Page 3 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

I ring the bell on the gate, and within moments Lord Neran’s butler appears.

“I’m Jessiva, of the Queen’s dance troupe,” I tell him. “I’m here to see Lord Neran. He gave me an open invitation.”

“Of course. Do come in.” The butler opens the gate and leads the way into the house, guiding me into a richly furnished library with a low, cracking fire and plush, velvety couches. “Wait here, please.”

When he leaves, I drop my bag behind a chair and sink onto one of the couches, sighing with relief as I take the weight off my ankle. I lay my coat aside and drape myself across the sofa, tugging my neckline lower to reveal more cleavage.

Lord Neran has made it clear on several occasions that he would pay well for the pleasure of my company. I only hope he hasn’t changed his mind.

Footsteps come from outside the room, and he enters, his ponderous frame shrouded in a purple robe. Watery eyes blink at me from a face rendered puffy and florid by a life of overindulgence.

“Miss Jessiva!” He grins, showing stained, crooked teeth. “This is a delightful surprise.”

I rise, smiling, and bend low to kiss his plump hand. “Are you well, my lord?”

“Well enough, well enough. If anyone can bewellin these troubled times.” A shadow crosses his face. “Please tell me that I’ve had one piece of luck, and that you are finally ready to dance for me.”

“Yes, my lord.” I dip a curtsy. “I will dance… and more.”

He looks at me shrewdly. “For a price, I assume.”

“My lord…” I hesitate, unsure how to proceed, what to say. Blood burns in my cheeks.

“Don’t be embarrassed, my dear,” says Lord Neran. “As a beautiful and talented royal dancer, I recognize that your time and services are valuable. You could spend your evening with any number of wealthy men, and I’m honored that you’ve chosen me.”

It’s part truth, part flattery. Some of the nobility have already fled south, while others have gone off to war. Some, like him, have remained close to the Queen and fortified their homes, hoping to ride out the conflict. When it comes to richmen willing to pay for sex, my options are more limited than they once were.

I used to get such offers frequently, but I refused them all. I accepted gifts from my admirers, but I never yielded my body to them in exchange. When I did sleep with someone, it was always a man I sought out myself, not someone who craved me as a trophy.

Back then, life was an open market, a colorful array of dazzling possibilities. I had power and choices.

I lick my dry lips and smile at Lord Neran again. “The honor is mine, my lord.”

A lecherous hunger shines in his eyes. “Come, my dear. We’ll go upstairs and discuss the details. Tell me, are you willing to… swallow?”

I reply without hesitation. “For an extra fee, yes.”

2

Lord Neran keeps me there all night and part of the morning. Then he insists I stay for a late breakfast, as well as one last “drink” from his cock. Shortly before noon, I’m put into a carriage with my bag and a pouch of gold coins—enough to pay the rent we owe and get us through the next two months with careful planning.

I must hide the gold from the other adults in the house, or it will be spent on rum, sweets, and foolish wagers. My sister has discovered most of my hiding spots and looted them on her husband’s behalf, so I’ll have to devise a new one. In suchcramped quarters, there’s little privacy and very few spots I can trust the coins to stay safe.

Rain drums on the carriage roof as I sit motionless on the seat, staring at nothing. I feel like the ghost of myself, like someone has pried open my chest, rooted around inside, scraped me hollow, then stitched me clumsily back together. My vagina, my ass, and my throat are sore, and my head aches because I drank myself into a warm stupor last night to make everything easier.

After a while I recover enough to count out what I’ll need for food. I tuck those coins into the pocket of my dress and place the pouch with the remaining money in my bag.

The street on which I live is a dark ravine between towering tenement buildings, where the sun barely shines and the stench never dissipates. Even the rain can’t quite wash away the reek of shit and mold that rises to greet me as I stumble out of the carriage. I hold my bag close to my chest, shielding it from the rain and from prying eyes.

Maybe my nephew Lark can suggest a hiding place for the coins. At age ten, he’s more devious than his younger sister. He curries his grandmother’s favor as a means of obtaining more food, which he then passes to Miri in secret. I know he has stash spots of his own. And since he’s more loyal to me than to any of the other adults in the household, I can rely on him to keep secrets.

I duck into the building, which smells like the street, except in a more damp and concentrated form. I hate these hallways—cracked yellow plaster embroidered with black mold, footworn floorboards, water-stained ceilings.

My fingers feel weak and useless, and I struggle getting my key into the lock. When I finally manage to unlock the door and enter, I’m greeted by snores from the two men draped on the shabby couches in the living area. They must have drunkthemselves to sleep again. I have no idea where they got the money for the rum. They might have had Lark steal it for them. Wouldn’t be the first time. The boy is stealthy and light-fingered.

The children are nowhere to be seen, but Ethalie is sitting at the kitchen table. She glances up from mending one of Loram’s shirts. “Where were you?” she says curtly. “Miri asked for you at bedtime last night.”

“I took an extra job.” I reach into my pocket and take out the food money. “You and Lark should go to the market and get some food. Use the list I wrote out the other day. No sweets, no alcohol, and remember to bargain. Don’t take the first price they give you. Keep the bread dry.”

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