all?
"La—Lassyne? Is that you?"
She turned sharply to see Jorr looking up at her from the bathroom floor. His lip bled. He had a black eye. A gash had opened up on his forehead. He looked haggard and beaten.
By Jaen.
In her hand, she held the page Jaen had passed to her, the one that had been stuck to her contract. She hurriedly shoved it in her pocket as she got up from the chair and fell to her knees at Jorr's side.
She held his cheek. "What happened, Jorr?"
He offered that crooked smile of his. "There was a storm."
Lassyne waited, but he didn't elaborate.
"What?" she asked, and her voice only shook a little. "Do storms make him mad or something?"
He rasped out a laugh. "Only when I screw up." He gripped her arm, tried to rise, and then groaned.
"Hey, hey, hey!" she said. "Don't even try it, buddy. You need to rest."
He bit his lip, glancing at the door. "She'll be worried if I don't come," he said.
