It amazed her how easily he confided such things, laying out his faults like they didn’t faze him. If Slay wasn’t ordinarily an open book, then he was encouraging her to read him. Ro didn’t get invitations like this. Her whole life had been shaded first by her status as the tyrant’s pet and then afterward, she existed to serve Prince Alastor. One way or another, she had been defined by her connection to the Vega family for as long as she could remember. With Slay, that wasn’t true. There was space to be her own person.
Whoever I might be.
In some ways, she was still learning. The unknown was frightening, but it could be exhilarating too. Like the first time she changed paired with the trembling uncertainty of taking flight. Her heart gave a tremulous impression of that flutter as Slay smiled down at her, guiding her out of the way of some passing prisoners. And she didn’t flinch away from his touch.
That…was new.
With belated shock, she recalled that she hadn’t recoiled when he caught her either. Or when they huddled close to sleep. Normally, she avoided close contact like the plague yet she had no aversion to Slay. None of her usual reactions or defenses kicked in.
I wonder what it means.
For his part, Slay had no clue how incredible it was for her to behave this way. He’d never seen her do anything else.
“Where to next?” he asked, blissfully unaware of her racing thoughts.
Does that mean I could have him?
Not forever, of course. But it would mean the world to her if she could take back her power fully, assert ownership over her own body. Tycho Vega had scarred her so deeply that she’d thought it might never be possible. He’d conditioned certain fear reactions since he couldn’t compel her enjoyment.
“I’m looking for Hettie,” she told Slay. “She’s privy to the best gossip.”
“That reminds me. What is a comfort house worker exactly?”
She cut him an appraising glance. If he planned to get self-righteous, she would forget about her inchoate idea of using him to wipe away the memory of the tyrant’s touch.
“Just what it sounds like. Hettie sells herself. Sometimes, people want her to listen to their problems or they could use a hug or a cuddle. Often it’s sex. It could be a combination or all three. Whatever happens stays between her and the client.”
“Sounds like a necessary exchange, especially here.”
Rowena gazed up at his handsome face, thinking he was too good to be true. She’d feared he was about to disparage someone she considered a dear friend, though it had been years since she’d seen Hettie.
Then she nodded. “I’m glad I don’t need to worry about introducing you to her.”
“I’m a dumbass, not a rude ass. If I offend someone, it’s part of the plan.”
“Who said you’re a dumbass?” she snapped.
“Why, you gonna fight them too?” A thread of laughter ran through his voice.
“I might!”
His smile faded. “Me. I’m the one who says it most.”
Oh. That changed things significantly. Her heart raced in her chest. He had no idea how momentous it was when she reached up to put her palm on his cheek.
“Then I just need to change your mind,” she said softly. “Help you see what I see.”
Quickly, she dropped her hand and kept moving, fearing she might hyperventilate. I touched him. Like it’s no big deal.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the walk, as Rowena dug through her memory for where Hettie had lived. The undercity didn’t change much, so she found the circuitous path away from the market. Hettie had a room at the comfort house, equivalent to a mansion, used by the most sought-after and popular comfort workers who could ask whatever price they desired for their company. Even the guards and patrolmen could be turned away at the doors.
Resolutely, she led the way to the impressive edifice, marked by decorative carvings and colonnades. A guard was posted outside, but he didn’t bear any markings showing that he was affiliated with the undercity patrols. Private security then.
Rowena offered her best smile. “I’m here to see Hettie. My name is Rowena.”
“Hettie doesn’t wish to be disturbed,” came the flat response. “Leave tribute like everyone else and we’ll send word if she decides to pursue your interest.”
Wow, she’s doing well indeed.
“I understand that she’s popular, but we’re old friends.”
The bouncer’s impassive expression quirked into a faint smile. “Sure you are.”
Before Ro could express annoyance, a musical voice spoke from inside the perfumed hall. “In this case, it’s true. You can stand down, Enzo.”
“Hettie!” Rowena pushed past the sentry into the cool darkness. She had a fleeting impression of opulence, swirling smoky incense lending a mystic air, and then Hettie crushed her in a mighty hug.
The usual fear kicked her heart into high gear and she battled the urge to pull away, breathing through her nose to tolerate the embrace. She didn’t want Hettie to think she wasn’t happy to see her, but physical affection would never be natural or instinctive to her. When her old friend let go, she exhaled soundlessly in relief and took in the changes the years had wrought.
She had been pretty before. Now she was breathtaking, the goddess of night—raven hair and skin like moonlight. And her smile had gained layers of knowledge; her eyes spoke of endless secrets she alone could impart.
Hettie whispered in a despairing tone, “I missed you so, but I wish you hadn’t come back. He’ll kill you.”
“I know,” she said.
This must be a high-class brothel, or the Gol equivalent anyway.
Slay glanced around with interest. The guard had given him a hard look, but he didn’t say anything when he followed Rowena inside. She was currently hugging it out with her pal while Slay acted like furniture, not wanting to get in their way.
But Rowena surprised him by drawing him forward. “This is my friend, Slay. He’s on board with that goal you and I had. It’s been a while, but my thoughts haven’t changed. In fact, you could say I’m more committed than ever.”
Hettie’s gaze sharpened. “You’re taking a risk, my love. My situation improved while you were away. Perhaps I’ll turn you over. Perhaps I’m invested in maintaining the status quo.”
Shit.
He registered the fear and uncertainty in Rowena’s expression, but before he could react, she said, “Then do it. Turn me in.”
The women stared at each other for a few seconds that each seemed a thousand years long. Then Hettie laughed. “You know me too well.”
Rowena smiled, her reaction edged in relief. “No matter how well you’re treated, this is still a cage.”
“And I’d rather be free.” Hettie spoke the words in soft unison with Ro.
A chill ran through Slay, like he was witnessing the birth of something powerful, a moment that he’d be asked about forever after, to the point that historians would want to interview him to make sure they got the verbiage right.
“How many are left?” Rowena whispered the question.
But Hettie beckoned, mouthing, “Not here.” Raising her voice, she added, “Yes, of course we can. For old time’s sake. Just look at the two of you. It would be my pleasure.”