Seizing the handle, he hesitated and muttered, “Do try to pretend you like me, otherwise we might as well turn around right now.”
Luscia’s eyes rolled skeptically. “And why is that?”
“Because there’s only one reason an al’Haidren would bring his maid to a place like this,” he said in a dark tone.
Luscia stiffened at the sudden pressure of his fingertips on the small of her back. Leading her into a haze of smoke and laughter, he didn’t remove his hand. Though the rowdy banter of drunken men occupied the tavern, exotic rhythms blurred their thunder. As Kasim steered her through cracked archways to a lengthy, crowded bar, feminine giggles lilted above the noise. Lingering by each gambling table were women dressed akin to the dead cross-caste. Angling their bodies and encircling players, they fawned over the men as they wagered coin in desperate games of pride and chance—yancy, sentry, and lower classes alike.
If Boreal’s Clann Darragh could see the hovel his daughter had just entered…
Luscia swallowed hard.
Beyond the farthest table, a woman emerged from behind a split tapestry with a sentry in tow. Her tawny Unitarian skin was pinked with a flush that spread across her exposed neck and shoulders. The night-caller batted her tinted lashes as she languidly skimmed a fallen sleeve higher and bid the sentry goodnight.
Luscia knew of such transactions, naturally, but had never witnessed one unfold. Suddenly, she felt altogether too exposed. An unnamed anger hardened her jaw as she stiffly took a seat on the stool beside the other al’Haidren.
“Try harder, Lady Boreal.” Kasim’s hot breath brushed her ear as he instructed her through his teeth. “Your pious notions are starting to show.”
“I am trying.” Luscia forced a rigid grin.
“Tell that to your face.” He spun away and addressed the solemn barkeep. “The Crown Special.”
The Unitarian paused in his task, shared an edgy look with Kasim, and left his post.
“You seem familiar with the service menu,” Luscia commented quietly, attempting to appear at ease while she scanned the large room for its exits. Two public, two concealed. “I’m curious—how often does a Darakaian alpha buy his women?”
“As often as he likes. Darakaians don’t hide their dealings. We don’t slink in the shadows like cockroaches and infect a city we’re not wanted in, like y’si—”
“Shamàli, shamàli.” An intoxicated sentry bumped into Kasim, nearly displacing him off his stool. “Di yaya,” he slurred. Licking his bottom lip, he jutted his chin in Luscia’s direction. “Ni yeye ràtomdai na wewe?”
“Uni zà,” the al’Haidren barked, startling Luscia when he reached over and gripped her thigh possessively.
“Eh, eh…uni, Alpha Zà.” The Darakaian sentry threw his hands up and stumbled as he eased back into the crowd.
“Remove your hand,” Luscia hissed.
“Just playing the part.” Kasim sneered and withdrew his palm, wiping it discreetly against his pantleg.
Luscia watched the drunkard trip over a chair as he approached another grouping. “What did he ask you?”
“If I claimed rights to you—a courtesy, of sorts.” He shrugged, hopping off his stool when the barkeep reappeared and mutely pointed to a staircase along the opposite wall.
“A courtesy!” she sputtered, darting after Kasim as he cut between the betting tables. Luscia swatted prying fingers as she passed through the crowd of intoxicated men.
“Uni, a courtesy.” He climbed the steps, glancing over his shoulder. “You should be pleased I said yes—some men like to share.”
Luscia’s fists tightened around Phalen’s radials. She calmed herself with the knowledge that they were sharp enough to take out Zaethan Kasim, should his next comment justify doing so.
At the top the landing, he swept a drape aside and halted at the sight of a wall of muscle.
“Ràoko. Delightful.” He glanced up to the massive cross-caste. The wordless guard stood a head taller than Kasim, who himself surpassed six feet. “With your excellent conversational skills, who could stay away?”
For a moment, Luscia thought Kasim was about to be struck in the mouth, and found herself disappointed when he wasn’t.
Ràoko retreated to a makeshift office at the end of a musky hallway. Not large, it housed a snug sitting area and a single desk, where a woman sat hunched over stacks of paper and clusters of coin. Her flock of wild, lustrous curls shone in the lantern-light when she peered up at them.
“Back so soon, Jaha?” the woman inquired breathily, despite the constrictive corset around her middle. “To what do I owe this rare pleasure?”
Rising from the desk, her shapely hips swayed as she moved to greet Kasim. The woman gently pulled him toward her by the neck and placed a fleeting kiss along his upper jaw. Up close, delicate fissures around her eyes indicated that she was older than her figure suggested. More interesting was the distinct contrast between her Unitarian complexion and pronounced southern features. The Veiled Lady was operated by a cross-caste.
Cross-castes seldom owned much of anything, much less an enterprise of this magnitude. It was unheard of, particularly for a cross-caste who would gather and market individuals like herself for profit.
“Ah, what have you brought me? A gift?” Luscia shifted uncomfortably when the woman walked a semi-circle to appraise his guest, chuckling in her assessment. “Had I known your preference was so…unusual, I could’ve offered one more seasoned from my own house, Jaha. You don’t need to raid your palace kitchens for it, yeah?”
“Not necessary, Salma,” Kasim interjected at Luscia’s scowl, motioning to the divan and pair of satin armchairs. “But in a way, that is why we’ve come.”
“And who, exactly,” the woman took a seat, leaning over the small table, “is ‘we’?”
Out the corner of her eye, Luscia waited for his go-ahead, honoring their agreement. At his nod, she unraveled the scarf imprisoning her distinctively northern hair.
“I didn’t bring you a kitchen maid,” he explained. “We need to ask you about the girl, Salma. The cross-caste they found, yeah? And unfortunately, this is a conversation the al’Haidren to Boreal insisted she be present for.”
The brothel matron blinked repeatedly as her full lips separated. After a moment, her playful smirk returned.
“Cacao paste…uni. Rather sly, Lady al’Haidren.” One black brow lifted at the residue on Luscia’s scarf. “And wise. You were right to disguise her, Jaha. She would not be well received by my guests.”