The Black Cat was a fairly upscale establishment, and the interior suggested that the patrons who ventured here were either accustomed to a rather extravagant lifestyle, or they had simply saved enough coin to make the night a special occasion. A large bar occupied the middle of the spacious main room, while the perimeter was filled with many intimate booths and tables, giving the occupants a sense of privacy. Four huge columns, at each corner of the bar, rose all the way to the top of the towering ceiling. Stairs to the left of the bar led to a second story where private rooms could be found if one possessed sufficient coin to afford them.
Jarak and Rath stood just inside the entrance, grinning like children in a sweet shop. “I’ll never tire of this place,” Jarak whispered, turning to his friend. “Let’s get a drink.”
There were probably thirty or so people sitting at various tables, lounging at the bar, or just having a good time as they stood or wandered about. About half as many of the occupants were women, wearing only a little more than their wide inviting smiles. They moved gracefully about the room, talking with customers and bartering for their coin. Two musicians sat on a raised platform at one end of the room playing a slow seductive melody, the hypnotic notes drifting lazily throughout the bar. One, a heavy set man, played a black flute like instrument called a tolbin, while the other, a dark haired middle aged woman, gently strummed a small harp. Serving girls dressed in red, low cut tops, and flowing short black skirts, moved about with practiced precision, making sure that all their clients were satisfied and happy.
Jarak and Rath approached the bar, smiling as the beautiful and exotic bartender, a slim raven haired young woman, approached them. “Good evening, what can I…” She stopped mid-sentence as she recognized Jarak.
“Good evening, Eva, it is good to see you again,” Jarak said. “May we have a bottle of Gilian Red?”
“My prince, what are you doing here?”
“Why is everyone asking me this? I should think the answer is obvious,” Jarak said with mock petulance. He leaned against the bar and scanned the occupants of the chairs nearby. Two men, wearing clothing covered with the dust of travel, sat next to him, drinking a pitcher of ale. Jarak noticed them look over at the mention of my prince. “And please, Eva, do not announce my identity for all to hear.”
Eva reached below the bar, producing a bottle of the rare and costly wine. “I’m sorry, Pri…I mean Jarak. But you are not supposed to be here.” She leaned closer, and they could smell her musky flora scent, and whispered. “The king was very clear about that.”
“Let me handle him,” Jarak said. “Besides, no blame can come to you. You are simply following the orders of your prince.”
She sighed, popped the cork and poured them two glasses of the rare wine. Eva was older than them both, nearly thirty, but her creamy unblemished skin made her look younger. Her shoulder length hair was jet black, which contrasted nicely with her smooth ivory skin and luminous crimson lips, painted with some sort of dark rouge. Her eyes were also surrounded in shadow, a smoky blend of gray and black liner expertly blended and applied, which further accentuated her dark and exotic eyes.
Jarak and Rath grabbed their glasses, along with the dusty bottle of wine. “Is Tayna working tonight?” Jarak asked.
Rath narrowed his eyes at Jarak. “I thought you said she was working tonight.”
Jarak drained half of his glass, shrugging his shoulders in mock innocence. “I may have embellished the truth a little.”
“She is working,” Eva confirmed.
“There you go, she is here tonight. So there is nothing to get upset about,” Jarak said, relieved to be able to cool Rath’s rising anger. “We are going to find a booth. Can you send her over, along with another lady of your choice?”
“My choice? I am the bartender, not the Madame, and I do not know your particular tastes in women.”
Jarak looked Eva up and down, smiling wickedly. “Well, find me someone like you, or we could make it easier and you could join me.”
Eva blushed. “That is not my job, but I will see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Eva. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Jarak smiled contentedly and turned to find a booth where he and Rath could begin to enjoy the evening.
“Do you always flirt with women?” Rath asked, taking a sip of his wine. “Wow, I forgot how lovely this wine is.”
“Just the beautiful ones.”
They found a nearby booth, the soft cushions covered in ruby red velvet thick and soft to the touch. Three candles flickered in the center of their table, casting a soft light that was reflected back into their booth by the tall backs of the seats which enclosed it. They sat down with their wine, gazing out at the motley collection of patrons milling about the establishment.
“You see, this isn’t so bad,” Jarak said, as he drained the remaining wine from his goblet.
“Not yet, but the night is just beginning.”
“You have little faith, my good friend.”
“Faith has nothing to do with it. I know you, Jarak. You will drink more, you will get more boisterous, and before you know it we will be in some kind of trouble.” Rath gave his friend a serious look. “You know I’m right.”
Jarak pursed his lips, nodding his head in affirmation. “Okay, I will admit that what you say has occurred during previous outings. But not tonight. I will keep my drinking under control. I just want to relax with some good wine and enjoy the company of some beautiful women. Is that so much to ask for?”
“For a prince? Yes, it is.”
Jarak frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Jarak, you are a prince, and the heir to the most wealthy and powerful kingdom in all of Corvell. With that kind of power comes certain responsibilities. You cannot just decide to go out and mingle with the common folk and frolic with bar maids. You are putting the kingdom at risk every time you sneak out like this. Do you realize what could happen?”
“Nothing could happen. You said it yourself. I am the heir to the most powerful throne in Corvell. Who would be stupid enough to challenge me in anyway? I am just as safe here as I am inside the palace.”
Rath shook his head. “I disagree. Come on Jarak, you’ve studied history. At least that is what I thought you have been doing under my tutelage. There are countless examples of assassinations, usurpers taking over the thrones of established kingdoms, as well as mass murders and genocides, events that seemed unlikely or impossible until they actually happened.”
“You sound like my father,” Jarak said as he poured himself another goblet of the delectable liquid.
“Your father is wise. You should listen to him.”
“What do we have here?” The voice was seductive, interrupting their conversation with a casual hint of desire.
Two beautiful women stood before them. The one who spoke was tall, with cascading red hair, creamy white skin, and dazzling green eyes. Her smile was wide, accentuated by brilliant red lips. But it was her dimples that really added to her appeal; they added warmth to her beauty. She wore a semi-sheer white gown that flowed around her body as she moved, clinging to just the right places. The other woman was in stark contrast to the redhead. She was a little shorter, and more buxom, her ample breasts accentuated by a tightly cinched black corset. Her long legs were covered, just above her knees, by a short, black dress that flitted around her as she shifted nervously before them. Her long black hair was pulled back tight with a jeweled clasp, fully revealing her smooth tanned skin and her exotic features. Full seductive lips glistened as she smiled, and her rich brown almond eyes twinkled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She clearly knew who Jarak was, and genuinely seemed excited to be meeting him.
“Tayna, it is so good to see you,” Jarak said, rising and reaching for her hand, kissing it softly before turning to the new girl. “And you are?”
“Sofia, my Prince,” she said softly, smiling invitingly.
Jarak moved to her, allowing Rath to say hello to Tayna. �
�Please, Sofia, you may call me Jarak. Please have a seat.”
Rath held both of Tayna’s hands in his. “I was hoping you’d be working tonight,” he said, a bit awkwardly.
“You were?” she smiled, flattered that he seemed so shy. She found it rather charming.
“Yes, will you please sit with us?”
“Of course.”
They all sat down at the booth, Sofia next to Jarak while Tayna sat on Rath’s right. “What would you like to drink?” Jarak asked them both.
“Whatever you are drinking, my Prince,” Sofia said, her voice soft and sensual.
“Gillian Red?”
“That sounds wonderful,” Sofia said, smiling with anticipation. She had not yet had the good fortune to sample such high quality wine.
“My favorite,” Tayna added.
As if on cue, a serving girl approached the table, bowing deeply. “Can I bring you anything, my Prince?” Eva, the bartender, must have told her who he was. The serving girls at the Black Cat knew their job well. When any of the working ladies sat with customers, it was standard policy for the gentlemen to buy them drink, and food if they so desired, all part of the price for their company and services. The waitress was short, and pretty in a youthful way. She appeared to be no older than Jarak.
“What is your name?”
“Savi, my Prince.”
“Savi, please do not refer to me by my title. I do not wish to be recognized at the moment. Now, we would love another bottle of Gillian Red. No, make that two bottles, and please bring us two orders of steamed crab. And don’t forget that amazing spiced butter with it. That is my favorite.”
“Yes, my Pri…sir,” she said, catching herself and moving away quickly.
The next couple hours went by quickly as they laughed and chatted, savoring the lovely wine and other exotic foods that had been expertly prepared for them. But secrets are difficult to keep in such an establishment, and word had spread quickly that the prince was in attendance, and they couldn’t help but notice more than a few stares and wandering eyes look their way.
Jarak was thoroughly enjoying Sofia’s company. He had learned that both her parents had died of the black fever when it swept through Cythera fifteen years ago. She had been raised at the orphanage until she turned eighteen. She had quickly caught the attention of Angel, the Madame and owner of the Black Cat, who knew that girls from the orphanage, having no family to support or protect them, were ripe for the picking. Jarak knew that Angel was definitely not her real name, nor did her name reflect her character. He had a strong suspicion that she was anything but an angel. He had only met her twice, but both times had left him unnerved, although he could not identify why. Perhaps it was the mystery and rumors surrounding her. No one really seemed to know much about her origins. Or maybe it was simply the power that she wielded. She owned several establishments throughout Cythera, making her one of the wealthiest individuals outside the noble families.
Rath, with the aid of wine, had finally overcome his nervousness and Tayna seemed to genuinely enjoy his intelligent conversation. Her background was nothing like Sofia’s. She had grown up in the household of one of Cythera’s lesser nobles, and had been well educated. Because of her intelligence and sophistication she had become a popular choice for the elite gentlemen who visited the Black Cat. Despite her family upbringing, Tayna had rebelled against an overly protective father, and guided more by the impetuousness of youth than by rationality, she gradually ended up selling her wares to rich men just like him. And there was no going back. Her family had disowned her.
Jarak was in mid-sentence when two men approached their table. He recognized them immediately as the two men that had overheard his conversation with Eva at the bar. They both carried short swords and daggers, and wore the clothes of a merchant, although dusty and worn from travel. One man looked to be in his forties, with a short brown beard and hair the same color that fell to his shoulders. His face, only a shade or two lighter than his hair, had obviously been baked by countless hours in the sun. The other man was younger, in his mid-twenties, with a short growth of dark hair on his chin and his curly hair cut above the ears of his plump round face. His eyes, darting back and forth around the room, revealed his nervousness.
“May we have a word with you, Prince Jarak?” the older man asked.
Jarak frowned at the interruption. “No offense, gentlemen, but I’m trying to have a relaxing evening with these beautiful women. I’m sure you understand.”
“I’m sure your father would understand as well,” the older man said.
The conversation halted as Jarak gave the man a wary look. “Excuse me?” Instantly he began to task, taking in a small amount of energy from Rath, Tayna, and Sofia. Their auras were clean and relaxed, and he borrowed just enough to perform a quick spell if necessary. Serix had drilled into him, that when the possibility of danger appeared, to always task immediately, checking for any positive auras. And he did it instinctively, almost without realizing it.
The younger man shifted his feet uneasily. “We are simple traders, sir, wondering if you could spare some coin,” the older man continued.
Jarak knew what was happening. They were attempting to blackmail him, to request coin in return for not telling the king that he had been seen at the Black Cat. It was a courageous move, but nonetheless the audacity of it made Jarak angry.
“Let me get this straight,” Jarak replied, “You are extorting a few coins from the Prince of Dy’ain in return for your silence about my presence here?”
The older man cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I like to think of it as a charity. A few coins to you mean nothing, but to us it means food for the table.”
Jarak looked around. “But you can find the time and money to visit this establishment, and to drink expensive ale from Eltus instead of putting food on your table?”
The younger man’s eyes darted nervously to his companion, who merely shrugged at the comment. “All men need to relax somehow; you yourself just suggested that to be true.”
“You wear well-tailored merchant’s clothes, and finely crafted swords, so either you are lying about your meager livelihood, or you are thieves. Which is it?” This time Jarak rose from the booth and stood facing the men, who were now speechless as they shifted away, their confidence ebbing. Jarak looked them both up and down. “What are your names?”
“Carthos, sir,” the younger one blurted out.
The older man glared at his partner, his frustration clearly evident. It seemed pretty obvious that he did not want to give his name. “My name is, Kallick, Prince Dormath.”
“You are either very brave or very stupid.” Jarak produced two silver shikes from his coin purse and handed them to Kallick. “Buy yourselves a few rounds on me.” Then he stepped a bit close and raised his right hand, producing a flickering ball of blue fire. Immediately the two men jumped back, just as Jarak extinguished the fire that he had brought forth. “Do not press me for more coin, and if one word of this reaches my father, I will find you. Do you understand?”
They nodded their heads and quickly stepped away without another word. Jarak sat back down. “Now, where were we?”
Sofia snuggled up next to him. “That was amazing.” All citizens knew that the royal lineages possessed the Way, but few had ever witnessed it. Even though Jarak had conjured the flames for no more than a blink, his move had created quite a stir. “Do you want to go upstairs?” Sophia whispered in his ear as she ran her fingers lightly down his thigh.
“As a matter of fact I do.” Just then Jarak was distracted by a commotion at the door. He stood up again, then cringed as three Sentinels approached him. The bar’s patrons moved away from them as if they were the plague. No one wanted any sort of confrontation with the king’s guard.
The man leading the trio was quite large, but he moved deceptively quick, his long muscular legs bringing him before the prince in an instant. His stoic eyes bore into each of them briefly before returning to the p
rince. “I knew I would find you here, my Prince.”
“Tul’gon, it is so good to see you,” Prince Jarak said with mock civility.
Tul’gon, the captain of the Sentinels, was a grim faced warrior with dark shoulder length hair and a short, meticulously trimmed, black beard. All three wore the armor of a Sentinel, forged from bronze, with the symbol of House Dormath etched into their cuirass. Their gold capes, made from a blend of the finest cotton and wool, were pinned across their chests with a bronze clip, in the center of which was a beautifully polished black stone. Each one carried a spear and wore a sword at their hip.
Tul’gon smiled, but it looked more like a grimace on his stern face. “We found the rope. King Enden wants you back immediately.” Then he turned his stern eyes to Rath. “You are required to join him as well.”
“He had nothing to do with this. I made him come with me,” Jarak said.
“I’m sorry, my Prince. He was very clear about that.”
Rath sighed and removed himself from the booth. Tayna and Sofia were now standing behind them.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Rath said, turning to say goodbye to Tayna. “I’m sorry, Tayna, but we have to go. I had a pleasant, albeit brief, evening with you.”
She smiled and bowed her head slightly. “As did I, Rath,” she whispered softly.
Jarak held both of Sophia’s hands in his, raised one and kissed it gently. “You are a lovely creature. Thank you for an enjoyable evening.”
“The pleasure was mine, my Prince.”
“And please, ladies, accept this token of our appreciation for your time,” he said, placing two gold dracks in her hand. He smiled one last time, turned, and followed the Sentinels out of the bar.
King Enden slammed his fist on the table, shaking the wine goblet and pitcher, the sound echoing in the chamber. They were in the anteroom to the king and queen’s private chambers. “I have had enough of this behavior, Jarak!” he thundered. “You are the Prince of Dy’ain and you can’t just frolic in a local bar at your will!”
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 8
