The Fifth Star - Chapter 3 (2/3) - Secrets Exposed

As he shut the door behind himself and Vynn, Dorivan released a tense sigh, the noise level of the brothel itself dropping to a barely audible murmur through the heavy wooden door. “Ah, peace at last.” He surveyed the room they'd entered. Though the Nest stood merely halfway down the curved road of the pleasure district, and therefore should expect only middle-class citizens or lower as patrons, under Mistress Raven the brothel had flourished and now they often served customers of a much higher status. The extra income did not go to waste. The coupling rooms were indeed warm and inviting; each had a fireplace set into one wall, a fire crackling merrily inside this time of year, and masterful tapestries and paintings coated the walls in a most tasteful manner. Plush furs laid out on the floors invited bare toes to sink into their softness. A silver platter was laid out on a small side table, bearing a pitcher of wine with light cheeses and fruits besides. As well, a small cauldron hung over the fire, full of water for the girls and their patrons to make use of, but mostly intended for brewing the moon tea they drank after each customer to protect against unwanted children. Dorivan noticed the last with a pleased expression.

“Oh, you've got a cauldron,” he remarked as he patted his clothing in different areas, presumably searching for a pocket, “I brought some rare tea leaves with me you simply must try.” He found what he was looking for, and pulled out a stoppered jar, holding it out to her with plain enthusiasm.

Sparrow's heart sank as she received the jar from his hands. She loved all kinds of tea; even when she'd been living on the streets and had made it from nettles, she'd enjoyed every hot sip. But the rules of the Nest were clear. “I really shouldn't,” she explained, biting her lip, “we're not supposed to take offerings…”

“Truly?” he answered, looking quite astonished, “You must make an exception. This comes from Baenier. It's very expensive. I'd love to share it with you.”

Sparrow recognized the name of the city; it was where Finch had been born. She'd heard the stories of the bizarre desert-folk and their fascination with tea, its impeccable preparation nearing an art form in their country. She thought with a smile how she'd be able to share that small thing in common with her friend that no one else could. Raven doesn't need to know, she thought, what's the worst that could happen?

“Oh, why not?” Sparrow conceded as she crossed the room to a concealed cupboard and drew out three mugs from within it.

“None for me, thanks,” Vynn spoke up as he seated himself quietly in the single armchair against one wall.

“Suit yourself,” Dorivan chuckled, “more left for us.”

As Sparrow returned the third mug to the cupboard, she had a moment of doubt skitter across her mind. Had both men refused and insisted on her alone drinking, she of course would have politely declined. It would be too risky, a possible trap or poison, and the reason for the aforementioned rule. This Dorivan seemed sincere though, and that knowledge he would share in the drink set her worried thoughts to rest and she carried the two mugs over to the hearth.

Quite eagerly she ladled hot water into each of them, careful not to drop the imported china from her trembling fingers as she carried them back to the table and set them down. She picked up the jar again and opened it, releasing the minty and flowery scent into the air as she pulled out a single leaf to study. It was very long, thin and twisted, its veins a light shade of blue rather than green as the rest of the leaf was. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she shivered with anticipation.

“Would you care to serve them?” she asked, holding the jar out to Dorivan with both hands, “They smell so good, I fear I'll use them all, and I haven't the faintest idea what you've paid for them.”

He closed the space between them as he reached for the jar. He did not wrap his fingers about the glass as expected however, but around her hand instead. “Here,” he said softly, turning her around and positioning her hand with the tea above the first of the two mugs, “let me show you.”

His breath was warm and pleasant on her neck as he pressed his body against hers, his movements sure and confident as he moved her arm for her. One, two, three practiced shakes, and some of the leaves tumbled softly down into the cup, none missing their target. As he positioned her arm over the second mug, his other hand roamed her body, slid up her side to rest on her left breast. He caressed her flesh with a touch that was somehow soft and firm at the same time, and she felt him grow hard against her even as he repeated those three perfectly measured shakes, preparing the second drink.

Then all at once, he pulled away from her, leaving her somewhat breathless and quite surprised at the same. Her face flushed involuntarily, unsure if she'd upset him somehow until she turned to face him and saw he bore a mischievous smirk on his lips.

“There's time enough for that later,” Dorivan remarked as she reached around her and picked up one of the mugs, bringing it up to his face to blow across its surface, “for now, please.” He nodded at her drink and she picked it up gladly. The leaves inside the cup had sunken to the bottom, and offered up their essence quicker than most teas. Already they were submerged in a dark green liquid, one with a faint hint of that blue shade she found so peculiar.

Sparrow waited until Dorivan raised his cup to his lips and drank of the foreign substance before she too sampled it. It was indeed minty as its aroma had suggested, flowing past her lips and over her waiting tongue, and she allowed herself a little sound of pleasure as she swallowed several more times. The noise seemed to please Dorivan, whose eyes crinkled with a satisfied smile. Vynn, for his part, only looked on silently, with a fleeting expression she may have dubbed disappointment had she time to study it. She wondered what could have prompted such a reaction, but had little time to dwell on it before Dorivan moved to the bed, steaming mug still seated firmly in his hand. She took the unspoken signal and joined him.

“You have my thanks,” she told him as she seated herself and drank until the tea was nearly all leaves remaining.

“But of course,” he remarked as he relieved her of her empty mug, setting it on the floor beside the bed along with his own, which she noted he'd only had a few sips of, “now, why don't you take off that gown of yours, and let us see what lies beneath all that silk?”

Taking his remaining portion as a sign he was simply more interested in moving forward than sitting idle, Sparrow stood from the bed once more and, in clear view of both the men, worked on slowly removing her clothing. She always hated this part; she had few enough garments to remove in the first place, even if her conditions had not required her to remain in her corset. With that restriction in place, undressing in a pleasing manner was always a pitifully short event, and nearly as often would be when her persistence in keeping her corset on came into question.

Tonight was no different in that regard. Dorivan stood and closed the two steps between them, his hands reaching behind her back and seeking out the ties that would release the garment. Sparrow placed her hands gently on his arms to dissuade him from his course. It was the wrong move.

A dark look came over his eyes. “Are you going to keep me from seeing all I've paid for?” he questioned her, one thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow raising in challenge.

“I'm terribly sorry, sir,” she began to recite from memory, “Mistress Raven insists-”

The backhanded slap came so quickly and unexpectedly she stood no chance of deflecting it as his hand collided with her face. The force of it nearly sent her stumbling, but she managed to retain her footing, her hand raising with stunned surprise to where he'd struck her.

“Do you think I care in the least what Mistress Raven thinks?” he sneered, lip curling with disgust.

None of her customers had ever dared such an act; Sparrow had comforted some of the other girls after such occurrences, but in her experience she'd always managed to turn men down with little fuss. Vynn had risen from his seat. She could see Dorivan's eyes flicker over her shoulder to where he surely now stood just behind her. Her own vision snapped to where two bell cords hung from the ceiling. One would simply ring for a server, while the other, if she could reach it, would raise an alarm and let the guard and the other girls know all was not well behind the closed door.

Before she had time to think about it, Sparrow lunged for the cord, salvation so close at hand. But the action was doomed from the start. Dorivan's arm clasped about her waist, catching her mid-leap and pulling her towards him. His other hand snaked around her shoulder and clamped down over her mouth to keep her from screaming even as he dragged her unwillingly over to the bed and pushed her face down into the mattress.

Instinct kicked in, and Sparrow bucked wildly, squirming and kicking to try to release herself from the surprisingly powerful arms that restrained her. Dorivan grunted with the effort of holding her down. “A little help here, Vynn?” he called, his voice more than a little annoyed, “Just cut the damned thing off!”

The cold tip of a blade touched the skin of her back as it was worked underneath the corset, and Sparrow ceased moving entirely lest it cut her flesh, powerless to do anything but whimper pitifully. Tears slid free from her eyes as the fabric was pulled away from her skin, resigning herself to the knowledge these men were going to have their way with her, and there was not a damned thing she could do to stop it.

A triumphant sound came from Dorivan. “Well, she's the right one,” he said cryptically, just before a hand grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulled her head upwards, and a wad of cloth was shoved in her mouth. She gagged on the dry fabric but a strip followed, tied around behind her head so she could not dislodge the uncomfortable mass.

The hands released her, but she was too afraid to move, petrified to even lift her head. “Get dressed,” came Dorivan's voice, with none of the soft tones it had possessed earlier, “and if you try to remove that gag, Vynn here won't hesitate to hurt you.” The soft whoosh of her dress being thrown on the bed beside her followed.

Ever so slowly so as not to prompt an attack, Sparrow straightened and turned about to face the men who had done this to her. Dorivan's mouth was a stern line, while Vynn had difficulty meeting her eyes. Without taking her eyes off them, she reached behind herself and picked the dress up off the bed, pulling it down over her head and along her body.

“Bind her hands, Vynn,” Dorivan ordered coolly.

Vynn stepped towards her as he pulled a long strip of leather from a pocket. She hoped her eyes showed the hatred she felt as she turned herself around and placed her hands behind her to be tied. These men were much more powerful than her, and armed to boot. There was no good outcome to be had if she struggled now. The leather gloves creaked near silently while he worked, and his hands were surprisingly gentle as they bound her. Within seconds the job was done.

“All right then,” Dorivan continued, “off we go. Back door there, if you would.”

Vynn bent down and scooped Sparrow into his arms, propping her over his shoulder so her head hung behind his back and he need only hold onto her legs for purchase. She cursed inwardly, knowing that no one guarded the back exit and the only chance she had of someone seeing them take her away would be if one of the other girls were to leave another coupling room at the same time. Even then, she hoped that wasn't the case. These men were dangerous, and she'd rather not have her friends come to harm for whatever it was they wanted.

Sure enough, when they opened the door to the back hallway, there was no one in sight; she would have breathed a sigh of relief for the sake of the other girls, were it not for the wad of cotton occupying the entirety of her mouth. There was one exterior door to the back alley, meant for clients who wished a more subtle exit than retracing their steps through the main lounge. Dorivan opened it after a momentary pause to peer through one of its cracks, and then they were outside in the frigid air, the sun having set since she started working. A coat, or at least a cloak, would have been appreciated – but the body of Vynn who carried her provided some small shelter from the wind and emitted a slightly palpable heat.

Things, she figured, still could have been worse. At least they hadn't raped her. But her night was far from over, she assumed, and she hadn't the slightest clue what she'd done to anger some official so dearly. It had to be an official, didn't it? The men had stated they worked for Harlemont, unless that had been a lie, but what would be the purpose of such a falsification? It was apparent to all who lived within the city's walls that there was no love lost between the commoners and those who ruled over them. If their only goal had been to kidnap a working girl, it would have been far wiser to say they were simple farriers or blacksmiths: some occupation of little repute.

She thought of how they seemed to already know of her and the dearly kept secret of her scars… the remark of “she's the right one” when they had laid eyes upon them. No, she decided finally, these were no common men or frustrated bandits; there was more to this than she understood.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she began to pay more attention to the route they travelled. If she turned her head just so, she could make out and recognize some of the places they passed. Mapping out those she did in her head, Sparrow was able to ascertain that they were indeed heading towards the lord's castle. However one thing she noticed was extremely disheartening. Though she saw the faces of many people and they saw her in turn, none looked in her direction for more than a moment before picking up their pace or averting their eyes. Were someone to ask them of this later, she was sure that every one of them would have a sudden affliction of blindness. The “don't ask, don't tell” culture in Lothan was troubling, though nothing less than she should have expected having felt that forced disinterest first hand for many years.

When they arrived at the castle, their route took a wide detour around the outer walls and they approached from the northern side, where a much smaller gate than the monstrosity that guarded the main doors glowed with the light of a single torch. Several feet away from that halo of light, her captor stopped, though she still heard Dorivan's feet scuffling through the wet grass ahead of them. Her ears picked up the sound of words being exchanged, though she was hopeless to make out what was being said. It continued for a few minutes while Vynn shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently. Every so often came a guffaw of laughter, until finally the noise ceased, replaced with the same shuffling gait, and Vynn began to move once more.

They passed through the gate, by a grand stable far larger than she'd ever seen and a few scattered outbuildings, then they were inside. By the time her eyes adjusted to the copious torchlight present in the interior, she would have been hard-pressed to find her way out again; their path twisted and turned down a myriad of hallways, so many that she surmised the castle had been built in such a manner on purpose. When they did finally pass through another door, it was into a vast curving stairwell that extended both upward and downward from their level, its cold and damp immediately penetrating her skin. Slowly, as the light was not so brilliant here, they descended, her heart fluttering in her chest with fear. Are we going to a dungeon? she thought, though she didn't know what else she could have hoped for. A private audience? At this time of night, of course not – she was clearly no honoured guest.

Once they had descended several stories, Dorivan knocked on a door set into the wall. The awful screech of unoiled metal on metal pierced the air, and a small square of light appeared on the floor near where they stood.

“Yes?” a gravelly voice prompted.

“Just delivering a prisoner.”