Page 11 of Rise of a Fallen Man

“Come in, boy. Let’s talk inside.”

We crossed the narrow courtyard, then entered the front room of the house. It was spacious but cozy, with flower-print curtains on the windows, plush armchairs with starched doilies laid out on their high backs, and thick rugs on the floor.

A middle-aged woman sat by the fire, smoking a pipe. Her graying hair was braided into a long plait that circled her head like a crown.

“Another one?” She squinted at me, cuddling into a fuzzy gray shawl. “This weather tends to bring them here in droves.”

“It’s fucking cold out there.” The man rubbed his arms, disappearing through a door into the adjacent room. “I’m Erif,” he shouted out of sight. “And this is Traeh, my wife. She owns this place.”

The woman put her pipe down and smoothed her brown woolen skirt over her knees.

“Come closer. Warm up a bit.” She gestured at the second armchair by the fire.

I didn’t wait for her to repeat the invitation. Frozen to the bone, I plopped my butt into the chair and shoved my hands andfeet as close to the fireplace as I dared without burning my skin or setting my boots on fire.

“What’s your name?” Traeh asked.

“Salas.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“So young.” She clicked her tongue in disbelief, sliding an assessing glance down my body. “You don’t look it.”

“I know. I’ve been told so before.” I nodded, trying and failing to stop my teeth from chattering.

Now that the warmth from the fire had worked its way under my clothes, ice seemed to thaw in my muscles. The parts of me that felt frozen solid before started to move, shaking me with a violent shiver.

Erif returned, bringing a plate with a few wedges of turnip and a thick slice of bread.

“Here. I thought you might be hungry.” He put the plate on the small table next to my chair. “Sorry, we’ve already had dinner, and there are no leftovers. All I have is this. But I put the water for tea on the stove. Should be ready soon.”

Someone’s footsteps sounded on the floor above us, then the furniture creaked. Treah and Erif ignored the noises, so I did too, giving my full attention to the food instead.

“Thanks.” I was too hungry to say much more before stuffing my face with bread while grabbing a piece of turnip with my other hand.

“Do you know what this house is, Salas?” Traeh asked after the tea was ready and I’d taken a few scorching hot sips from the mug Erif had brought for me.

The hot tea slid down my throat like a molten lava. But I welcomed the heat spreading through my body and bringing it back to life.

“Do you know what the men who work here do for a living?” She kept questioning me.

When my parents were alive, I didn’t have the slightest idea what happened in places like this one. They were called “fun houses,” which sounded playful and innocent to a child’s ear. As I grew older, I also learned other words they were known by, such as “brothels” and “bawdy houses”—crude words that many used when cursing.

I’d heard things about the men working in these places too. None of what I’d heard was good. But I also didn’t believe there was much good left in me, either. Lady Lana had taken from me everything that the world deemed of value. And now, the world turned its back on me, leaving me to die in the cold.

In this house, I got shelter and food. And at the moment, that was all that mattered. I was too tired to think far past today.

“I do,” I said. “I know what the men here do for a living.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

I shrugged, quickly polishing away the remaining food. “I don’t have a choice.”

Erif brought a mug of tea for Traeh.

“There is always a choice,” she said. “Even if you don’t like the alternative.”

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