Page 7 of Heirs of the Cursed

Naithea knew what she meant.

A long time ago, she’d realized that, if she had to expose her body and hate it for the phantom marks of unwanted touch, she’d at least make sure it was worth it. She didn’t waste her time on the first man that approached her; she’d search for the one who could pay the highest prices.

And every night, Naithea made sure that her best friend had a pleasant time as well.

“Do you see the man over there?” She pointed to one side of the tavern with her chin. Jehanne nodded upon seeing the man of medium height and nervous eyes. “He looks like he’s never been in female company before and is about to piss himself. That’s good, because for once you’ll do whatever you want with him. But I’m afraid that he doesn’t have so much as a copper vramnia to spend.”

Jehanne laughed, a wine red lock of her hair falling over her face to cover her amber eyes. “You’re wicked, Thea.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Naithea replied, and looked around for her next prey. “The one who’s separated from the others? Simply disgusting. Don’t be within six feet of him because he won’t leave you alone again for the rest of the week.” Naithea smiled as she found the perfect man. “But that one . . . Handsome, malleable, and a little fly soon to be swatted by the soles of my beautiful shoes.”

“They are beautiful indeed,” Jehanne remarked, eyeing the heeled sandals that climbed up Naithea’s legs like silver vines. “Whyhim?”

“A sigil is pinned on his jacket. He’s not a simple sailor, but a soldier. And it’s easy money, since he won’t last more than five minutes. That’s exactly why you want him in your bed. Go get him.”

“It’s not me he’s looking at,” her friend said with an amused chuckle.

The usual mask that protected her emotions covered her face, invisible but heavy. Naithea watched as the man she’d just analyzed raised his mug of ale in her direction; an invitation for her to approach. Seeing that the hetaira didn’t move, the rest of the soldiers around him laughed and tapped his shoulder in pity.

She savored that moment. Naithea always shunned them at first, wanting to sink their ego into the Ocean of the Dreaded Depths.

The hetaira walked among the merchants, sailors and soldiers, intrigued by the latter’s presence in Bellmare. Lower ranked warriors had always inhabited the city to ensure the safe arrival of goods imported from neighboring cities to the capital. Yet the soldiers of higher ranks like him never frequented the taverns. The defenders of the kingdom were offered the most extravagant garments, the best inns and every luxury they could afford.

Their presence in The Grumpy Dwarf was a mystery; one that Naithea would solve.

As she glided gracefully through the tavern, she stopped behind the blond-haired man in impeccable uniform. Naithea swept her hands up his back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his attire.

“Good evening, soldier,” she murmured seductively next to his ear, before brushing her body against his arm and stopping in front of him. “What can I do for you tonight?”

The soldier’s light blue eyes widened as he scanned her, taking in every detail. He struggled to find the right words to say, giving one of his companions time to interrupt him. It was a man with imposing dark eyes, like a night doomed by the absence of starlight. He gazed at her with malice and halted his attention on the necklace that hung between her breasts.

A predatory grin tugged at his lips before he asked, “What’s your name, whore?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” the soldier with mid-length blond hair said immediately.

It was considered a disgrace to ask such an expensive hetaira her name. Naithea was sure the soldier was aware of that, but he didn’t seem to care in the least.

“Ausra.” The lie slipped from her lips with ease. Naithea would never reveal her true name, the one her mother had given her, for a man to tarnish it.

“Ausra,” the soldier savored her name. “My friend Leonel has secured the future of the kingdom. Be a good whore and satisfy the man of the hour, will you?”

Naithea had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. She knew what they did to disobedient citizens who raised their voices at members of the army. The rebels were living proof of that, their bodies hanging over the walls of the mayor’s mansion for revolting against the king. If she looked at them in the wrong way, she’d join them soon enough.

Her friends had always warned her that her curiosity would one day bring her doom, and perhaps that day had arrived at last. Night after night, Naithea reveled in stories of other realms, of darkness and magic, as part of the payment for her services. And those stories sometimes offered greater comfort than gold vramnias.

The story of a soldier who had saved Lên Rajya was too interesting to miss.

“There’s no time to waste then,” she said, offering her hand.

The lump in Leonel’s throat rose and fell as he swallowed, but he let her drag him toward the doors of the tavern and to the dark city streets.

The weight of a glance on her bare back made Naithea turn around one last time. There, sitting at a secluded table under the gloom of the candlelights, two eyes as blue as the night sky glinted at her with malice.

Naithea felt that gaze all the way to the brothel and couldn’t shake it for the rest of the night.

3

Dawnfall

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