The Sapphire: Homeward III Read online

  Ratboy went still, drinking in the sight of her as he thought on the throaty quality of her voice. By the street lantern’s glimmer, her low-cut satin gown was not just yellow but a startling shade of bright yellow. Blond curls, sculpted into sausage ringlets, framed her round and pouting face. Red stained lips stood out between her smooth, pale cheeks, while fake ruby earrings dangled from her earlobes.

  But her most alluring feature was her bright blue eyes, like sapphires.

  She was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. Something about her that he couldn’t explain pulled at him. He no longer wanted to feed on her.

  Rather, he longed to speak to her.

  But he was frozen in place, just staring, and couldn’t budge. He wasn’t ready to approach such a beauty—such a goddess—yet. He needed to build his courage, to make a proper plan.

  Drawing back, deeper into the shadows, he slipped away.

  · · · · ·

  Vera gripped the rail of the front porch.

  She’d just lost another nobleman to Lilac, that snooty whore who thought far too much of herself. It wasn’t fair. By now, Vera had expected to be much further along with her plans, but after an initial bit of luck and a rapid change of circumstance, she seemed to be at a dead standstill.

  It hadn’t been long since she’d been a near slave to her father, who rolled a traveling “apothecary’s” cart through the streets of the outer ring, selling potions and powders and ointments to the desperate. His real occupation was thievery, and he’d used her as a distraction. She’d worn cotton gowns that were much too tight, and she’d wriggled and flirted to distract potential customers while her father cut their purses.

  Sometimes, if a customer had a horse or his own wagon, her father made her lure the men away behind a building and then she was to do anything necessary to keep them occupied, including letting them touch her—or worse—while he searched through their saddlebags or their wagons or carts.

  She did all the hard—filthy—work, and her father never shared one coin with her.

  Then barely a moon ago, she managed to cut a purse herself, not a fat purse, but one with enough money to let her slip away in the night and make a run for the second ring of the city—into the merchant district. She bought a yellow satin gown and had her hair properly washed and curled. Via these few improvements, her stolen money was used up quickly, but she’d gone to see Madam Gilford at the Siren’s Song and asked for a job.

  If Vera was going to let men paw at her and do whatever they pleased, she might as well get paid.

  Madam Gilford was a stocky woman past her working years wearing a fine gown of dark purple velvet with her black hair piled high on her head.

  Vera was well aware of her charms, and now that she had a decent dress, she was sure any madam would see her worth. She was more than surprised when Madam Gilford hesitated.

  “We are not among the more respected houses of pleasure in Bela,” Madam Gilford had said, “not like the Blue Dove or the few other domvolyné in the inner ring. We make no pretense about that, but the men who come here expect a certain illusion that our girls are a cut above a street corner whore. Can you maintain that illusion?”

  Vera was so insulted she almost spit in the madam’s face, but she quickly changed her mind. She’d done some asking around, and this was the best brothel inside the second ring for meeting wealthy men. Plus, her father would never think to look here for her. So she gritted her teeth and fashioned a smile.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she answered. “I can be anything you like.”

  Madam Gilford frowned but nodded. “We’ll give you a try. I’ll grant that you do have a certain… appeal.”

  Vera’s smile widened. Of course she had no intention of working here for long. She dreamed of fine gowns and jewels and servants of her own. She’d only begged employment here so she could land herself a rich husband—or at least a wealthy man seeking a mistress.

  That should be no problem for a girl as pretty as her, especially now that she had a decent gown and properly dressed hair.

  But as the weeks passed, she’d begun to grow more and more frustrated.

  She was soon dimly aware that any nobleman or rich merchant who came to the Siren’s Song viewed themselves as “slumming.” As Madam Gilford had pointed out, there were far more upscale establishments in the inner ring, true domvolyné or “houses of leisure,” such as the Blue Dove. But even here at the Siren’s Song, the men who came to indulge their appetites often spoke to her only for a moment or two before raising their heads as if smelling something bad.

  Snooty prigs. She knew she was just as pretty—prettier—than most of the girls who worked here. But she wondered what was wrong.

  Finally, she figured it out. She only had this one dress, and in truth, it wasn’t as elegant as what many of the other girls wore. Plus, she was stuck wearing it every night.

  So, now, she was becoming desperate to earn enough money to buy a new gown. That would fix everything. Tonight, that witch, Lilac, had scooped up a viscount from under Vera’s nose. It must be this yellow gown. Nothing else made sense.

  Standing on the porch, gripping the rail, Vera thought she saw something moving in the shadows to her left, but then it was gone.

  Realizing she probably looked desperate standing out here, she turned and went back inside, trying to smile, trying to keep her voice pitched just right, hoping to earn herself some money.

  She needed a new gown.

  · · · · ·

  Back in his plush room at the White Whistle, Ratboy lay on a downy quilted bed, staring at the ceiling and dreaming of the girl he’d seen tonight. She was so perfect, and only after he’d walked away did he realize one of his reasons for fearing to speak to her.

  He could not introduce himself as “Ratboy.” That insulting label had been branded on him by his undead maker.

  He was creating a new self… and he needed a new name.

  Once, long ago, he’d been called Toret, a name given by a mother during his living days. That was at least better than a label only suited to a street urchin.

  He’d alter himself even further for the girl with the sapphire eyes. He would become Toret, not the Toret of his youth, but a new one, worthy of her. And she would be his Sapphire. She would be to him what Teesha had been to Rashed.

  A part of him couldn’t wait to make this happen, but another part warned him to hold off, not to turn her right away.

  He wanted her to want him, to love him, first.

  · · · · ·

  The next night, Vera began to feel truly desperate. Not long after the Siren’s Song opened for the evening, the place was nearly overrun with patrons. The mix of a lute and a flute filled the house while some “ladies” entertained men on the lower floor with conversation, games of cards and dice, and ample cheap drinks dressed-up in fancy glasses. Others had already taken men upstairs. But as yet, Vera hadn’t been able to engage a single man.

  Finally a sea captain—a regular customer—and what she guessed was his first mate stopped and both gave her the eye.

  “Those are quite the ringlets,” the captain said. “I wonder how long they’d be if I pulled one down and stretched it all the way out.”

  Vera was aware that Madam Gilford was watching from across the room, as always. If she didn’t start earning coin for the house, she wouldn’t have a house at all. Tilting her head to one side, she smiled coyly at the captain.

  “If you come upstairs, you can play with my curls all you like.”

  Appearing surprised by her response, he winced slightly when she’d spoken.

  “Please excuse me,” he said.

  Vera smiled coyly with a cock of her head as the captain led his companion away. But she swallowed the urge to scream, not daring to look around for fear of meeting Madam Gilford’s steady gaze.

  What more could she do? She’d done her level best to catch one of them—at least for a quick trip upstairs and a bit of coin changing hands. She blam
ed her gown. Why, oh why had she chosen yellow? It was probably not a good color on her.

  Her eyes scanned the room, looking about for anyone she might engage so that Madam Gilford didn’t see her just standing there.

  Then the front door opened yet again.

  Vera turned quickly, eager to catch the newcomer before one of her competitors could do so. She was too late, as she spotted a young, smallish man asking a quiet question of the girl already gripping the open door’s handle.

  The girl nodded. “Of course, sir, you are most welcome.”

  The newcomer stepped inside. He was thin and not much taller than Vera, with a narrow face and light brown hair. Although he was well dressed in fine boots, breeches, and a burgundy tunic, something about the clothes looked wrong—as if they belonged to someone else. But the charcoal wool cloak over his shoulders was expensive.

  He looked around the room, and when he spotted her, he came directly toward her.

  Vera was surprised. No man had ever walked in that door and come straight to her.

  “Hello,” he said, appearing almost nervous.

  Customers didn’t normally begin by saying hello either. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond, but she wasn’t letting this one get away.

  “My name’s Toret… Toret min’Sharrêf,” he continued. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to the Rowanwood for dinner? I’ll hire us a carriage.”

  She blinked. He was asking her to dinner?

  “Of course I would pay for your time,” he added.

  She flashed him a smile.

  · · · · ·

  Not long after, Vera sat in a plush dining room eating lobster tails and steamed oysters on the half shell, drinking white wine and thinking her luck had changed.

  Of course this skinny young man, this Toret, was hardly what she had in mind for a rich patron, but at least he appreciated her beauty and didn’t look down his nose at her. She was enjoying herself and decided she could practice her skills on him. Using the high voice she’d learned to mimic from Lilac, she played at being a lady out for an evening of fine dining.

  “And hasn’t our weather been lovely this season?” she said.

  “Don’t do that,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “Just talk like yourself.”

  “Like myself?”

  “You don’t have to pretend. I like you the way you are.”

  The adoration in his eyes made her almost uncomfortable, but it was a relief to drop down to her normal voice. “Are we getting dessert?” she asked. “Maybe something chocolate?”

  He smiled. “Anything you want.” His smile faded. “How did you end up working in that place?”

  At first, she hesitated. Customers didn’t ask questions like that, nor did they want to hear the answer. But he sat quietly, just waiting, and then the words began pouring out of her. She told him about her father—and she’d never told anyone about her father.

  He listened, sometimes asking a question, and the time passed quickly. He was plain speaking himself. He didn’t even try to put on airs or pretend he was some nobleman’s son. In fact, he didn’t say much about himself at all.

  Well after the mid of night, when she’d had too much wine and too much rich food, he rose and held out his hand to her.

  “I should get you back.”

  Although she certainly didn’t dislike him, it was now time for her to meet her end of the night’s bargain. The thought of going back to the brothel and sharing a bed with this little man was hardly attractive, but he’d certainly earned something for the lavish dinner, and he’d promised to pay her for her time.

  She intended to make sure he did.

  Suppressing a sigh, she smiled and stood, taking his hand. “Of course.”

  They headed out into the night streets, and he hailed a small cab with a frisky-looking horse in the harness. Soon, the clatter of carriage wheels on cobble carried her away from the Rowanwood. However, once they reached the Siren’s Song, and they’d sent off the cab, Toret didn’t go inside.

  She took the first two steps up to the porch, but he didn’t follow her. When she turned, to her surprise, he took her hand and pressed a small stack of coins inside her palm. Looking down, she nearly gasped.

  She knew of a place that sold decent second-hand gowns. Even after giving Madam Gilford her share, she’d have enough left to buy a dress from this one night’s earnings. And what had she actually done for it?

  Vera stalled again, and then decided Toret truly deserved a reward. She tossed her head toward the door.

  “Come upstairs, and I’ll give you a smile.”

  He didn’t move. “Don’t go back in there. If you come with me… be mine alone, I’ll put you up in your own rooms at the White Whistle. I’ll give you anything you want.”

  She stared at him.

  Isn’t this what she had dreamed—schemed—for a rich man to take care of her? But two things held her back.

  First, she didn’t know anything about him—like where his money came from. He could just be throwing around coins he’d won in a card game.

  Second, after tonight, certainly her luck had changed, so why couldn’t she do better than him? What would the others of the Siren’s Song say if she settled for a pint-sized pretender with thin arms and a pinched face, who looked like he was wearing clothes cut for a boy? What would that witch, Lilac, say?

  That Vera couldn’t do any better.

  She couldn’t bear that, couldn’t bear their sneering whispers if this proposed arrangement turned out to be less than she dreamed.

  Only a few nights ago, a middle-aged wine merchant had been eyeing her. Once she had a better dress, she might have better luck with him.

  Of course she wouldn’t tell that to Toret; there was no sense in limiting her options.

  “This is too… sudden,” she whispered, soft-eyed, with a perfectly overwhelmed expression. “But I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and nodded. “All right. I’ll be back.”

  Turning, he walked away.

  · · · · ·

  The following evening, Toret returned to the Siren’s Song. He’d intentionally not fed in order to begin starving himself—and for a good reason.

  But he couldn’t wait to see his Sapphire again.

  The previous night had been the best in his memory, before or after rising from his death. Watching her eat and drink to her heart’s content, listening to her talk about her past, studying her perfect face… had all filled him with an excitement he’d never felt before.

  He had to see her again.

  Stepping through the brothel door, he searched the room for her yellow dress but didn’t see it. Running his gaze over the parlor a second time, he looked for her blond curls. Finally he spotted her standing near a small mosaic tiled table—and he froze before he could take a step.

  Tonight she wore a red velvet gown, tight at the waist, with a square, low-cut neckline to expose the tops of her pale breasts. She’d tied a red velvet ribbon around her throat—like Teesha used to do.

  He was so overwhelmed by the sight of her that he couldn’t seem to move, to approach her. Soon enough she would be his alone. She would be what Teesha had been to Rashed.

  She smiled coyly—but not at him. She hadn’t even looked his way or noticed his arrival. She was speaking to someone else.

  Toret’s gaze shifted to a middle-aged man dressed finely in a dark green hat and matching cloak, with a bulging pouch hanging carelessly from his belt. His fingers were stained with ink as if he spent much time over ledgers and accounts—a well-to-do merchant, perhaps.

  A flash of anger rose in Toret, but he calmed himself. What man wouldn’t kill or die for Sapphire’s coy smile? And she was just doing her job. Once he managed to get her away from this place, she’d begin to trust him. After the childhood she’d endured, who could blame her for being overly cautious about accepting his offer?

  Tapping the merchant p
layfully on his chest with one hand, she leaned forward and whispered something in his ear, motioning with her head toward the stairs.

  Toret stiffened in alarm. His first instinct was to lure the merchant outside into an alley and kill him. He had to do something, but she wouldn’t thank him for causing any trouble. How could he draw the man out without appearing obvious? No, he had to be more subtle.

  Glancing around, he spotted a slender red-haired girl who didn’t seem to be engaged with any one man. She was simply moving about the room, chatting and flirting at random, almost like a living decoration.

  Slipping over beside her, he motioned toward the merchant and whispered, “Can you distract that man over there? Get him away from her?”

  She turned to look at Toret. “Oh, I saw you last night. You took Vera out for lobster and wine.” She smiled. “Why don’t you leave her to him and take me out to the Rowanwood?”

  He held out a silver coin. “Can you draw him away from her?”

  “From Vera?” She raised one eyebrow. “Who couldn’t?”

  He didn’t like the way she spoke of his Sapphire, but he handed her the coin.

  The girl wore a powder blue gown that accentuated her slim hips. She glided over to the merchant, stood on her tiptoes, and murmured something in his ear.

  “Madam Gilford?” he asked in some surprise. “She wants to talk to me?”

  The red-haired girl smiled and said loudly enough for Toret to hear, “Yes, she said she has a special surprise for you, but you’ll need to come right away.”

  Sapphire’s expression went from blank shock to rage as the other girl deftly took the merchant’s arm and steered him toward the back of the room.

  “Emmy! What are you…?” she cried.

  “I’ll bring him back,” the red-haired girl called over one shoulder. “Eventually.”

  Sapphire started after them with a clenched jaw and an equally clenched fist.

  Toret rushed over, cutting her off. “Hello.”

  Her cheeks were still flushed, and she seemed about to dodge around him. But then she glanced at his face and stopped. “Oh… it’s you.”