The Girl in the Brothel

The world had narrowed into one small point. The air between them was so still, a feather could float into the space between their lips and become frozen, suspended for eternity.

It was all just too much, Thara decided. She was still nowhere near the pitcher and now he was boxing her in on both sides. But goodness if those were not the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, even here in her dark room with only the moonlight shining through her tiny window.

Ardon's laugh broke the spell of the moment and he pushed away from the wall.

Thara blinked. "What's so funny?" she demanded, nettled. Her face felt hot, and she wasn't sure what had just happened, only that he seemed—well, gleeful. And at her expense, too.

"I'm sorry if I toyed with your emotions," Ardon said, not seeming sorry at all. "You looked so hopeful that I thought it best if I didn't continue." He hadn't planned on kissing her then. He was only teasing her!

Thara pursed her lips, annoyed that he was able to read her so easily. "Then what," she said calmly, "are you doing here? Hermu said you asked for me." She was

glad

he had no intention of seducing her. At least, that was what she told herself.

"I'm looking for someone," Ardon said, confirming her earlier suspicion. "And I think you might be her."

Thara's eyebrows almost raised right off her head, but she kept silent. Her thoughts thundered like a thousand hoofbeats. A Hunter, looking for her? Whatever for? Hunters didn't look for people, unless those people were murderous nomadic tribes of plunderers and idol-worshippers.

"Is your name Thara Newtane, daughter of Belinda Newtane née Sommers?"

"What's it to you?" Thara asked bullishly, in the manner of her oldest brother, Edwin. It had been a long time since she had heard that name.

"I take that as a yes, then," Ardon quipped. "Your mother and brothers perished with the summer fever two years ago in Wrethby Creek?"

Again, Thara didn't answer. She was thinking about the day she had left, after burying her youngest brother, Hugo. He'd been the last to perish. She had laid him to rest with the help of her good friend, Bernard, next to the rest of her family, under the elm down the hill from their house. Her papa's grave had been there for a year already, and now the rest of his family joined him, everyone except for her. After saying goodbye to Bernard, Thara had taken a bag with some clothes and a brush, and walked away from her home, cursing her luck that she was not also under that elm with her family.

She was so deep in her memories that she did not notice when Ardon took her hand, pulling her out of her little room and down the hall toward the front door. By the time she managed to rouse herself from her depression, they were outside, and he was readying his horse.

"Are you done thinking about whatever it is you're thinking about?" Ardon asked, untying the mare from the hitching post and removing its halter. "We should get going." He checked the saddle and girth straps and moved the stirrups up. There was a cloak draped over the pommel, which he took and gave to her.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Thara said, the cloak in her hands. She had no interest in being kidnapped and taken to a Hunter encampment.

I'd kill myself first,

she thought fiercely. She'd heard stories about they did to women. A thought struck her that only moments ago she had wanted this particular Hunter to do those same things to her.

"At this moment you have two choices: either leave with me, or stay here and become a prostitute." Ardon's patience was running thin. "I'm surprised you have to think about this. It's not a—"

"There's a third choice, you know," Thara said, keeping her voice low. From the window above them came a man's passionate moans. "I can leave on my own, without you, which was my original plan if you hadn't done what you did back there!" She held the cloak out to Ardon, but he didn't take it.

Ardon smiled. "And just what did I do back there?" he asked, reaching out to take the cloak.

Thara clamped her mouth shut. Well, he hadn't exactly

done

anything, only teased her, just like he was doing now. There were butterfly wings beating inside her chest. "I'm not going away with you and getting ravished by you and your friends."

The smile on his face disappeared. "What?" He looked stunned. "Where did you get that idea? I'm not going to rape you!" He stared at her like she had three heads. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"You're a Hunter!" Thara shouted. The moaning above them paused then resumed. "You kidnap women and use them as your personal slaves!"

Now he looked angry. "I am not a Hunter, Ms. Newtane." His eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not going to kidnap you and—how did you put it—

ravish you,

for God's sake!"

"Then why did you drag me outside?" Thara asked nastily. She had planted fresh flowers by the front step the day before, and knew the trowel was still in the pot by the door. If he tried anything, she'd grab it and stab it into one those pretty blue eyes.

"I'm rescuing you," he said dryly. "And doing a piss-poor job of it." He let out a breath. "A friend of your mother's sent me to retrieve you." The horse knickered in agreement behind him. "In the event of her death, it was your mother's wish that you be sent to live elsewhere. I am merely the escort."

"

Bollocks

. I don't believe you."

"Then how did I know your name? Or where you came from?"

He made a good point, she conceded. It was possible he was telling the truth. But then why did it take him so long to find her? A warm breeze ruffled her hair, sending a few tendrils into her eyes. She wiped them away from her face as she contemplated, only vaguely aware that she was standing outside in her night clothes and bare feet with a stranger. The lovers above them were getting louder.

Ardon winced at their throaty cries, clearly uncomfortable. They seemed determined enough to wake the neighbors, had there been any.

Thara grinned inwardly, letting him suffer in silence some more, as the noises had long ago ceased to embarrass her. "Maybe I believe you, but that doesn't mean I'm coming with you." A hundred questions pushed around inside her head, but she knew now was not the time to ask them. Hermu might appear at any moment, and she needed to get as much distance between her and

The Rosey Bush

as possible before dawn.

Ardon let out an exasperated growl. "Are you normally this obstinate? Would you refuse the wishes of your dead mother?"

Oh, he was playing a mean game. Thara's eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, the lovers above them reached a tumultuous climax, the woman positively screaming, the man roaring in affirmation.

Ardon visibly shuddered. "I've had enough of this ridiculousness!" He grabbed Thara around the middle, plopping her into the saddle and jumping up behind her.

"Hey!" Thara shouted, making to get off. But Ardon's hands snaked around her waist, holding her tight, and he chirruped to his horse, who took off into the night.

***

They arrived at the train station two hours later. Ardon had given Thara his cloak again during their journey, and it was now wrapped tightly around her, the dark wool fabric scratchy against her cheek. She was not used to riding on horseback, and her thighs hurt.

Dawn was climbing as they dismounted and returned the mare to the stables outside a lodging house next to the train station. Once the horse had exchanged hands, they ascended the wide wooden stairs to the train platform. There were a few passengers milling about as they approached the ticket booth. Thara's appearance—her hair in disarray and wearing a cloak three sizes too big for her—elicited a few stares but she ignored them, looking instead at the great iron sleeper car before her. There were ten of them, all neatly strung out on the track, with a dining car between and a locomotive at the front billowing great white puffs of steam from its chimney.

"Where are we going?" Thara asked uneasily. For the whole of the journey thus far she had told herself she was only going along with this man because he said he knew her parents, and that they had wished for her to go with him. But now, seeing that they would indeed be traveling far, far away from this side of the kingdom, far away from Wrethby Creek and Grogom and all of the East, she felt her confidence waver.

"Two tickets to Aldochor City," Ardon said to the ticket agent. He pocketed the slips of paper and turned to Thara. "Does that answer your question?" In the morning light his features had softened. He didn't seem so tall or menacing now.

"The capital?" Thara said breathlessly, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. She had heard wonderful things about the capital of Eganick Kingdom, mostly from Bernard, who would visit his uncle every spring to help in his hatter's shop. When he returned, he always had exciting stories to tell. Why, he'd said some houses there had flushing devices for bodily waste and baths where the water came from the ceiling! Her own mama had a few friends in the capital, but despite visiting them once a year, she had always maintained an abhorrence for its crime, unsanitary conditions and pollution.

"Yes, the capital," Ardon agreed, looking at her askance. "Have you traveled outside of the Eastern Kingdom?"

She shook her head. "There was never a need," she said simply. Her mama had friends in the city and would sometimes visit, perhaps once every year. She had been a teacher, and her papa a furniture-maker, when he was well enough. They had everything they needed in Wrethby Creek, and besides summer trips to the sea and the occasional wagon ride to a neighboring village to visit friends, they had been content. Thara's sole surviving grandpapa on her father's side had passed away when she was four, so she had no immediate relatives to speak of, which doubtless contributed even more to her family's isolation from the rest of the kingdom, as they knew no one outside their village.

"Well, I expect you'll find it to be very different from what you're used to," Ardon said distractedly, pulling out their tickets to look for their car number. He led them to a carriage with the letter E stamped across the door and they boarded, finding their seats with little assistance. Thara sank into the velvet upholstery with delight, having never been on a train before. Her eager eyes drank in all the sights—there were silk partitions that could be drawn for privacy, beautiful walnut paneling, and shiny brass light fixtures. It all looked very grand, indeed.

After the footman verified their tickets, the train began to move. Thara watched the world pass by her window for the next several minutes, unaware of Ardon's attention on her rapt face. A stewardess came down the aisle pushing a cart with food.

"Hungry?" Ardon asked her, seeing her watch the passengers behind them pay for a pastry.

"I'm starving," Thara admitted, "but I don't have any coin."

"I'll buy us the food," Ardon said, sitting up as the cart neared. Thara didn't like that idea because she knew she had not a penny to her name to pay him back with, but she hadn't eaten anything since dinner the night before, which now seemed so very far away.

When the woman stopped by their seats, Ardon bought a basket of scones with clotted cream and two steaming cups of black coffee with milk.

"Thank you," Thara said as he handed her the coffee. He set the basket beside him and took a bite of blueberry scone.

"You could use the food," he returned, looking her over. She was still wearing the cloak, but now it was open at the collar, the better for her arms to reach her impending breakfast. She was also still wearing her horrid night gown, which she had no intention of revealing to anyone in the car. It was bad enough to be kidnapped by a man claiming to know her mother, but worse still to take a train to the capital city wearing nothing but your sleeping garments. That cloak was staying on.

"You can't see anything." She reached for the basket and plucked out a strawberry scone, still hot from the oven.

"I can see enough," Ardon volleyed, but at the moment he looked more interested in the jar of clotted cream in her hand. She reluctantly handed it over.

"How do you know my mother?" Thara was unable to wait any longer. The train was moving at speed now, the landscape beyond her window whizzing by. She could see fields of wheat and grass, and the occasional small town far off in the distance. She set her coffee on the small fold-out table before the window and tore into her scone properly.

"Our mothers ran a business together in Aldochor City, which became quite successful." Ardon dunked his scone into the jar of clotted cream, foregoing a knife. "They lost touch when your mother married and left for the country. We only got word of your family's passing a year ago, and had a damn hell of a time trying to find you. You're as slippery as an eel."

Someone had been trying to find her? The shock must have registered in her face because Ardon looked surprised. "I did tell you this last night, you know," he informed her.

"Well, yes, but not in so many words!" Thara sputtered. "And I wasn't sure if you were lying about that part or not."

"Didn't your mother tell you anything about her past?" Now Ardon looked incredulous.

"No, she did not," Thara said, growing irritated. "What is this business you're talking about?"

"Well, now I'm not so sure I should tell you anything," Ardon said. "I think maybe it should wait until we arrive at Mereguilde—that's my house."

"What?" Thara cried, dismayed. "You need to tell me right now why you took me from my home and brought me here—

kidnapped

me, in fact!" She had little recourse to get him to comply, although she dearly wished she could lob the basket of scones at his head.

Her exclamation drew a few gasps from the passengers around them. A bespectacled man two seats down actually turned around to look at them. Ardon shot Thara a murderous look.

"That was not your

home

," he growled, his voice getting louder with each word. "That. Was. A.

Whorehouse

!" There were more scandalized gasps from the surrounding passengers. An elderly woman wearing a voluminous expanse of petticoats fainted at the far end of the car. "I don't know how you ended up there, and frankly, I don't care. But say that I kidnapped you one more time and—" the vein was back in the middle of the his forehead, the one that was throbbing earlier this morning when they had been bickering on the front stoop of

The Rosey Bush.

Thara remembered seeing it from the glow of the sign's lantern.

"And you'll what?" she challenged snottily. "What will you do, exactly?" She might be smaller than him, but she had learned how to punch and jab from her brothers, and if that failed, she was an excellent runner.

"You don't want to know," he said in a low voice, so that no one else could hear.

Thara laughed. "I dare you to try," she taunted, not the least bit scared. "I'll knee you where it hurts most." And she stared unabashedly at the crotch of his pants, uncaring of propriety, just to make sure he got her point.

"Oh, really?" he challenged, and leaned back against the seat with his arms crossed over that wide expanse of chest, widening his legs so that she had clear access. The annoyance was gone from his face. He looked expectantly at her, and she thought she detected a twinkle in those blue eyes.

Thara glared at him for a long moment before finally jerking her head away to stare at the scenery outside, her jaw working in irritation. Well, of course she wasn't going to injure him for no good reason. That he goaded her to do so was both stupid and infuriating. He was acting like a child.

She contented herself with ignoring the man across from her, watching the landscape fly by until her eyelids grew heavy and finally she dozed off.

It was night time when she was jostled awake. She scooted up in her seat, blinking heavily. The lamps in the car had been dimmed, and it looked like most of the passengers had already turned out their sleeping berths and gone to bed.

"Get up so I can have the beds made," Ardon said in a low voice scratchy with sleep. "Here, I saved you a sandwich." He handed her a small parcel wrapped in wax paper.

Thara stood in the aisle and watched as he folded the seats down to create a bed. The second berth was lowered down from the ceiling using a pulley system rigged to the wall. There was a curtain for each level, upper and lower, and Thara saw that most throughout their car were already drawn tight for the night.

"You can have the upper berth, I'll take the lower," Ardon said. Thara looked and understood why. There was hardly any clearance between the mattress and the ceiling. Ardon would be packed tight like a sardine in a tin.

"Okay." Thara sat back on the now converted bed, reaching over to close the window curtains as she finished her sandwich, noting that it was pitch black outside. She watched from the corner of her eye as Ardon took off his bracers, untucked his shirt and headed toward the washroom at the end of the car.

When he was gone, she took off the cloak and tossed it on the lower bed before climbing up the tiny ladder, sliding like a snake—

or an eel

—into the narrow space. There was hardly any room to turn over. In fact, she felt like her nose would graze the ceiling if she yawned.

This must be what it feels like to lie in a coffin,

she thought. An image of her family's graves sprung to mind, bringing tears to her eyes. She silently cursed the events of the last twenty-four hours. Ardon's arrival, his questions and his knowledge of her past, had dredged up awful feelings she had worked so hard to keep locked away in the farthest corners of her mind.

She turned her head so the tears could stream into the pillow. This was the worst part of everything that had happened since Ardon knocked on the door to her bedroom at

The Rosey Bush

, she decided. Yes, sleeping in this coffin bed was worse than being promoted to a prostitute and much worse than being kidnapped and taken to the capital, at the behest of a woman she did not know, and toward a future she was not prepared to meet.

Unable to run from her thoughts, Thara cried herself to sleep.

***

The slight swaying of the carriage car slowly roused her awake. She could see bright white light from the sliver of window that made it up past her mattress. For a moment, Thara forgot where she was. Then it all came rushing back—Ardon's arrival, their flight from Grogom in the early hours of the morning and the train ride to Aldochor City. She bolted upright and hit her head on the ceiling.

"Are you all right?" Ardon asked from the other side of the privacy curtain.

"Yes," Thara said, wincing. She pulled back the curtain and lowered her head over the edge to find him on his mattress buttoning up his cuffs. His dark hair was mussed and his shirt gaped open to reveal a chest as smooth as marble.

"You can come down whenever you're ready. I need to put the beds away and I can't do that if you're still in it." He got up to stand in the aisle, staring up at her. They were nearly eye level.

Thara pulled her head back. The butterfly wings were beating inside her chest again. "I don't have any clothes," she whispered, her eyes darting to the other sleeping berths, whose privacy curtains were mercifully still drawn.

"That can't be helped, unfortunately," Ardon said unsympathetically. His eyes strayed over her gown, which had ridden up over her legs to expose her bare calves. She yanked the fabric down to cover them, shooting him a warning glance. He gave her a sardonic look but took out a comb from his back pocket and handed it to her. "Here. For your hair."