Chapter 2
E
mory had always been able to see daemons, no matter how much his father insisted he couldn't.
This one in particular had been prowling the aisles at the lower level of the Merchant Guildhall, stopping at any booth that displayed leather armor, and usually after a brisk conversation she'd wander off to the next one. He was kicking himself every time she stopped.
Armor was good money for the work involved, and Emory hadn't considered bringing so much as a vambrace.
But then again, a daemon deciding not to visit their booth wasn't the worst problem to have. If she worked for a noble and she wanted to place a special order, he'd have to explain to his father how visiting the Fates' Tapestry translated to he and Keline running a booth at the Guildhall. Somehow Emory doubted he'd buy 'market research' as a valid excuse for outright blasphemy and lying to him.
He didn't know what this daemon woman presented to the rest of the world, there were no mirrors in the 'poor' section of the Merchant Guild's Hall. But even without her nobles' regalia she cut an imposing figure; tall and broad, with skin the color of a used candle wick and eyes that could have been the flame. Behind her glasses were pinpoints in a black void, stars that broke some sacred veil to scour the land and all who dwelled there.
Her features were human enough, maybe 40-something with streaks of grey winding through her side-swept crest, and large canine ears that matched her wolfish focus. She was attentive. Predatory. It was almost as if she was kept in check by the collar she wore- thick as her palm, hanging loose from her neck with a single metal ring that drooped down like a crescent blade. She never touched it and no one dared to comment, but even at a distance Emory could tell the leather was worn in by years. Somehow it worked for her. With the double breasted coat and floor length skirt it stood out as a feature of power. Who's power? Now that would be the question.
She was the kind of woman Keline would've gone after if she was that little bit braver- or had poorer self preservation instincts. "Mmmh. . ." Emory mused as he watched the retainer pick through some of the offerings.
"Emory. Psst."
So it began.
"You keep staring at her like that and I might get jealous."
Emory glanced at Kel and stuck his tongue out a little. Her half elven blood made her impetuous, but moments like this couldn't really be soured if things went
too
badly, right? Daemon or no, retainers had rules. All he had to do was keep her from saying something--
"You should go talk to her. You know, say 'Hi, I'm Emory and I can't help but wonder if you've ever had your ass treated like a holy altar. I have this anointing oil and. . .'"
Something just like that.
The retainer's ear flicked. Her head cant just slightly while she discussed business with one of the vendors. Had she heard?
Keline didn't
know
. He couldn't get mad at her. He still nudged her hard enough to get the point across. "Then my father can chew me out for ruffling a nobles' feathers
and
being here."
The young woman scoffed, slung her arm over the back of her chair and crossed her leg so the meat of her thighs pressed together in that particular way that reminded Emory of her mother. "For a moment I thought you were going to say 'for knocking up a noble's retainer' and being here."
That got the woman to glance over now. Eyes sharp. Ears attentive. Right at Emory. He subtly pointed at Keline-- damned if he was going to hang for her crimes. Plus, he was reasonably confident he could talk her down if she tried anything. Something he couldn't do if she was attacking him directly.
"Orrrr maybe," Keline leaned over, looking up at him under the shade of her brow. "Maybe a world class butt stuffing is in order. The way you keep looking at her ass--"
"Kel. . ."
"Oh, please. I see the way you look at
my
ass--"
"Kel.
" Emory said sharply. The retainer was staring at him with an arched brow. Her skirt twitched behind her. "Maybe don't antagonize the nobility, huh? Besides, everybody looks at your ass."
She nudged him back in retaliation. "As they should. But look, it's not like she can hear us anyway. You knoooowwww, she's kind of attractive if you're into older women. . . .Emorrrry are you hunting for someone to smother you between their thighs and call you 'young man'? Hm?" She prodded him. "I can never tell."
"You might if you paid attention,"
he thought to himself. He mouthed an apology to the retainer. This got her to smirk, then smile a grin full of sharp teeth, placing her firmly in the 'dangerous' category of daemon. When the retainer turned to wander off Keline leaned against him, patting his shoulder in consolation.
"Maybe next time." Her hand trailed down his back in a way that made him shiver. She had no idea what kind of danger they might've been in, nor what she did to him with her touch. She had so many of her mother's affects and some of her features, but none of her elven grace or reservation. He was thankful for her company, though. "I kind of wonder what the collar was about, but hey, I'm too pure to kink shame."
"Pure like a slit trench." Emory cast a quick glance to the upper level. They weren't getting anywhere like this. "Hey, I'm going to do something stupid. Can you cover the booth?"
Keline snatched up one of their belt samples and dumped it in his hands. With a flourish she sent him on his way. "I knew you had a thing for older women."
"That's not it," he lied. It was a connection, it was an
in
. His father might've been furious with him if he knew they were here, but if he brought home an order from a noble house
and
it was because of his work? It would've been the perfect amount of leverage to get his point across and to show him that they
could
compete and even thrive.
It was a chance to make a point- and some money.
The other vendors looked at him like he was stupid when he passed. Some muttered about breaking the rules, some about him wasting his time, but he ignored it all. There was enough of a lead here that he could turn it to something, he was sure of it.
The upper level is where you found the big shops, not all of them native to the city, despite what the Guild would let customer's believe. Among the bright colors you'd find exotic dyes on leather so heavily oil treated that it was as soft as tissue and nearly as sturdy. The company's representatives stood in orderly form like toy soldiers with crisp uniforms that exuded power as real as the smiles they showed the noble clientèle.
These people were the ones that had a modicum of charisma and little knowledge about the product they sold. They were the face of perpetual 'apprenticeships', rigged markets and tax evasion. But the nobles wanted to see a pretty picture and smart money gave it to them.
The less smart money, people like Emory and Keline, sat in the far flung corner of the showing hall with their thumbs up their own asses.
Technically
all the shops in the city were represented as the Guild's charter demanded, so in a sense you did get seen. But, like the retainer, it wasn't always obvious when you were seen or by
whom
.
He found the daemon retainer stalking through the crowd with her hands clasped behind her back. Her sleeves were up just far enough to expose a ring on either glove at her wrist, thick and heavy. On anyone else, they'd have been work gloves but they had an esoteric design to them and triple stitching- definitely not something done locally. It was good work in need of some conditioner and dye touch ups, but you got that with hard worn leather.
If they were here, though, they were looking for leather goods. Local or not. If they weren't out for something already made then they might have been in the market for custom work. Judging by those gloves they valued custom pieces and the premium they brought.
Emory took his shot when he was sure the retainer would hear him. "Retainer, I believe I have something for you."
She kept going, gliding through the crowd like a blade.
"Retainer?"
She didn't skip a beat. Though he did get a look from some other servant.
Different tact, then. He kept his voice low. "She might be on to something: I do like older women. But few compare to the exoticism of those who aren't native to this place."
The retainer's ear flicked. She glanced back. Her eyes were sharp orange for a split second and before she'd even completed her turn she'd scanned the crowd and narrowed in on him. Emory drew to his full height and strode forward with his sample clenched in his hand. She was a daemon but she was a retainer- that meant she was bound by rules of conduct. She couldn't just kill him outright.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that he might even believe it.
Emory offered a smile the woman didn't reciprocate. When he approached she tilted her head very slightly and her skirt flicked. She had a palpable sense of irritation but he held his ground, offering his sample piece before he launched into a modified version of his sales pitch: "My friend overstepped her place, and it would be rude not to offer compensation for what she said. I wish you and your lord no ill will, I hope you have none as well."
She stared at him oddly. Then looked him up and down. Sniffed the air just once.
The retainer closed the distance, almost looming over him now. Her eyes were so unnaturally dark and her presence so warm that even from a foot away she became a suffocating
physical
thing- it drove him to run. It demanded he step aside. But if he did that he'd blow his only chance at improving the family business. This would've all been for nothing.
Eventually, when he
didn't
run away, she spoke in a low throaty whisper. "You can see me, can't you?"
