The wild violets of Druvaria were found only on the isle of Tevari, the farthest outcrop of land from the island citadel. With only the dead fields beyond it, Tevari could not have been more different than the lowland isles where traitors were sent to work until the poison that seeped up through the dank earth slowly rotted them from the inside out.
The outer-islanders were few now, many migrating to the ruthless streets of Grimefell to seek a fortune that would never come. Those that remained, harvested the flowers, Tevari's only source of income, much of which was bled into taxes for the King.
Life on the isle could be bleak, and yet the land was anything but.
Whether meadow or mountain, the long-stemmed violets grew voraciously wherever they could lay their roots, covering the land in a thick blanket of blue and crowding the air with their sweet scent.
Elara had never been there, but her mother had told her stories of when the Naiad would traverse the short waterways between the islands, and walk barefoot through the fields, the purple pollen dust staining their soles and toes, the scent consuming their senses. She often thought to travel to Tevari, knowing that her secret would not remain one for very long should she appear on the shore, but the longing to tread the paths of her foremothers was strong.
Sometimes Elara hated that longing almost as much as she hated the way the nobles of Druvaria filled their homes with the violets, capturing that which should remain wild inside gilded vases and urns.
Was there nothing they would not try to possess?
Watching as Koh-Miralus appeared halfway down his grand staircase, which was lined either side with golden jars of blooms, Elara surveyed the man that had possessed her friend and would possess her again if she was discovered in the slums.
He was dressed much like he had been during their first meeting, his britches loose-fitting, his feet uncovered. The only difference now was that he wore a thin silk house coat, intricately embroidered with a glittering gold thread, unfastened all the way from collar to hem, his broad chest bare and exposed. It was an audacious, confident move, to appear so in front of a guest – no matter who that might be – but Elara knew that Koh-Miralus did as he pleased when it pleased him.
And besides, he had already assumed the outcome of this moontide, as he had wrongly assumed Elara's intent.
Behind her, the prim-faced girl stood waiting, her hands clasped at her waist, her expression a landscape of disapproval from the valleys on her forehead to the pinch of her mouth. She had admitted Elara to Koh-Miralus' house with a look that said she thought no more of her than she did of the girls who worked the whorehouses, but Elara didn't give a shit. She cared nothing for the opinion of the waspy girl with the dead eyes. The buzz of what was to come was too strong in her veins, the anticipation of her plans too sweet for this girl to sour it.
"You are dismissed for the rest of the moontide, Kadra. I will see Sanus Vise's girl out when our business is complete," Koh-Miralus called down to her.
Kadra hesitated, her frown deepening, but with one slow nod of her head, she soon turned and was away down the hallway on clipped heels, glancing back only once to glower at Elara.
Koh-Miralus raised one brow, and beckoned Elara to follow him. "Come, girl. Let us discuss your future. I have a feeling it is going to be a bright and rewarding one."
Elara stifled the urge to grin and began to climb the wide, spiralling steps, allowing her fingertips to brush the silken petals of the violets as she trailed after the merchant, who, unlike his house servant, did not look back. He did not have to, after all. Those whom he beckoned would always follow. It was a given in his world.
Smoothing her palm over the curved balustrade, Elara studied the fine pieces of art mounted onto the walls. Carved bone masks from Dreynia. Marbled figurine sculptures from the desert lands of Carraterra, their smooth bodies entwined, their nakedness bold and beautiful. Portraits of oil created with vibrant strokes of the artists' brush. Anton would have collapsed onto his knees in a fugue of admiration to see it all, although Elara would have dared to suggest his art was far more worthy of a wall, than these pieces.
At the top of the staircase, the merchant waited, a touch of impatience tugging on his brow, and yet a dark shadow of amusement soon curled his mouth into a thin smile.
"You are tardy, girl, but I will forgive you. The eye cannot help but be drawn to such splendour," commented Koh-Miralus, his gaze fixed solely upon her. "Each piece that you see here has been carefully procured from the finest of art dealers, but beauty – real beauty - must always come at a cost."
Elara understood. He harboured such works of art, not because he held any understanding of just how exquisite they were, of their workmanship, their soul, but because to him, art meant wealth and power. Elara could sense this almost as much as she could sense his growing excitement.
She stopped to stand in front of him, his heavy, intrusive gaze making her flesh crawl like she'd been cast into a nest of kreeworms.
"I find that most things in life come at a cost, noble sir," she replied. "And achieving them is simply a question of how much you are willing to pay."
Koh-Miralus' smile widened. "Then you understand? I am gladdened to hear it. Life is a trade. Every part of it a transaction. The only thing to stand in your way is lack of ambition or death."
"Well, I do not lack the first and the second..." Elara dared to look him directly in the eyes. "I do not intend to meet it any time soon."
The merchant emitted a throaty chuckle. "An ambitious woman, I see. There is nothing wrong with that."
"No?" Elara faked a frown. "I wish everyone admired ambition as you do, my noble sir. If Sanus had his way, I would work the port run forevermore. He cares nothing for the danger that lurks there. The seafarers hailing from Dreynia are notorious for their loathing of Druvarian women."
Reaching for her tunic, Elara pulled it down further than was needed, showing the wound and exposing the top of her breast for good measure. It had healed only slightly by Bogan Zeal's salve she had purchased on her way back from the mid echelon, enough to not appear so ugly, enough to show a vulnerability she wished the merchant to believe she possessed. She could look him in the eye all she liked, but too much confidence, and he would cast her aside.
Koh-Miralus inclined his head, his tongue sweeping slow across his lip as he pretended to examine the injury. The heavy tang of wine lingered on his breath. "You do not need to school me on the savagery of the Dreynians, my dear. They are like wild animals, bringing their vulgarity and pestilence to our shores. I have counselled the King about this on many an occasion. By Ban-Keren, he will soon bring about a better trade deal between the two Kingdoms and weaken our dependence upon them."
"I am pleased to hear it, noble sir. I am sure His Most Exalted finds your counsel invaluable."
"You will find there is much about me that is invaluable." He ran his thumb along the wound, allowing it to trail lower than necessary before raising it to his mouth.
They couldn't help themselves, these bastards. To taste was to desire, to desire was to possess. Elara wondered how much she would have to taste before she could own this beast. Whatever it might be, it would be worth it. In the end, it always was, that much she had gathered from the death of Luca Zar-Kuron.
The noble novice's demise had left a strange, unshakable feeling nestling under her skin. To enjoy death had always seemed like something only they should feel – the Order, the nobles, the King – but Elara had felt it when she'd climbed onto the Highguard's body as she'd pulled him down into the Setalah. A need. A yearning. An odd sense of rightness that had pulsed in her veins and caressed her skin, like the thrill of a lover's embrace.
She'd felt it again in the old temple, as the thief novice had squirmed beneath her. The fear in his eyes. The power she had felt. Elara had tried not to think about how good it had made her feel, a peculiar desire that had teetered between wanting to fuck him and wanting to kill him, and not knowing which would bring her the most pleasure.
Whatever it was – whatever lingered still – she would use it this moontide. Mould the unnatural yearning into something she could use.
"Come," the merchant said. "For if you think what you see here is a thing of beauty, I will show you a work of art that will kiss the very breath from your body."
The merchant led her down another wide hallway, the scent of the wild violets giving way to something stronger, the heat building with every step. Steam drifted to the ceiling at the far end, clouds of swirling mist floating like dancing laundry maidens, white skirts rising and falling with the soft music that glided out of the doorway.
Stepping into the chamber beyond, Elara's heart soared, the blood rushing to her temples in waves of pure bliss.
She'd counted on this, having heard many tales from Kelena of how Mica Koh-Miralus preferred to entertain the many mistresses and courtesans he invited into his home, and into his bed.
Even if she had not been told of his infamous exploits by Kelena, Elara had already discovered much from Anton. Courtesans were often paid handsomely, but they were not paid enough to keep their lips sealed in the bedroom, nor beyond it. They all talked. Sometimes it was to prepare each other for what they might encounter and sometimes they needed the idle gossip to keep their spirits high in a job that was always just a means to an end.
And the gossip surrounding the silk merchant was endless.
Mica Koh-Miralus was as infamous for his bathing chamber, as he was for what he got up to in here. The tales were lurid and explicit to their core – another thing upon which Elara had relied.
Larger than most peoples' bedroom quarters, the bath suite had been created before the Naiad had cursed the Kingdom, but even the water witches' sorcery had not stopped the silk merchant from enjoying his favourite room. It never had.
The bath itself was cut from the finest black marble, sunken into the floor with gold-engraved steps leading into it from either side. The surround was crowded with candles of differing sizes, the wax infused with pungent oils and perfumes that carried their scent into the air and saturated the senses.
And, of course, there was the water.
Elara's lips parted to see it, a gesture Koh-Miralus clearly mistook for something else.
"Now, girl, is this not the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" he said, his touch light on her hair.
Elara wanted to tell him yes, yes, yes, her body yearning for it almost as much as she yearned for his death. It wasbeautiful. It was always beautiful.
She could not help the blissful sigh that breathed freely from her open mouth.
"I am fortunate to afford a generous shipment of the Dreynian import. In this house, it is as if the witches never existed at all. You will find their curse does not touch me as it does others."
Pressing himself against her back, his excitement undeniable through the loose fabric of his britches, Koh-Miralus reached around and unfastened her cloak, dropping it to the floor as if touching it offended him, before cupping her breast, his thumb finding not her wound this time, but her nipple. It had hardened anyway as soon as she'd seen the water, but there was no harm in letting the merchant believe it was his touch that had given rise to her pleasure.
"You could have this all the time, you know?" he crooned at her ear. "I am sure an ambitious young thing such as yourself understands the trade we could make. You are not of noble birth, of course, so I could not offer you my hand, plus until my affairs with my wife are resolved..."
Elara turned to look up into his face, her eyes wide. "You wife? My noble sir, I was led to believe your wife perished in the Setalah? I had no idea she still lived! What must you think of me?" She bent to quickly retrieve her cloak. "My deepest apologies, I thought you were widowed."
The merchant grabbed her wrist, his grip tightening cruelly. If he had been excited before, his aggression seemed only to fuel his desire as he held her against him.
"You care no more for my wife alive or dead, than I do, girl, and let us not pretend otherwise. My business with that impudent wretch will be done very soon, you have my word on that."
'I-I don't understand?"
Koh-Miralus leant down and pressed his mouth to hers, a brief, light kiss that churned her stomach. "The stupid girl thought she could run from me, but I am not a man against whom you can do wrong and yet escape so easily. My men are closing in. Soon, she will face justice for her matrimonial crimes and until she does, our business here can remain between you and I. What say you?"
Her heart tremored. How close was he to finding Kelena?
Elara pushed it to the back of her mind. Whatever he had so far discovered was worthless anyway. Soon, the bastard would breathe no more and Kelena would be safe.
By my foremothers. By the water, so be it.
Elara craned her neck so she could reach his lips, capturing his tongue with her own in a passionate kiss. When she pulled back, she mirrored his smile with her own.
"I think we have a deal, noble sir."
Abruptly, Koh-Miralus broke away, grabbing a flask of wine as he walked over to the side of the bath. He took a long draught, closing his eyes before raising the bottle in salute.
"Your timing is impeccable and I think, far more prudent than you could possibly know. Wine is always plentiful. Water not so much." He shrugged, and slipped the silk house coat from his shoulders. "And it seems while my cup will continue to overflow, as it will for all the nobles, the cups of Grimefell, I'm afraid to say, will very soon run dry." He took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, as he swayed slightly.
Elara's flesh prickled. "What do you mean?"
"A King's Highguard was killed. Retribution must be made." He drank the last of what was left in the flask. "When the next import arrives, the Order will see to it that Grimefell is denied its ration. The slums will learn not to hide murderers. By Ban-Keren, they will."
No. This couldn't be.
"But there will be nothing left," she said. "Rations are already practically bled dry. The people will suffer. If there's no water..."
They wouldn't just suffer, they would die.
When the curse of the Naiad had first befallen Druvaria, before the deal with Dreynia had been struck, the Thirst had killed all those not strong enough to withstand it. The most vulnerable had died first – the old, the young, the sick, the weak – and the slums still bore the agony of their loss. They wore it like a death mask. It was seared upon their souls like the hot scald of the ironmonger's brand.
And now Elara had cursed them all over again.
Nausea swelled strong and sharp like a kick to the gut.
"It is naught for you to worry about now, girl. Do what you came here to do, and you need not suffer the King's wrath."
Do what you came here to do, Naiadini.
Koh-Miralus pushed at the wide band of his britches, sliding them down his legs and allowing them to drop to his feet. He stood naked before her at the water's edge, that cold bastard smile dancing on his mouth. That awful fucking mouth.
Do what you came here to do. By your foremothers, do it.
She watched, feeling a little envious as he walked down the steps into the bath, the water consuming him as he submerged himself briefly, before appearing again, smoothing back his soaked silver hair. Leaning against the edge, he stretched out his arms either side, steam rising from his moisture-laden skin. He flicked his hand at her, an order she understood.
Without another word, Elara removed her boots, unfastened her tunic, unlaced her britches and slid them over her hips, until finally she stood as naked as he had.
It wasn't difficult to feign excitement now. Heat pulsed under her skin, but not for him. Never for him. Only for the water.
The first silken touch of it between her toes was like the brush of wild violets upon her skin.
Soft. Warm. Enticing.
To her ankles now, her calves.
She wanted to close her eyes, let the thrill of it consume her, sink down into its depths and just breathe.
By her foremothers, how she would breathe!
But the silk merchant was looking at her under hooded, drunken eyes, his hand moving to tease his cock under the surface of the water. It was not as glorious as he believed it to be, but Elara figured it would do.
"My goodness, girl, you really are exquisite," he said, looking up at her as she stepped either side of his body. His hands moved up her legs, fingertips brushing the soft skin behind her knees, his mouth finding the firm flesh of her thighs. "How, by Ban-Keren, did Sanus not take advantage of his pretty little trade runner? It seems I must school him on women, as well as business."
He palmed the curve of her behind, grasping her hard as he dragged his lips to the base of her stomach, sucking on her skin, his teeth nipping at her flesh. He was hungry for her and she hungered only for his screams and his death.
"With that mouth, I am certain you could school him on a great many things he would never do as well as you, my noble sir."
He kissed her at the apex of her thighs, his tongue lapping at her damp skin, his fingers sliding between her legs. The touch was too firm, too hard for it to leave her anything but cold, but she smiled anyway, tugging on her lip with her teeth.
"Ah, not just my mouth, yes? Come down here, girl. I can wait no longer."
Elara lowered herself to straddle his thighs, feeling his cock strain hard against her stomach as she bent to kiss him again. A low moan escaped his lips as she slid her body over his, and she captured his mouth again in attempt to stifle her own as the water lapped at her waist.
"Nor I, my noble Koh-Miralus. Nor I."