by Shona Husk
“Beautiful lace for a beautiful lady.” My voice was steadier than I expected. I wished I’d thought of something better to say. But I didn’t know where to begin.
She turned and held the lace between us, her gaze on me, not the delicate fabric. I wanted to throw myself at her feet and ask for the last six years back, but she wasn’t gazing at me with affection. Her lips were pressed too tightly closed and she looked like she was ready to run if I moved too fast. She was acting like a nervous silk-ear. But she was here with me, something I had only ever dreamed.
Her lips moved without sound. Then she whispered, “Are you Haidyn’s breath?” Her hand trembled as if she expected me to vanish. A long-dead memory of a past we’d once shared.
“I’m flesh.” I resisted the urge to reach out and touch her hand to prove it. There were too many people who might see the overly familiar contact, so I touched the lace instead, making it bow in the center.
Her gaze tracked the movement. Then she looked up at me. The fear was gone, replaced with a hurt that was worse. “You can’t be. Haidyn would’ve written. He wouldn’t have left me without a word. You must be dead.” She put the lace back on the seller’s table. Her shoulders lifted as she drew in a deep breath.
Was seeing me causing her that much pain? I’d never meant to hurt her.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I’d tried to write so many times once I’d got established, but what could I say that wouldn’t be lies?
She shook her head, her lips smiling, but her eyes were sad and glistened with unshed tears. “It’s too late for sorry.”
I just nodded. I knew that. I had just needed the hope to keep me afloat.
Anisa picked up another piece of lace, white again. She stole another glance that made the hair along my arms stand on end. I remembered those looks too well. The kind where we’d silently agree to sneak away from whatever gathering we were at. We’d kiss and make plans, the whole time thinking we were so clever and no one knew. We’d been young and stupid. I wouldn’t be stupid again.
“Why did you never write?”
Shame, mostly. But I wasn’t ready to admit that. Not yet. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“You should’ve come home.” She fingered a brown velvet ribbon, the color of the Carpenter.
I watched her hands. I wanted her fingers to glide over my skin the way they once had. “I know that now. Would you have waited?”
“I did wait.” She lifted her chin and looked at me with the familiar spark in her blue eyes. An edge that had tempted me many times into sneaking out to meet her by moonlight. “I thought once the apprenticeship was complete you’d come back for me. But you didn’t. I had no choice but to wed.” Her words were brittle, like the glass her father crafted.
They cut deep and lodged in my heart. She’d waited for me, had never given up hope. All the times I’d thought about going back, all the wasted time and worry. “I never got accepted.”
She stepped back as if I’d pushed her, her gaze taking in my red coat with gold trim.
I watched the puzzlement, but I didn’t want to explain. Not here, not now. There were too many people with ears that were too big and coin purses that were too empty. “Let me tell you another time?” Would she let me see her again or forget I existed?
I picked up a length of brilliant red ribbon and spoke loud enough for the seller to hear. “A pretty lady needs some color.” I held out the length of ribbon like a peace offering and prayed she’d take it.
Her fingers brushed over the silk. “Maybe.” Then the haunted look was back in her eye and she glanced over her shoulder as if she was expecting someone to see her with me. “I can’t.” But she took the ribbon from me, looping it over her fingers. “Just know I would’ve kneeled before any Lord with you.” Then she moved on.
The crush of everyone else’s thoughts swamped me, as if rushing to fill the void left by Anisa. I placed my hand on the edge of the stall for balance.
I forced a slow breath then smiled at the ribbon seller and paid him well, a half silver for what should’ve been a couple of tinnies. His narrow eyes changed from suspicious to grateful. People were happy to deal with me if I were generous with my coin. Lords, they didn’t know how hard I worked for it.
While my mind was busy, I was strangely hollow, as if she’d taken my heart along with my ribbon when she’d walked off. She’d waited. She’d spoken to me. And those few moments gave me hope. Maybe the Lords had heard my prayers, but I had no idea what to do next. She was married, and I was a whore at best and a Rogue at worst.
* * *
Dawn was too early to be woken after a night spent delivering people’s most secret desires. The shattering of a door and yelling of men had me sliding down the ladder from the attic and down the stairs in only my trousers.
Fear was thick in the air as my staff was pulled from their beds after working all night. We’d only been asleep for an hour. The Lawman’s militia traipsed through my house, white arm bands on their coats, flinging open doors. When Gylla was dragged out by her hair, Noromon fought back, defending her like a brother would his sister. He was a big man, but I’d never seen him raise his hand or his voice until now. The stock of a revolver slammed between his shoulders dropped Noromon to his knees.
“Stop,” I called above the noise.
The Lawman grinned. “The master whore himself.”
As if he didn’t know me. The mad glint in his eyes tightened my stomach. Greasy unease slipped through my blood. Brixen’s dark thoughts tumbled through my mind. While his militia was here just to poke around and cause trouble, he wanted more. Our truce was at an end.
“You came for me? Let them go.” I stood tall and looked each man in the eye. They all looked down except for Brixen. They knew roughing up women wasn’t right. Noromon and I were a different issue.
Korene glanced up from where she’d been shoved to the floor. There was no fear in her eyes, but she’d been in the job too many years and knew she’d been lucky to skirt the law this long. Not fear—resignation, and a small measure of blame. I’d brought this trouble to our door.
The Lawman’s anger bubbled, burned in my mind. He didn’t just want to rough us up and send a warning. I felt the heat as if the brand were already on my skin. Lords no, anything but that.
Brixen shook his head, sneering. “Whores get branded as stated in the law I swore to uphold.” He turned to his militia. “Put them in the buggy.” He pointed his five-shot revolver at me and cocked the hammer. “You get to walk. Behind the buggy.”
He wanted me to beg, plead for my skin. My jaw locked. I’d be damned before I begged him for anything.
“I’ll get my boots,” I forced between clenched teeth.
“You’re dressed fine for a loose-skirt. Move.”
Fine in a pair of green trousers and nothing else—not even undershorts. Already I felt the morning chill settle on my skin and raise gooseflesh. I doubted I’d feel cold for much longer. I made myself swallow the bile that rose, trying to block out the memory of the branding I’d seen a few years ago. I failed.
The screaming and smell were fresh in my mind. A burn was a terrible injury, unless you were Arcane. The Arcane healed far faster than other folk. What I was would be revealed. The fear of being discovered held my feet fast. I’d spent so long hiding, and now it was coming undone.
When I didn’t take a step, one of the militia grabbed my arm. I punched him in the side of the head where the skull was weakest; he went down like the sack of shit he was. My knuckles ached and I shook my hand out as I stepped over him to face the Lawman. Toe to toe, he was forced to look up at me.
“You going to brand us? Then what? After all this time, why now?” I wanted to shove him, take him on with bare hands. I’d win. I was fitter, younger and had more to lose. My life, not just my livelihood was on the line. Plus I’d learned to fight dirty my first few months on the streets. The urge to fight pumped hard in my veins, but there were too many witnesses.
> He pulled a length of red ribbon from his pocket. It was stained stiff and dark in places. Blood.
“You son of a bitch.” I lunged forward, not caring who saw me kill him.
The barrel of a revolver cracked against my jaw. Copper and salt filled my mouth, but my teeth didn’t shift. I spat on his white boots. The only time he’d ever worn white in my lust house. Crimson flecked the leather. He gripped my jaw, the way he had so many times before. I knew then that he didn’t just want to fuck me—he wanted absolute control. That I had spoken to his wife scared him, and he was acting out of fear.
It was his fear I’d sensed when I’d raced down the stairs. Thick and impenetrable.
All I could think of was how he’d hurt Anisa. Had she told him how we knew each other, or did he think I’d sought her out to tell her what he did? Did it matter now? Without taking my gaze off him I fisted my hand around the ribbon then held both hands out in front of me for the rope. I wouldn’t crumble in front of him. I wouldn’t give him what he wanted today. Tomorrow I may not have a choice. A militia man jerked them behind my back, looping the rope tight around my wrists.
“Now, you’re going to walk to the Decihall, and I’m going to give the townsfolk a show to start their day.”
Brixen didn’t tie me to the buggy like a thief. No, that would’ve been easy. He wanted to see me obey and put one foot in front of the other willingly. I forced myself to move. Hate bubbled in my veins, mixing with the fear of what was to come. I couldn’t magic myself, or my staff, out of this. The ribbon was smooth against my fingers but offered no comfort. Whatever I was going to face in public, she had faced alone, punished for daring to speak to one as low as me.
My first night on the streets of Reseda I’d learned the hard way that it was easier to give people what they thought they desired than to fight. When the few coins I’d brought with me from home ran out, I was on my own. No Union. No prospects. No sense.
Those first few nights I’d stayed where there were people down Brewer’s Lane, thinking I’d be safe in a crowd. It didn’t take long for me to realize there was more than liquor for sale. One night, after I spent a couple of days scavenging, a drunk thought I’d be cheap fun. He offered me a tinny to suck him off. Horrified, I refused. He got rough. As we fought I glimpsed in his mind what he desired and out of fear pushed that thought back at him. Instead of planting a fist in my face, he shuddered and came in his trousers. He dropped the coin and stumbled away, thinking he’d gotten what he wanted.
For a few heartbeats I’d stared at the coin. Then at my hands. I’d never done anything like that before. Hunger won, and I took the tinny and made it stretch while I tried to find work in a tavern. There wasn’t any unless I chose to sell myself as a loose-skirt. I refused for another two days, but a stomach on the verge of digesting itself speaks louder than morals. It was around then I started praying to the Hunter Lord. One of the oldest, he was about survival.
At first I was cautious. I didn’t put myself out there; I let them come to me. Each time it got easier to let them believe they were having a good time, both magically and mentally. After a ten-night I was able to justify what I was doing—unlike a thief, I wasn’t taking anything that didn’t belong to me. The clients got what they wanted and no one got hurt.
Now I was walking to the branding iron I’d managed to avoid out of luck and bluster.
I tripped on a cobble and stubbed my toe. I cussed about where the Stonemason could shove his hammer. The pain shot up my leg, but the revolver pressed to my bare back kept me walking, the cold metal chilling my skin more than the cool autumn air. Already the hairs on my arms stood on end and plucked my skin tight—but that may not have been from the cold.
I could make a run for it, but the way my luck was heading, I’d be one of those rumored Arcane who could be killed with a ball of lead. Besides, I’d never put much faith in rumor and luck. And if I ran, my staff would pay. If nothing else, I owed them. That and I’d be damned before I let my property and coin go to the Lawman simply because I’d died without a wife or heir to inherit. If I made it through today, I’d make a will to protect my staff.
I glanced up at Korene. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. I mouthed sorry. She shrugged and looked away. She was in danger of being found out by the Union too. Then she’d be sent to the wheel.
Maybe we’d been on borrowed time for too long. Maybe after this the Lawman would leave me alone and never linger in my bed again. But luck and reality don’t always see eye to eye. If he’d followed me from street corner to lust house, he wasn’t going to leave now.
There were a few early folk at the market around the Decihall. On the Smith’s side of the Decihall was a brazier. Orange flames leaped above the metal box. It took every piece of will I had not to break step.
Gylla started crying. She was too young for this; branding would ruin her chances of finding another life, one that followed the Lords. Noromon and Korene tried to comfort her. I could see their lips moving but couldn’t hear the words. The anticipation of the growing crowd swelled around me. Part horror, part fascination. The glad it’s not me—will they still open for business? type.
I needed a drink. Fuck, I needed the whole bottle.
I could do many things, but going willingly to this was not one of them. I let the muzzle of the gun bite into the flesh between my shoulder blades as my feet stalled.
End it now, I prayed. I’d rather have the instant kiss of lead than the coming heat and the lingering pain. I wouldn’t heal that fast. Maybe days instead of weeks, but I didn’t want to find out. Metal clicked as the gun was cocked. I took a shallow breath.
What would happen to my staff, my friends and Anisa? I tightened my grip on the blood-stained ribbon. I had to get through this to get her out of his hands.
Brixen Saw wouldn’t hurt anyone again. I swore this by the Hunter, the Arcane and the Smith. I would take him down and make him pay. Sparks flew out of the brazier, swirled over the cobbles and turned to ash at my feet. I took that as an acceptance of my vow. But it could’ve been the hope of a doomed man.
The Lawman made me kneel, facing the crowd. Son of a mangy cur. The man and four women who called the Red Lust House home joined me on their knees.
Gylla moaned quietly. Noromon wouldn’t meet my gaze. Reena and Mallo had their eyes closed, their lips moving in a silent prayer. As if any of the Lords would listen to the likes of us. We’d never sworn to any Union, so no Lord would hear us. Yet I lived with a small part of my heart dedicated to hope.
The crowd was growing as word got around. There was an air of frenzy about them, like a dog on a hunt baying for blood. But the prey was already quarried and trapped. Silk-ears to the slaughter.
The smith in charge of the branding had that look on his face that a man got when he realized he had to do something totally unpalatable. I knew because I’d seen it in the mirror more and more frequently.
Brixen straightened his white hat and raised his hands for silence. I still heard the murmurs in people’s minds. Everything from they deserve it to the Lawman is a sun-touched bastard. I tried to shut them out and think only of breathing and remaining motionless. That did take a lot of concentration; facing a bullet might have been easier simply because there was no stigma attached to a bullet wound, unlike the brand.
“For too long the law breakers have been allowed to operate freely, thumbing their noses at the Lords.” Brixen’s words were full of smug self-satisfaction.
I forced myself to breathe even though my ribs were like bands of iron around my chest. My heart was striking my ribs at a frantic pace. I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t close my eyes and not know what was happening.
“No longer. I will not tolerate it in Reseda. This city is no refuge for those too proud to kneel before a Lord.” Brixen glared at me. “Haidyn Mast, you own and operate the Red Lust House, whoring yourself as well as others. How do you say?”
You’re a lying, abusive, good-for-nothing, corrupt Lawman who sh
ould hang.
“True.” I choked on the word. Everyone knew who I was so denying it would achieve nothing.
“These are your loose-skirts?”
I nodded, unable to speak and condemn them.
“How do you say?” Brixen pressed, enjoying the spectacle.
“True.” I managed to speak loud enough to be heard.
The Lawman turned to the smithy, who then put the brand in the fire. I focused on the hiss of the coals, anything to drown out the crowd and Brixen’s glee.
Then the crowd went silent. A collective gasp as the brand was pulled free. It glowed like the red eyes of a bastard-horse. No doubt its bite would hurt just as bad. I swallowed.
The Deputy placed his hands on Gylla’s shoulders. He leaned down and spoke to her, but she was too deep in her own apprehension to do anything. He opened her dress and exposed her right breast. The Lawman took the brand and pressed the heated metal to her pale flesh. She screamed and the scent of burning skin filled the air.
I closed my eyes.
But I knew what was happening. I could sense it, feel it in the changes of emotion. Pain overtaking apprehension. I tried to soothe Gylla and give her an illusion of peace; in exchange, her pain invaded me as if my skin were melting beneath the metal. It was all I could do for her. Gradually her cries subsided to a whimper. And the process repeated—the rustle of coals as the brand was placed in the brazier, followed by a pause as the Lawman gloated before placing the brand.
Noromon merely grunted.
Korene hissed as the brand touched her flesh.
I heard Reena begin to cry.
Mallo fainted.
Then it was my turn. The brand was heated. Coals scraped the metal. The Lawman reached for the brand. A metal hand, the size of a child’s, glowed, pale and threatening.
The Lawman stared down at me, lips drawn into a smile. He wasn’t just enjoying this. He was hard. His mind opened to me and in that moment I saw Anisa through his eyes. I saw her fear, the belt marks on her back, the way he took her so he could see the damage.
