Page 37 of Lady of Doom and Devotion

Ivy

Just before we turn the corner to bring us in view of the Frolic Theater, I stop Casimir with a hand on his arm. When the courtesan turns to face me with a gently questioning expression, my heart beats a little faster.

Out of all the men who’ve become entwined in my life, Casimir has always been the one I least need to fear judgment from. But that sweetness makes me hesitate to expose him to the grittier parts of the world I came from.

“The people in Crow’s Close are… pretty rough around the edges,” I say. “They’re used to having to lie and fight to survive.”

Casimir studies my face. As usual, he picks up on the things I haven’t quite said. “It won’t be anything like my pampered noble life. I know.”

I grapple with the words to get across what I most want to convey. “They aren’t all bad people. I mean, some of them are, but for a lot—it’s just another way to get by, for people who didn’t have many options. Or a sketchy business that isn’t really any more immoral than plenty of things merchants supposedly on the right side of the law get away with. You just have to be prepared that they might be hostile about me bringing you in there.”

“Because I’m a stranger. It makes sense.” Casimir brushes his fingers from my temple over my hair. “It’s all right, Kindness. I know this place is part of who you were—who you are. You had to skirt the edges of the law. But you did it for good reasons. Nothing I see in that place is going to change how I feel about you.”

My throat tightens. Yes, I guess that is what I was most worried about underneath, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone him.

I take on a more chipper tone. “It does have a few bright spots. The main pub makes the best amber spritz I’ve ever tasted. Not that we’ll have time to stop for a drink on this visit.”

Casimir chuckles lightly. “Perhaps another day.”

I’m not sure he realizes exactly what he’s getting into even after everything I’ve said, but I don’t want to send him into a panic with horror stories either. He’ll take a read of the place quickly enough once we get there.

And if he regrets agreeing to accompany me, well, we’ll deal with that when it comes.

I lead the way along the Tangleside street to the theater. One of the comedic shows is going on even in the midst of the Order of the Wild’s takeover.

I might be imagining it, but the laughter that careens from the inner doorway has a slightly frantic edge to it.

People need their escapes in times of crisis more than ever.

But we’re not here to take in the entertainment. I veer sharply and take Casimir down the basement stairs that lead to the hidden passage that connects the theater to Florian’s smallest and most secret neighborhood.

The courtesan doesn’t remark on the dankness of the basement room or the darkness of the magical passage. He remains silent as we ascend the identical stairs on the opposite end and emerge onto the enclosed street that holds the most established illicit businesses in the city—possibly the entire country.

He’s taking it all in, absorbing it and forming his own understanding. That’s why I decided I needed him with me for this negotiation, if he was willing to come.

He understands people better than anyone I’ve ever known. And his gift can tell us what we can give our potential allies that they’d want most.

I had to bully one of the bosses of Crow’s Close’s main gang into accepting my last proposition. I’m hoping to handle this discussion in a more amicable manner. But charm isn’t really one of my strengths.

As we cross the road to the largest building in the Close—gambling hall, temple to Kosmel, and headquarters for the Black Talons gang—I sweep my gaze over the street. Casimir and I have both dressed fairly plainly, with the hoods of our cloaks shadowing our faces. The way I’d normally dress when visiting this den of criminals.

We shouldn’t stick out at a glance. But I have no doubt that the people I intend to speak with will pick the courtesan out as an interloper swiftly enough.

We step into the first-floor gambling hall to the spicy smell of fried goldrud root and a sharper whiff of hazebloom smoke. It’s late afternoon, too early for the main nighttime crowd, but far enough along in the day that a decent number of avid gamblers have stirred from their beds. About half of the tables scattered across the sprawling room are full, urgent voices and hopeful shouts echoing off the ceiling.

I weave through those tables around the base of the massive silver statue of Kosmel that stands in the center of the building. It only takes a minute to spot the man I’m looking for.

Garom Rochimek is sitting back against one of the empty tables in his usual scruffy disguise. The memory flits through my head of Julita’s skeptical remarks when I approached him weeks ago, with a pang that’s amusement and grief mixed together.

What would my ghostly noblewoman friend have had to say about the deal we’re attempting to make today?

When I’m close enough for Garom to make out my features beneath my hood, his gaze snags on my face. His eyebrows arch slightly beneath the rumpled blond hair of his wig.

Then his gaze slides to Casimir, and his pale eyes narrow.

He pushes himself out of his chair before I’ve quite reached him, keeping his voice low. “Come for another chat, Ivy, after all the trouble I went to getting you out of this city? You’ve used up your favors.”

I give him a small smile. “I had a good reason to return. And in this particular case, I may be able to do you a favor.”

---