A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

Henry frowned, but then seeming to come up with a story, said, “Fell down the library stairs.”

  “The library, huh? Didn’t think you knew how to read.”

  Tash snorted like that was a ridiculous assumption.

  I crossed my arms. “Have you gotten much coin for the spectacle you’re putting on?”

  His eyes lit up. “Wanna see? I even got Titan coin! It’s worth twice as much as the silvers most folk use here.” His hand disappeared in his pocket before pulling out, what was indeed, Titan coin.

  My heart thumped. “Where did you get that?”

  “Well, from a Titan. Who do you think?” he said with too much sass for a seven-year-old. I suddenly thought I needed to apologize to my grandmother.

  “What did he look like?” I asked.

  Henry frowned in thought, stashing his coin in his pocket. “He was tall.”

  I sighed, impatience curling in my chest. “Other than that, Henry. They’re all tall.”

  “Had dark hair. Longer than the others,” he said absently, fiddling with his stick. “He didn’t believe my act, but he still gave me coin. Think I’m gonna be a Titan when I’m eight,” he said, sounding determined.

  First Weston steals my horse? Then he makes my Henry aspire to be a Titan?

  “You can’t just be a Titan,” I said.

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “You have to be born there. Besides you’re too old.”

  “I’m only seven!” he said, outraged.

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “Not much. I asked ‘im if he were here for business or pleasure. And he didn’t say anything for a real long minute, before telling me, ‘Let’s just hope it isn’t the latter,’ and then he walked away.”

  I frowned. What did that even mean?

  “Momma told me to tell ya to come on down and pick up ‘er dress. You can wear it to the dance tomorrow,” Henry said.

  I grumbled under my breath. “All right. But go home before you get arrested.”

  “I ain’t doing anything criminal!” he protested.

  “You’ve escaped their holdings five times now. Someone’s going to remember your cute little face.”

  His expression puckered. “Darn it, I ain’t cute. I’m a man,” he said before he walked off, dragging his stick behind him.

  My eyes came to Tasha who still sat there, looking at me like I’d just stolen a child’s toy. He stuck his finger at me and squawked something unintelligible.

  “I’m sorry?” I feigned confusion. “I don’t speak monkey.”

  His shrieks got louder before he followed after his master. I wondered what kind of fur apparel I could make from a monkey. Just kidding. Tash was too small to make anything worthwhile.

  I strolled through the crowded streets, and when I realized I’d like a little air without bumping shoulders as I walked, I headed toward the southwestern tip of the city. The deserted part where empty stone houses sat crumbled, with unattended vines snaking up and inside the empty recesses.

  A tumbleweed blew across the street in the breeze, orange dirt following like a light spray of ocean water. A well sat in the square at the end of the street, an entire day devoted to it. The Day of Fools. It was said that on that day, this forgotten well filled up, and if you looked inside, it would give you the answers you sought.

  It was the reason this part of the city was deserted, the people who lived too close being haunted by what they believed was the well’s doing.

  As I looked into the well now, I saw nothing but an empty vessel, a sign of famine and misfortune. The idea that it could be the answer to how to reverse my Fate was doubtful. But it was my only chance.

  Though, it wasn’t called The Day of Fools for the hell of it. It was said that not many walked away with their sanity. That the well showed them too much, or maybe it just showed them the truth, and they couldn’t handle it.

  “If you have a soul to sell, look into that well,” I whispered, leaning over the dark hole. It didn’t echo. It sounded empty, so vacant a chill went through me.

  That was often the saying that went around Symbia if you ever mentioned the Well of Fools because you never came back the same.

  Some might call me a martyr. But the thing was: I wasn’t. I knew that I would walk away from this well, just like I’d removed those prisoners from those magical rocks. Just like I’d escaped death. I wasn’t a martyr; I was merely confident I would survive.

  It was only days away. Days until I would become a Fool. I was already a tragedy. I might as well go all out. I chewed my lip in reflection of my decision. “If you have a soul to sell—”

  My heart stopped as cool air came up to brush my face.

  “Look into that well . . .” whispered back at me.

  A couple of hours later, after leaving that mystic well as soon as it spoke to me, I awoke from a nap, climbed out of bed slowly, and stretched like a cat. It was late afternoon, the parade had long ended, and I could hear Sinsara and Carmella arguing loudly in the other room about Carmella not petitioning for High Sistership.

  Looking down at the small silver charm on my desk, my heart skipped a beat, but then anger rushed me, making my cheeks heat.

  I was hesitant to even touch the cursed object, but with an aggravated sigh, I snatched it off the desk before throwing my door open and heading down the hall.

  Why did people try to predict my life? I didn’t want to know!

  I threw open Farah’s door, to see her lying on her stomach on her bed, some cards in front of her face.

  “What is this?” I demanded, holding the object in my palm.

  She raised a perfect, dark brow. “What does it look like?”

  “Why was it on my desk, Farah?”

  She shrugged.

  “Farah . . .”

  Her eyes narrowed at my dark tone. “I thought you’d want to know. But now I can see that you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t. But now I know. This is why you don’t meddle around in other people’s lives!”

  She glanced down at the cards spread out in front of her, dismissing me. “You should be happy that someone even wants you with that temper.”

  I scoffed, crossing my arms. “I would be a prime catch for anyone.”

  “That’s your subjective opinion,” she muttered, shuffling some cards around.

  My eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

  She frowned but didn’t answer.

  Then I got a good look at those cards. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re not predicting anyone’s future in this house!” I snatched the cards off the bed, still holding onto the stupid charm.

  “Hey!” She lunged at me, but I was already sprinting barefoot down the hallway and skidding to a stop in front of the stairs before taking two at a time.

  “I swear I’m going to wring your neck, you witch!” Farah called close behind me.

  “Fine! As long as you don’t dig around in my future!”

  “You aren’t going to have a future!”

  “You can’t help yourself, can you?” I said breathlessly, hopping off the last stair. “Before you know it, you’re telling someone they’ll die, and then you ruin their bloody last days!”

  I came to a stop, out of breath, before throwing the cards and charm in the fountain. Farah bumped into me, and I lost my balance, teetering over the stone ledge; I grabbed her arm for leverage, but with a cry, we both fell into the cold water with a splash.

  Farah sputtered, the stone woman pouring water right on her head. “My hair!” she growled, moving out of its way, and pushed the wet curls out of her face.

  We eyed the cards floating around us, silently.

  I sat in water up to my waist. It actually felt pretty nice; the water was cool against the hot, sticky air that had been torture all morning.

  Once the shock wore off and an angry silence spanned between us, I became aware of women’s laughter. Farah pulled herself out of the water, eyeing me with a look I was familiar with. The last time I’d
messed with her things, it’d gotten me as far as the palace dungeons. It might have worked in my favor, but still, she would get me back for this.

  I swallowed, glancing down at the little silver charm that floated past me in the water: a woman with her head back, her lips parted, in the throes of passion. Sexual awakening.

  Now I had to watch my back for, what looked like, immense pleasure from finding me.

  Huh. Maybe I’d overreacted . . .

  It was a little later when Henry banged on my bedroom door. Yes, Henry. That seven-year-old boy who thought himself man enough to walk into a brothel.

  “What on Alyria do you think you’re doing here?” I asked as soon as I noticed him on the other side of the door.

  “I closed my eyes the whole way, just like Momma said,” he grumbled. “How else was I gonna tell ya that she needs ya?”

  I frowned. “What for?”

  Tash eyed me with disdain like I was a real whore before jumping on my desk and throwing my brush over his shoulder as he dug through stuff.

  “Maranda’s sick and, with the dinghy races at the docks, Momma can’t keep up with it all! She told me to tell you that she’d pay you more than any patrons you could squeeze into the whole day.”

  I groaned. I didn’t really want to watch the races like the other girls, but I really didn’t want to serve handsy men ale all day. I had told the doormen when I got back from that creepy well incident to tell my mother or Clinton I was out if they came by. I’d dodged them so far, and I knew the last place they’d look for me was as a barmaid in a back-alley tavern. Just for the festival, I wanted to live like I didn’t have to marry some stranger in less than a month.

  With a sigh, I realized this favor was going to be at least male-whore worthy. “Fine. Let me get my cloak.”

  I grabbed my ‘Hate Weston List’ from Tasha’s fingers as he eyed it sideways, and laid it back on my desk, receiving a glare from him like it had actually been his.

  “How did you get up here with your eyes closed?” I asked Henry, shutting the door behind me. “Didn’t you run into walls?”

  “A couple,” he grumbled. “Think I got a real bruise on my head now.”

  Amusement rushed through me. Only Sunny would tell her son to walk through a brothel he’d never been in with his eyes closed.

  I laughed. “Cry wolf . . .”

  This was more than male-whore worthy—like two of them at once. Wait, how would that even . . . oh. Huh.

  Anyway, I’d missed supper, and now I was going to hear it from Agnes. Hopefully, she didn’t contact the Superior Sisters like she’d always threatened. I would just say I’d accidentally boarded a ship to Aldova and had to find my way back . . . or something.

  The last bit of the sun was dying behind the horizon, a tiny slit of orange glowing across the ocean water. As soon as it began to get dark, the heat had snuck up on me, grabbing on and not letting go. I tucked my skirts into my girdle, not even caring that it made me look like a true loose woman. Comfort over reputation any day. Grandmother might have said otherwise, but she wasn’t in Symbia melting. Who knew where she was, abandoning me here. I should really whore to teach her a lesson.

  Leaning against the wooden counter, I sipped some wine that seemed to only make me lightheaded from the lack of food. Sunny wasn’t jesting that she couldn’t keep up with it all. Even Henry had been carrying mugs and running errands all evening.

  It wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. Yea, I’d gotten my backside smacked more times than I cared for, but the next time I came back to the table, I was sure to subtly persuade the man with wandering hands to make sure that in the future he always asked a woman whether he could touch her. It was a light persuasion; they shouldn’t have lost their minds. Keyword: shouldn’t.

  With a sigh, I pulled my heavy hair off my neck and around my shoulder. It was longer than it should have been, but that was the last thing I’d worried about when waking from the dead. Tugging on my bodice, trying to get some airflow anywhere I could, I stopped when I heard someone yell, “Just take it off. We won’t mind!” Laughter ensued.

  I sighed. Well, as much as I tried to turn this into a respectable establishment, I didn’t think it was going to happen. I tipped my head back, wishing for patience. And then I felt a tingling at the base of my spine, a rush of awareness running over me. I didn’t even need to glance at the door to know who just came in.

  Pulling my gaze in that direction, my breath caught in my chest as I met Weston’s heavy stare. He stood there for a moment, watching me, slowly taking me all in from my head to my toes, before glancing away and taking a seat at a table. Some man I hadn’t even noticed took a seat across from him.

  It seemed all the air was sucked out the doorway when he stepped inside. This place was too small for him.

  “Bloody hell,” Sunny breathed, coming to stand beside me. “Tell me that’s not—”

  I nodded, my unfocused gaze in the opposite direction. “It is.”

  “Bloody hell! The other prince was in here the other day and I ‘bout had a heart attack, but this one . . .”

  Yea, this one was something.

  And he could hear all of this, I was certain.

  A shiver of uncertainty went through me, settling in my stomach. “Sunny, you can serve them.”

  “What! No. Don’t think I could without dropping their drinks, I’d be so nervous. You do it, darlin’. They’ll want the likes of you anyway.” She leaned in, her shoulder brushing mine as she gave the table another glance. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get that prince as a patron. Imagine that!”

  I groaned, imagining what Weston would think about that statement, but not daring to look.

  What was it with princes trying to mesh in with the commoners? The other men didn’t seem like too much was out of place. The laughter died down a little bit, but they didn’t act like a prince just stepped into the room. I guessed that was because he fit in here fairly well.

  I grabbed two mugs, cursing myself for somehow being in the position to serve Weston, but there was a part of me, after he walked away from me last night, that wanted to show him I was indifferent to him. That I didn’t care he was here, sitting right there.

  Weston didn’t give me another glance, only stretched his legs out, sitting as simply as a prince would.

  Looking at the man across from him, now that I was up close, I noticed he was a captain with just a glance: darkly suntanned skin, lines on his face from the harsh weather, and rough, calloused hands from handling the rigging. As if he felt me looking at him, he glanced over, watching me carry two mugs to the table, his eyes falling to the bare legs I’d suddenly regretted showing.

  A little flame of irritation pulsed in my stomach as I made it to their table and Weston completely ignored me like he hadn’t kidnapped me, hadn’t gotten me killed, and hadn’t then stolen my horse. And so, I pretended I’d forgotten all the above and treated him like a common patron. I set the mugs on the table, but when I turned to go, the captain grabbed my wrist.

  “Don’t reckon I’ve seen you here before.”

  “I’ve seen you,” I responded, a smile pulling on my lips. I lifted a shoulder, saying, “You must have forgotten me is all,” and tried to pull my wrist out of his grasp, but he held tight.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I would’ve remembered you.”

  I hadn’t seen him at all, but I’d known how this would go, from fifteen different conversations with these sailors—they were all the same. And I knew that no matter how indifferent Weston really was, this would still annoy the hell out of him. And I was right.

  “Smith,” he said harshly, and maybe if I hadn’t heard it enough times, I would have missed the threat in his voice. The captain glanced at him before dropping my wrist, but his hand ran down my thigh to my knee before truly leaving me.

  I felt Weston’s gaze follow the entire movement, saw his grip tighten around his cup out of the corner of my eye.

  Normally the touch
would have irritated me, but with a Titan’s hot gaze suddenly on the side of my face, telling me if I didn’t leave his table I’d regret it, well, this couldn’t have gone better in my opinion. It wasn’t me who couldn’t maintain their indifference.

  His eyes followed me as I walked away, and it felt like the temperature rose from him just being here, his attention on my back.

  The reaction I’d gotten from him was addictive; it sent a rush through my blood, and I urged to feel it again, to see something else from him than his back as he walked away from me. So, I did something degrading, juvenile, and a little manipulative.

  Any of the newcomers trickling into the tavern, well, I let them treat me like a willing serving wench—shameless flirting and innocent touches, anyway. The worst it’d gotten was when some man pulled me down on his lap for a second, before Sunny yelled at him and he let go.

  I refused to look at Weston’s table, but after that episode, my breaths were shallow, like I could feel the tension that suddenly overtook the room.

  I tried to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It was the only table I wouldn’t look at, but the only table I was truly aware of. I couldn’t figure it out, but him, just sitting there, it jumbled my thoughts into a mess of wondering where he was looking, what he was saying, thinking.

  Every time I’d walk closer in his direction, the undying awareness under my skin would tingle, sending a rush of nerves through me, and I’d brush my hair over my shoulder, anything to keep my hands busy, my mind off the man sitting there, his presence driving me mad with an assortment of feelings.

  It had to be loathing. That’s what I told myself. A severe loathing.

  My skin burned from the heavy heat trickling in through the open doors, and from a Titan’s gaze brushing me like a ray of raw sun against my skin.

  I’d walk just a bit closer to Weston than necessary every time I made my way by this table. Not purposively, of course. Just . . . circumstances.

  Anyway, this time I might have misjudged the space between us as I moved out of the way for a man passing through. Weston was so close that my hip brushed his arm. It felt like fire, my breaths stilling. I hadn’t even glanced at him, just pretended that it was a completely indifferent touch, but the truth was, I was losing my mind. I needed air. Yes, air.