Page 45 of Tusks & Saddles
“Excuse me?”
Chapter Six
Beatrix
The Iron Basinhad been difficult to pass up.
Ordinarily, Beatrix would have dashed to Cutter’s place to meet with Gimdor. She would fill him in on the work she had done, he’d try to argue on the price. By the time Beatrix threatened to shoot him between the eyes, they’d reluctantly agree to disagree. They would share a drink and play a few rounds of Misfortune until one of Gimdor’s men would arrive to collect his drunken ass.
However, the day had grown hot and Beatrix hadn’t had a bath since she boarded the train. Well, the luxury cabin had offered their magical cleaning service through Maewyrnn, Beatrix had declined. She didn’t disapprove of magic—gods knew it was everywhere—but it was a very different experience from having a proper bath. Yes, the magic worked, and yes, Beatrix did feel clean, but it was a different type of clean. The kind of clean that had no smell.
Beatrix knew it was a very specific thing to be bothered by. Not to mention that smell was how a lot of creatures hunted out in the Searing Wastelands. She could name a number of beasts native to the land that could smell ten miles away. It wasn’t clever to wear perfumes or bathe with scented soaps or oils…
But every person has their vices,she thought with a content sigh.
From within the copper bathtub, Beatrix was blissfully submerged in hot water. All courtesy of the Lazuli family and their smart business venture. Water was a bit scarce in Irongarde, which meant water was expensive. However, the Lazuli’s were a family of water helfen and their natural ability to pull water into existence was worth it’s weight in gold. Opening a bath house had been genius, though Beatrix recognized her bias given that she was thoroughly enjoying the Lazuli’s establishment to the fullest.
Another boon to the sort of work Beatrix did was she could afford a private bath. She left her clothes—minusBad Companyand her suitcase—outside her door for one of the bath attendants.The Iron Basinoffered laundry services on top of the wonderful hot water baths. Yet another clever incentive to the Lazuli’s business model that even Beatrix’s own father would have found impressive.
Despite herself, Beatrix found herself thinking fondly of Balthazar Eaves. Blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a slim frame wrapped in the kind of finery that had often suffocated Beatrix. Behind the monocle and charming grin was a brilliant but mysterious mind. One that Beatrix had spent most of her childhood trying to imitate. Whenever he would find her hiding in his office—either behind the drapes or pressed against one of the statues—Balthazar would scold her. Though, Beatrix knew his heart wasn’t in it.
Her father was sixty now, which by human standards meant more than half his life had gone by. Balthazar had entered his fall season ten years ago and if he were fortunate enough, he would enter his winter season with little fuss. At least, Beatrix hoped he would.
You’re being silly.
The sweet orange and sandalwood oil, the heat from the bath, and the moment of privacy all should have made for a relaxingenvironment. Melancholy, or something like it, weighed on Beatrix’s shoulders. She sank into the tub until the water was an inch from her nose. It was troublesome to be caught between almost relaxed and disappointingly uncomfortable.
Beatrix’s mind had never been a restful place. A trait she had inherited from her father. In fact, Beatrix had taken after her father in nearly every aspect save for one. It was only through a loophole that she had gotten anything from her mother at all. And that particular bit of ancestral history had been…well, not her mother’s favorite aspect about her daughter. It had most definitely surprised both her parents when Beatrix had been born.
Most parents only wanted their children to be born safe and healthy. At least, that’s what Beatrix had heard over the years from expectant parents and parents alike. Even families with different bloodlines were more prepared than her parents had been. Humans had human babies, elves had elven babies. Humans and elves had half-human and half-elven babies. Beatrix’s older brother had slightly pointed ears while her younger brothers had Balthazar’s human ears. A daemon born to a human father and a half-elven mother was something neither of her parents had been prepared for.
Beneath the bubbles, Beatrix flexed her fingers. The pastel purple skin looked pale in the dimly lit quarters as she stared with solid, glowing golden-white eyes. The light purple strands of her hair clung to her shoulders. Beatrix brought her hand near the surface, fingers dancing with the hair that touched the water. Her horns were short, small enough to hide under the large hat she wore. They curled neatly against her head, fading from her natural skin color to a darker shade of purple toward the tips.
Daemons weren’t rare by any means. It was 696, the fourth age, for goodness sake. Folks from all realms walked the planes ofOrdia with little fuss. Generally, as long as you didn’t endanger entire villages, people tended to leave each other alone. Still, most parents weren’t prepared for the implication of what it meant to have a daemon child or even an empyrean child.
Both shared the trait of mysteriously appearing in family lineages, no matter the ancestry. However, Beatrix knew hers very well. A curious mind like hers made it impossible for her mother to conceal that secret. The revelation hadn’t been too surprising given what Beatrix had found in the books and scrolls her tutors had. Whether said tutors had noticed Beatrix sneaking material to learn the history of daemons existence, all reason pointed to unlikely.
Stop thinking about the past. It’s simply that, the past.
Beatrix took a deep breath and submerged herself into the water. While under, she tried to think of anything other than her family. When she came up for air a moment later, she was annoyed that Welborn had taken the place of her relatives.
“Beatrix Eaves, as I live and breathe—”
“Not for long, Gimdor, not for long,” Beatrix said.
The mercenary recruiter was precariously perched on a chair that was on the verge of tipping back. The only thing that kept him from falling was Beatrix’s firm hand on the back of the chair. Gimdor’s grin was placating beneath his salt and pepper mustache, his dark brown eyes betraying not a hint of unease. He was a stocky man in beat up leathers and worn boots. Shirt sleeves rolledup to the elbow, showing thick muscle covered in traditional dwarven tattoos and scars from his daring youth.
“Bee, the job wasn’t that bad—”
“Arcanists,” Beatrix interrupted, daring to tip the chair farther. “You said it was a simple escort job, but there werearcanists,Gimdor.”
Arcanists were always tricky. In some ways, they were the deadliest casters in all of Ordia. Unlike bards, clerics, or tinkerers, arcanists were the ones who were dedicated to the study of the arcane. Their magical capabilities didn’t come through devotion to the gods, nature, or from natural talents. Which meant most of them had educated minds, the kind of minds that most folk didn’t want to be up against.
Most folk being me,Beatrix thought.
“I never said these jobs I put ya on were easy, Bee,” Gimdor replied with a smile that was much too at ease for Beatrix’s liking. “So, you ran into a little spell slinger! That ain’t nothing new in Ordia. Variety is the spice of life!”
There were few times Beatrix wished she hadn’t committed to keeping her privacy by wearing the veil. Her desire to level Gimdor with a glare almost made her impulsively rip the fabric away.
