Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (48 page)

Scarlett reached for her chalkboard and
scrawled a simple message. She trotted across the floor and stood
in front of Tristian. Before showing him the message she placed her
small hand against his chest, over his heart, and tapped it three
times. Tap. Pause. Tap, tap.

Tristian looked at her, confused.

She did it again. Tap… tap, tap.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Scarlett turned her blackboard around.
I
love you
.

His eyes grew soft. He hugged her, squeezing
her across her tiny shoulders.

“Oh, please,” said Sir Dunmore Waters. “The
fall of Aberdour was inevitable, and the way it fell a disgrace.”
He swirled his wine around in his goblet before tossing back
another gulp.

“And it likely will never recover,” said a
second man, Kerk Drhakozi. He sat cross-legged on a sofa next to
Cordelia whose fingers toyed with his rich blond curls. “Orkrash
attacked that kingdom with a vengeance, leveled the outer towns,
and burned the main city to the ground. Some say he had a
particular hatred for Aberdour, but no one knows why.”

Warming herself in the lounge chair by the
hearth was the conversation’s third participant, a smug looking
woman by the name of Mistress Rose Gown. She was middle aged, with
a provocative combination of sensuality and sophistication.
“Aberdour has been the laughing stock of this realm long before its
pathetic collapse,” she said. “While every kingdom was conquered by
the high king, what did the lord of Aberdour do? Nothing. The fool
left the doors of his city open. He let his children roam and play.
It was business as usual all throughout the kingdom until The Raven
stormed its gates.”

Sir Dunmore lifted his goblet. “All hail the
name of Sir Komor Raven.”

Rose lifted her glass, as did Kerk. There,
in the common room of Mungo’s brothel, the three of them drank to
the health of the high king’s military leader.

The petite voice of a ten-year-old girl cut
through the break in the conversation. “It’s true that many point
to the open doors of Aberdour as proof of Lord Kingsley’s
negligence, but I’ve always felt it speaks most profoundly of his
compassion.”

The four conversationalists swiveled their
heads in unison and gaped at Brynlee Falls. She stepped into their
midst, an elegant blue gown hanging off her shoulders. It was
padded at the hips, giving her otherwise narrow frame a pair of
lovely curves. “So many people had been displaced by the wars that
they had nowhere to go. The king of Aberdour turned his city into a
refuge for widows, orphans, and the elderly. His efforts to help
them saved the very beating heart of Edhen.”

Rose’s face lit up. “Well said, child.”

Sir Dunmore grinned. “It appears we have a
historian in our midst.”

Brynlee put on her prettiest smile and
dipped her head in humble acceptance of the praise.

“I knew a historian once,” she said. “A man
by the name of Pherson Elms once said of Aberdour’s siege, ‘Those
carrying the knowledge and heritage of Edhen would’ve been lost, be
they driven out to the sea by spear or into the ground by sword,
had they not been welcomed into the bosom of Aberdour.’”

“And what does that mean?” asked Cordelia,
the prostitute nestled at Kerk’s side. She had never proven to be
the brightest flame on the nightstand, but with breasts as large as
hers she never needed to be.

“It means our great realm would’ve lost much
during the war had it not been for Lord Kingsley’s willingness to
save it,” said Kerk.

“But what is Aberdour today?” Sir Dunmore
said. “It has limped along for three and a half years, a shadow of
its former self. Would it not have been more prudent for Lord
Kingsley to secure his gates, hire reinforcements, equip the city
with greater siege weaponry to defend itself?”

Brynlee cleared her throat. “I believe it
was the Fellian philosopher Gerhardt Baudendistel who said, ‘A
world with more weapons will toil, but a world with more mercy will
thrive.’”

Everyone’s eyes went to Sir Dunmore. The
tall knight appeared stumped for a moment. “Philosophers.” He spat
the word like spoiled wine. “Clever word smiths they may be, but
realists they most certainly are not.” He downed the last of the
wine in his goblet, prompting Brynlee to grab a pitcher from a
nearby table and bring it to him.

“More wine, my lord?” she offered.

He lowered his glass.

“Learned and polite,” Rose commented. “What
a remarkable young lady. Miss, you must tell me your name.”

“Emma,” Brynlee answered. “And I did not
wish to offend you, Sir Dunmore. I was merely fascinated by your
conversation.” And that wasn’t a lie. The regal knight in his long
velvet blue tunic had caught Brynlee’s attention the moment he’d
started speaking. He claimed to have traveled much of the known
world, and as he conversed with Rose and Kerk she found he had a
tremendous knowledge of history.

“No harm done,” the gray-haired knight said,
giving her hair a quick stroke. “I often bore of pompous old men
speaking before they think with no real knowledge of that which
they’re speaking. You, young lady, are a breath of spring air.”

Brynlee flashed a delightful smile and a
cute little giggle, both of which she had practiced to charming
perfection.

Interest. That’s what it was all about.
Catching a client’s interest, yes, but also holding that interest,
which was sometimes easier said than done.

“Where did you learn so much, Emma?” Rose
asked.

With practiced enthusiasm, Brynlee answered,
“My mother and father taught me to read when I was young. I find I
very much enjoy books, and so I read. A lot, actually.”

“It’s true,” Cordelia said, looking bored
next to Kerk. “Hardly a day goes by when we don’t see her with a
book in her lap.”

“Some men like having their minds aroused by
a knowledgeable woman,” said Kerk.

Cordelia poked him in reproof.

“Not all men, my dear,” Kerk said. He gave
her cheek a small kiss, which seemed to reassure her. She linked
her bare slender arm around his and pressed into him.

“It is true,” Rose said. “Some men are
looking for more than a pretty face, a woman who can stimulate
their
other
brain.”

Sir Dunmore laughed.

Rose turned to Brynlee. “Tell me, Emma,
Mungo is your master, correct?”

“He is, my lady.”

“And has he realized what a smart young
woman he has in his midst?”

Brynlee shrugged.

“I don’t think that’s the brain Mungo thinks
with, Mistress,” said Kerk.

The remark elicited a squeal from Cordelia.
Her hand shot to her mouth to cover her embarrassment and mask the
parade of snickers that followed.

Brynlee could only imagine how Mungo
would’ve reacted to such a comment were he not away on
business.

Something clamored across the wood
floorboards of the upstairs hallway. A spattering of laughter
followed, the deep chuckles of a happy young man coupled with the
flirtatious giggles of one of Mungo’s prostitutes. A moment later,
the long blond haired head of Prince Camdyn Lochnor appeared over
the gallery railing. He looked down into the common room, beaming
like a little boy.

“You were right, Sir Dunmore,” the prince
said. “She was indeed very flexible.”

A half naked prostitute danced up next to
him, sweating, and brushing her mangled red locks away from her
freckled face. It was Fetinah. She was known all throughout Perth
for her athletic sexuality and vocal inhibitions. She draped her
lithe form around the prince’s long neck and kissed him.

Sir Dunmore lifted his goblet to the young
man. “Well, done, my lord. Have your fill, because tomorrow we ride
for home.”

Camdyn looked at Fetinah. “Again?”

She blushed and pressed a hand to her heart.
“Oh, my prince!”

He scooped her up into his arms and hurried
back to the bedroom, the woman squealing and giggling.

“Are there not many decent whores in
Frostkeep?” Kerk asked.

Dunmore shrugged. “If plump and lazy is
decent then our kingdom is rife with the best.”

A bout of laughter followed.

“Tomorrow we ride for the kingdom of Tay
where I’m sure my young lord will sample many more fine women.
After that we ride north for home.”

“I’ve always wanted to see Tay,” Brynlee
interjected. “I hear the castle there glows white. I wonder, is it
from the sea salt or from magic?”

Dunmore chuckled.

“You are a curious little one, aren’t you,”
Rose said. “Come here, child.” She sat up in the lounge chair,
swinging her legs out onto the floor, the numerous crinkles of her
elegant red dress bunching in her lap. Brynlee had heard that Rose
owned a lavish brothel in northern Perth. Adored by men, feared by
other women, Rose had a reputation of being a fierce businesswoman
and a voracious lover.

“Are you working yet?” she asked.

“I serve the house,” Brynlee answered. “I
tend to any needs the women have, and bring food and wine—”

“I mean, do you have any charges?”

Charges. The informal word for clients. It
was a word that terrified Brynlee because she knew that in just a
few short years she’d be taking on her first.

“No, ma’am,” she said.

Rose smirked. “Mmm-hmm. Mungo is saving you,
isn’t he? He knows he has someone special in you.”

Brynlee felt something warm and wet sliding
down her leg. Fearing she had spilt something in her lap unawares,
she glanced down. Several drops of blood lay on the floor between
her feet. Several more were trickling down her leg.

Her stomach twisted in horror.

Cordelia gasped and sniggered. “Looks like
someone needs a cork.”

Kerk chuckled and buried his face in
Cordelia’s cleavage.

Brynlee felt panic rising in her chest as
she watched several more drops of blood fall from between her
legs.

“Someone get her a towel or something before
she bleeds all over the floor,” Sir Dunmore muttered, his tone
edged with disgust.

Brynlee’s face flushed red with
embarrassment. “P–pardon, my lords. Mistress Rose.”

Tears of humiliation and pain sprang to her
eyes as she hurried out of the room. She tried to control the blood
drops with her fingers until she got to the room she shared with
Korah on the second floor. The room smelled of candles and
cherries, Korah’s favorite fruit, but at the moment it was dark and
unoccupied.

Brynlee grabbed a towel off the dresser,
threw it on the floor and sat on it, sobbing. She wrapped her arms
around her stomach as a cramp tightened within her, deep in a place
she’d never felt before. She brought her hands to her face and
sobbed into her palms.

She had always known this day was coming.
She remembered when her older sister had first bled, but Dana had
the comfort of their mother and nursemaids to care for her. Unlike
Brynlee, Dana hadn’t bled under the roof of a brothel run by a
sadistic bawd who was chomping at the bit for her to come of
age.

Brynlee allowed her mind to return home, to
Aberdour, to the arms of her gentle mother. She longed to sit in
the dining room of the castle next to Dana and Scarlett, teasing
her brothers. She wanted to feel Broderick tickling her feet under
the table, and listen to father scold Lia for throwing food at the
cook’s voluminous bottom even as he struggled not to laugh. His
eyes always narrowed when he smiled big, those beautiful tawny
brown eyes.

Aberdour. It couldn’t really be all gone
like they were saying. Surely there were some people left in the
city.

Brynlee fumed. Who did Rose and Dunmore
think they were to criticize her father? If only they knew the
struggles Aberdour had endured in the days leading up to the
attack, the dilemmas her father faced, the lengths he took to keep
his people calm and confident. It wasn’t his fault that the city
had been so quickly overrun. Aberdour’s scouts had been paid off or
assassinated, giving the city no warning to the coming attack. But
no one remembered that part of history. They only remembered
Aberdour as a city of stupid woodsy people, and its king a lazy
fool.

Brynlee sniffled when she heard the sounds
of clopping horse hooves on the street outside. She went to the
window and looked down over the balcony. A carriage had rolled to a
stop in front of the house. Mungo stepped out, followed by Korah,
the brothel’s most sought after woman.

Brynlee felt her heart lift. She bounced on
her toes while she waited by the door for Korah to enter.

When the young whore walked inside Brynlee
hurried forward to give her a hug, but stopped when she saw Korah’s
face. The right side was bruised and swollen, her lip split, and
her left eye a purple mess.

“What did they do to you?” Brynlee
asked.

“It’s nothing,” she replied.

Brynlee helped Korah to the bed where she
sat down, holding her ribs.

“Young men drinking too much, too happy, too
excited.”

“What can I get you?” Brynlee asked.

The young woman shook her head. “I just need
to rest.”

Noticing Brynlee’s red eyes, Korah stroked
her cheek where the tears had been. “You’ve been weeping. What
happened?”

Brynlee started to speak, but then couldn’t
find the words to say. Korah’s eyes took in the bloodstains on her
dress and the bloody towel on the floor. Then her bruised face
melted into a look of compassion and she wrapped her arms around
Brynlee. She held her for a long time, stroking the back of her
head.

“It’s all right,” Korah cooed. “This is a
good thing. You’re a woman now.”

Brynlee sniffled. “I don’t want to be a
woman.”

Korah held her tighter. “Some days neither
do I.”

The door to the bedroom opened and Cordelia
poked her head inside. “I heard what happened. Are you all right,
Korah?”