“You ever feel like you’ve been fucked over by your own brother, and it turns out he’s dead?” he asked after a long gulp.
Pen was beyond words. This man had just sat himself right next to her, a stranger, despite all the space at the bar, and started spewing his woes. He was starting a conversation like they were old friends. The bartender had even left, probably assuming this was the one she had been looking for. He had already made it to the other side of the bar and was talking to someone else.
At a loss, Pen picked up her drink and made to follow him, but the newcomer turned to her again and spoke.
“You have any brothers?” he asked.
“Um … no,” she said. “I’m sorry; can I actually help you with something?”
“I don’t either apparently; turns out he’s been dead for over a decade.”
Pen sat back in the stool. He just found out his brother was dead. That made a little more sense to his behavior at least, but she wished he’d found someone else to rant to.
“Well, I’m sorry about your brother,” she said. “I’m sure he was a good man.”
He barked, causing Pen to jump. He’d barely finished half of his ale, but he was already drunk, or seemed like it in his grief anyway.
“He really wasn’t,” he confessed with a wild grin. “He even tried killing the queen here.”
“Wait, the assassin the Ragged Wolves took down?” Pen asked astonished.
Pen watched him differently now. If he was Arus’s brother, then he was far behind on that news, again not that she was one to judge.
He froze mid drink when he spoke. Swallowing, the laughter died.
“I suppose so,” he said somber now.
She should tell Raisa about this man. She would want to know that Arus’s brother was nearby. Pen may have come to hate Arus, through the stories Raisa shared or avoided, but she tried to not hold that against the newcomer.
“I am still sorry,” Pen said. “Losing anyone is hard.”
He just grunted and stared at his ale.
Unsure how to proceed, and cursing herself for being so bad with people in general, Pen stood. He didn’t look up until she set a few coppers beside his tankard.
Confusion knit his eyebrows together and he watched her.
Pen gave a kind smile, patted his arm, and left.
The bartender with the open collar had finished serving another person, so she tried to catch him.
“Excuse me?”
He paused at her voice and turned to her again. “Another small one?”
“No, but you have my thanks there,” Pen said taking another stool. “I’m looking for someone, but all I know is that he works here.”
The bartender glanced to Arus’s brother and back again.
“Not him,” Pen said, “he’s a … friend. Anyway, I know this is going to sound strange, but was anyone here seeing a young woman named Adrienne?”
Surprise and recognition lit in his eye as he took a step back.
“Mellas said he was meeting a lady with that name regularly,” he confessed slowly.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Pen said then regained her composure, trying to be professional. “Where is he, and is there somewhere quiet I can talk to him?”
“He’s in the back right now. What exactly is this about? I can’t just let people wander around asking for whomever.”
She paused, wondering how much she could actually tell him. Aethra wanted her to be quiet, but she needed an opening.
Leaning closer and lowering her voice she said, “It’s about the Fang attacks.”
His eyes widened, and his breath caught. “You don’t think Mellas is—”
“No,” she interrupted to calm him, though he was her only suspect right now, “but I do need to talk to him about it.”
“Is this girl okay?” he asked quietly.
The torn flesh of Adrienne’s throat flooded her thoughts. She didn’t mean to let his question just hang, but it was enough.
“By Nyx,” he sighed, seeing the answer in her eyes. “This way.”
He pushed away from the bar and went left. Pen followed him until the bar ended, and they came to a door tucked into the wall.
He opened it but didn’t enter, probably unable to leave his post.
“Mellas should be at the end, peeling carrots or something. If anyone asks why you’re here, tell them Zenous sent you.”
“Thank you,” she said, glad he understood the gravity of the situation. The fletcher didn’t seem to care.
He nodded as Pen ducked under his arm. The door closed behind her, cutting off the roar of the crowd behind along with some of the light. She wasn’t completely lost in darkness, though.
The corner of the room she was in was shaded, but it quickly opened up beside her to a huge kitchen. Men and women hurried about making sure everything was getting done and that nothing burned. Pen noticed another door directly ahead; she went for it, heeding Zenous’s words. No one was peeling anything in here.
The next door opened to a small patio tucked behind the Den. It was part of its own little square behind the other neighboring buildings similar to the garden behind the potter’s house. It would have been pleasant if there was a bit more greenery. At the moment, there was only a dry shrub in the corner.
Two young men sat at a table that was covered in vegetables. Both looked up to the open door, but pulled back a bit when they didn’t recognize her.
“Who are you?” the taller one with forest green hair demanded.
“Pen,” she said. “I’m looking for Mellas and need to talk to him about Adrienne.”
The hostility softened, but he stayed put.
“What for?”
“Are you Mellas?” Pen asked growing annoyed again.
“Aye,” he confessed after a pause.
“Then it’s best said in private.” She approached the table, turned to the other lad, and pointed to the door. “You mind?”
“Who let you in?” he asked staying seated.
“Zenous.”
“Why?”
“I’m investigating the bloody Fang,” she growled. “Now get.”
“Whoa, hold up.” Mellas stood and dropped the potato he was peeling. “What? I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I didn’t say you did, I just want to talk,” Pen stressed, “because Adrienne was his latest victim and you might be the last person who saw her.”
Mellas stilled. “What? Adrienne is dead?! Wait, no, she … I saw her three days ago. She was fine.”
“She’s not now.”
He deflated at that. Glancing to the other lad, he gestured to the door too.
After a moment, he and Pen were alone sitting at the table. Pen was half tempted to start working on a potato, just to have something to do with her hands.
“The Fang got Adrienne?” Mellas asked, solemn.
“He did,” Pen said. “When did you see her last and where?”
“Here a few days ago. We met upstairs every week or so.”
“On the third floor?” Pen asked remembering the crude drawings and tapestries.
“I work up there most nights,” he explained shrugging.
“Oh!” Pen bit her tongue after the exclamation. She knew male prostitutes existed, though she’d never met one before.
Embarrassment at her blunder quickly followed her surprise.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect that detail,” she said.
He huffed a laugh. “It’s all right, not many do.”
“So, you said it was three nights ago?” Pen continued, trying to be professional again.
“Aye,” he said.
Biros said that was probably when the attack happened based on the wounds. Pen had no idea how he could tell exactly, but it probably involved how decomposed she was. Bile rose in her throat again, so she pushed the thought aside.
“Can you prove you were here all night?” Pen asked.
“Not exactly,” Mellas replied, “but several people can
vouch for me, even Zenous, though he left earlier that night.”
Mellas didn’t seem like a killer, and he was even sad about Adrienne’s death. She was a regular of his, maybe a favorite, but he at least respected her. If people could prove he was here that night, then it ruled him out as the Fang.
Trying to not feel discouraged, Pen stood. She did still have the other families to talk to. A journal or parchment would come in handy so she could jot down notes.
“Thank you for your time,” Pen said. “Wait, one more thing. When Adrienne left, do you think she was followed by anyone? It’s likely that it happened shortly after leaving here.”
He grew pale. “I-I don’t think so, but I didn’t watch her leave. Once she left my room, I closed the door and that was it. Gods, it was that night?”
Pen nodded, regretting giving him that information.
Clenching his hands on the table, Pen noticed his shoulders started shaking.
“I am sorry for bothering you,” she tried, unsure what else to say.
He shook his head. “It’s all right.”
Pen nodded, cursing herself again for not knowing how to say goodbye properly, or if she even should now.
“Is he going to come after me?” Mellas asked suddenly. He studied her, intent and terrified.
“No,” Pen said, “no, I don’t think he will.”
“You don’t think so?” His voice rose.
“He’s only attacked women so far,” she said, desperately trying to reassure him.
He did calm a little, but he was still pale and scared.
“Let any other women working here know to stay in at night,” she said, but then realized that would be hard for some other prostitutes, “or at least always travel in pairs.”
“Okay,” Mellas said nodding. “Can I mention that to Zenous too?”
“Yes, spread the word as much as you can. To stay in at night, especially women, and travel in pairs.”
“Okay.” He looked a little calmer.
Before she could make anything worse, for herself as well as Mellas, she left. People in the kitchens noticed her this time, but no one stopped her. Pushing open the door by the bar, she headed for the main exit.
The crowd of the Lion’s Den filled her vision, and she hated it. It was like a spider was constantly crawling under her skin and clinging to her shoulders. The Fang could be here for all she knew, or her own stalker. That idea did not help a damn thing.
Sidestepping around a staggering man, her tunnel vision broke. Pen glanced up as she avoided his swagger and saw two people she recognized behind the drunkard’s head.
A woman with waist long hair, as red as fresh blood, stood at the balcony railing on the second floor. A small scythe was woven into a sash at the waist of the embroidered black velvet dress in plain sight. Her hand caressed the shoulder of the man sitting at the dice table before them.
His midnight black hair was ruffled but not too wild. The line of this jaw was easily seen in profile and he laughed, delighted at the game in front of him. His own clothes were just as black and regal as the woman’s, with a cloak draped over the chair behind him. Through the railing, Pen saw the dagger strapped to his boot. She knew it couldn’t be the only weapon he had.
Pen stared at the odd couple, though in the context of the gambling den they didn’t look too out of place, even if they had the darkest clothing. But seeing the new rulers of the underworld out enjoying a night made her pause.
She’d never seen the other gods just out enjoying life before. Then again, she might not recognize them on sight, but she assumed she’d sense a presence, an air, about the gods. Like she had with Phaos back in the forest.
These two had their own carefree, yet slightly threatening, presence about them. No one in here was allowed weapons, yet they wore theirs proudly.
Scythe glanced over the railing and down to the main floor. Her red eyes found Pen’s and she stared back, looking equally surprised.
Pen froze, unsure what to do, but she gave a small wave.
Scythe smiled and raised her wine glass in greeting. Squeezing Dagger’s shoulder, Scythe leaned over and whispered into his ear.
He turned to her, distracted from the game, then followed her gaze down. He noticed Pen too and waved back.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Raisa
Once upstairs again, Raisa didn’t go for her office. Her nerves still hummed from encountering Tetrides, and she needed some distraction. Pacing into the common room that overlooked the street below, she gazed out the window. A walk would do some good, or the rooftops. She always felt safe up there, like nothing could reach her.
She could find Drivas, and they could enjoy the night together.
Drivas was alone out there, with Tetrides wandering as well. The thought was like a punch to the chest.
Cursing to herself, Raisa turned and made for the archway only to stop short.
“Did you know he had a brother?” Palrig asked, entering the common room.
“I didn’t know for sure, until now,” Raisa said shrugging.
“How does that work?” he asked, confusion lining his brow.
“He never mentioned anyone specifically, but get him drunk enough and stories would slip through.”
“Arus did love to brag. You look like you could use a stiff drink too.”
“No, I need to find Drivas,” Raisa said passing him to the corridor. “I sent her out with a message, and now she’s alone with this mystery uncle wandering in the streets.”
“Hold on,” he caught her arm. “Does Drivas know who this Tetrides is? How they’re related?”
“No, and I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Then don’t raise suspicion by running after her,” Palrig said.
Raisa’s heart raced, but she did pause to listen.
“She’s curious,” he continued, “but she can handle herself. You running off to protect her now will bring up more questions, pointing to the mystery man who had asked for you just before.”
“He’s out there right now, with my daughter somewhere else in the same city. I should have stalled him, but I just wanted him out.”
“He’s not hunting her down. He doesn’t even know who Drivas is.”
“You had to see the family resemblance, and there’s going to be questions regardless. There always is with her.”
Mind racing with paranoia, Raisa took a few more paces down the corridor.
“That means Drivas probably saw it too,” Palrig called after her, “and now you’ll just solidify those suspicions. She may even start thinking Tetrides is her father.”
“Fuck!”
Raisa froze by the stairs, practically tearing her hair out.
“She’ll be fine,” Palrig said guiding her back to the common room.
He set her down on one of the soft benches they had and told her to stay put. He vanished for a bit then came back holding a thick, green bottle.
“I don’t know if I can handle your favorite liquor,” she said as he sat down beside her.
“Too bad,” he said pulling the cork out and handing the bottle to her. “Drink up and relax.”
She took the half-filled bottle and downed a swallow. Coughing as it went down, she handed it back. There was hardly any flavor other than the burn of alcohol.
“Do you think I should tell her about Arus?” Raisa asked as Palrig took his own gulp.
“No,” he said passing her the bottle again. “That man doesn’t deserve a daughter like her.”
His tone made her pause after another drink. Palrig was always protective of the Wolves. He had been taken in by their previous leader as a child, but this was different, more distinct. It was almost parental.
“I am such an idiot,” Raisa said watching Palrig. “You’ve been more of a father to her than anyone.”
“I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” he said but didn’t deny it. “You’re doing a fine job on your own, and Pen helped when she was here.”<
br />
“But still, you always looked after her when I had to travel, especially in the past year.”
Palrig shrugged but grinned.
“Thank you,” Raisa said.
“Of course.” He took another swig. “Now what do you want to do about this Tetrides?”
Raisa leaned back thinking. He had gone in relative peace, if not the most gracefully. Once he learned Arus was dead, he basically just left.
“I think I am over paranoid,” she said, “but I don’t want to be surprised by him again. I’d like an extra watcher on the roofs around here. See if we can spot him, if he even comes back. We’ll worry then if he does.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
They traded the bottle back and forth, talking about the past year she missed here. It was a nice talk, and Raisa realized that although Palrig had joined the Wolves as a child, Drivas was the first to be born into it. The idea of her inheriting the highest position wasn’t so absurd in that point of view.
“Hey,” she said to Palrig. “Do you think Drivas would be a good leader for the Wolves, a good alpha as it were?”
“Alpha!” he laughed at the term. “Why haven’t we taken that up as your title yet? It fits perfectly.”
Raisa chuckled with him.
After a moment, Palrig honestly replied, “She isn’t up for it yet, but I think she could be after some time. She does have an uncanny way of reading people.”
Movement in the doorway drew Raisa’s attention.
“And speaking of Nyx!” Raisa exclaimed gesturing broadly at Drivas standing in the archway.
“What?” Drivas asked confused.
“Turn of phrase. Speak about Death too much, and she’ll show up. Come here, come sit.”
“How much have you guys been drinking?” Drivas inquired as she sat on the coffee table before them.
“Not that much actually,” Palrig said holding up the bottle. There was only a swallow left, but it had been far from full to begin with.
“Can I try it?” Drivas asked.
Raisa eyed her with mock suspicion. “Have you tried it before?”
“Well, yeah,” Drivas shrugged but watched her mother, unsure of the coming reaction.
“Go ahead and polish it off,” Raisa said.
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 15
