We see it long before we arrive—a great, sleeping dragon squatting on the horizon, curls of smoke drifting into the sky beside thin, spindly towers. Even in Otscold the city is famous. It’s the place where virtue goes to die, swallowed up by the rogues and charlatans that make their home there.
Hallowbane is defined by its extremes. We pass through the slums first, filthy streets sticky with waste, the stench so bad I have to breathe through my mouth. Thin, smudged faces stare at us as we pass, their eyes too big while their bodies are too small.
The fae all slipped on their glamours as we approached the city, but that doesn’t stop people from watching us. Some with wariness or with curiosity. Others with the hunger of predators looking for an easy kill. One ragged woman gets too close to Hyllus, but he pulls back his cloak, showing her the blade strapped to his waist. She hisses at him but falls back, melting back into the streets with her companions.
It’s jarring when we hit a wealthier neighborhood, passing buildings swathed in colorful flags and banners, windows ablaze with light despite the gray sky. Women in low-cut gowns lean over gold-painted balconies, their red lips pulled into fixed smiles as they beckon to us. Stratton offers them a dazzling grin and wink. The ensuing giggles and cat calls echo after us as we turn the corner.
On the edge of the Temple’s territory, but technically on royal land, this place has never been properly claimed by either of Trova’s authorities. Instead, it’s a shadow realm, where businesses flourish that would be stamped out anywhere else. Maybe the theory is that if all the land’s sin congregates in one place, there’s less to infect everywhere else.
“Here,” Eryx grunts as we approach a large building. “This one’s got room for the horses.”
Gaudy columns line the entrance, but there’s an archway to one side which looks like it leads to stables. There’s no smell of hay and horse manure, of course. With the huge urns of burning incense positioned out front throwing up thick clouds of perfume, I doubt we could smell it if one of the horses took a crap right here at our feet.
“What is this place?” I ask Alastor as we dismount.
“An inn, of sorts,” he says as a young man in a tailored jacket with gold buttons quick steps toward us.
“Would you like me to stable your horses for you, sir?” he asks. I’ve never heard an accent like his before—thick and flat as a penny—but the fae understand him well enough, as Leon nods and tosses him some coins.
“Thank you, sir. The hostess inside will be more than happy to see to your needs.” He dips his head as he leads our horses away.
“I bet she would,” Damia snorts.
“An inn?” I repeat to Alastor pointedly.
He shrugs. “Of sorts, I said. People stay here too.”
As we push open the brass-handled doors, I’m hit by a wave of noise: clattering dice, clinking glasses, and the chatter of customers and waitresses taking orders. Not to mention the music—I spy a quartet of musicians on a low-set stage strumming out a lively harmony.
“Welcome.” A woman sweeps toward us in a yellow dress so tight her breasts are on the verge of escaping. That’s probably the desired effect, as she offers us a sultry smile. “And how can I help you ladies and gentlemen today?”
It’s still the afternoon, but the windows are covered in heavy curtains, and the room is lit in a reddish glow by incendi lights. Every customer in this place seems to have a drink in one hand and a set of cards in the other as they place bets and bluff over piles of coin.
“We’d like rooms,” Leon says. “Three will do. One night at least, maybe more.”
The woman smiles even wider. “Most of our rooms are rented on a more…short-term basis. Full nights will cost a little extra.”
“Fine,” Leon says, waving his hand. Hyllus produces a heavy bag and plants it in the woman’s hand. She weighs it, delighted.
“In that case, we have a lovely suite with three bedrooms I’m sure will suit you. Let me find someone to show you up.”
I expect another busty woman to appear, but we get a man instead, with pretty green eyes and a shirt just as tight as the hostess’s dress. He leads us upstairs, above the haze of pipe and cigar smoke, to a private parlor with three rooms leading off it.
Every surface is plush or polished to within an inch of its life. It’s garish, but at least it’s well kept—and of course, there are plenty of soft surfaces to lie down on.
“We’ll eat and wash up,” Leon says to his soldiers. “Then let’s find this name they gave you in Elmere. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
I think about making some sour quip about wastingmytime, but there doesn’t seem to be any point. Leon has made his decisions, and I have to go along with them. He must notice something in my face though, because as the other soldiers dump their packs on the floor and order food from the green-eyed boy, he moves over to me.
We haven’t spoken since he glimpsed that mortifying scene in my head. Thinking about it still makes me shudder. It simply came out of nowhere. Well, notnowhere. Leon planted the seed, what with his antics in the barn and all his talk about what I’m most drawn to.
It’s only natural my mind would go where it did. A girl shouldn’t be blamed for having an active imagination.
But it’s still hard to meet his eyes now.
“I appreciate that you weren’t expecting us to take this detour,” he says. “But I thought of a way we could make it worthwhile for you too.”
I’m surprised enough that I forget my embarrassment and look up at him.
