Spark of Chaos (Spark of Chaos #1)

Chapter 12

Three Months Later

Isiilde was huddled against the side of a shop watching a building across the road, or rather those coming out of it. Isadora's Closet was the only pleasure house on the East side of Coven. Day and night, it was always busy.

Despite her concealing cloak, people stared at her as they passed. Her red hair attracted notice, even under a hood. Or maybe it was the cloak itself? It was warm and fine, and therefore expensive—a gift from Marsais after she'd burned down the cottage.

It seemed a lifetime ago. But at other times, she still felt the flame roiling over her body.

Isiilde pushed it from her mind, focusing on her current troubles. She touched a rune-etched flagon concealed beneath her cloak.

There was no going back now.

But by the Jack of Fools, what could be taking him so long?

Doubt wiggled its way into her thoughts. She'd watched Marsais enter the pleasure house while she was tinkering with a Gnomish Crystal in the Spine. But maybe he'd slipped out of the building?

The sun was high behind the clouds; she couldn't wait any longer. Tightening her grip on the empty flagon, she strode across the muddy street to Isadora's Closet, and charged the doors.

* * *

Once inside, her resolve faltered. The common room was choked with patrons and she was jostled away from the door like a twig caught in a river.

The air was thick with pipe smoke; the floor covered in nutshells, and the tavern pulsed with the beat of bawdy songs.

Isiilde froze in midstep. A pale woman stood on a table. She wore strands of silk over a body that glowed with ethereal light. Men elbowed each other to get near her. One caught the woman's eye, and he eagerly opened his mouth. She put her toes between his lips and poured a shimmering red liquor down her leg. The man drank eagerly, licking every last drop from her skin.

Two brawling sailors careened into Isiilde, knocking her over. She scrambled to her feet and ducked through the crowd, searching for a way out. But no door was in sight.

A press of bodies pushed her towards the long bar. Then the crowd shifted, and a gap opened up. She darted through and stumbled through an archway.

A haze of smoke hung in this new room, and moaning shapes moved in the murky air. Gradually, her eyes adjusted. Patrons lay on cushions in a tangle of limbs and bodies.

"Pull your hood up and get out of here, girl," a voice hissed in her ear.

Isiilde jerked in surprise. A massive shape with two pale blue eyes filled her vision. For a startling moment she feared it was Oenghus, but where her protector was dark and stormy, this man was fair and calm with a shock of blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

"This is no place for you. If you're lookin' for work, then take my advice and find another profession."

Isiilde took a hasty step back. His words registered, and she quickly did as he suggested, tugging her hood up.

"I'm looking for a man," she said, glancing uneasily at the men in the room. A few had surfaced from their pleasures and were staring at her.

An iron hand locked on her shoulder, but before she could squirm away, the hand steered her down an empty hallway. A memory surfaced. Oenghus had mentioned a Nuthaanian who worked as a guard in Coven. His name was Breeman.

"It's not a place to find a man, either. Trust me."

A man came to leer at her from a doorway, but Breeman growled him away.