Bad Blood

Chapter 13 - Tall Tales

Since the new wave of tunes has swept through the city like a thunderstorm, Solona could hear nothing else but jazz enveloping the place from the gramophone. The steamy sax and piano notes and the smooth voice of the singers fitted more a brothel, even a classy one than a classical piece that Madame Chaudron so cultivated, although they felt alien in the smoky atmosphere of the lounge, suggesting sophistication in a place wherein every lit corner dark intentions lurked. Jazz was easy like the silk sliding down the bare skin and spilling on the floor.

She watched the red nail polish drying on her nails. Her hair, meanwhile, was combed and arranged in wavy strands by diligent but bony hands. Her eyes wandered a few times to the headline of that day's newspaper. The Coalition Army of the Southern countries has made a ceasefire with Tevinter. 2,500 prisoners of war may have returned home in the coming months. This news seemed so distant from the comfort of the brothel in Val Royeaux. After all, she wasn't expecting anyone back from the front, she wasn't watching the loss lists anxiously. The fallen golden boys were replaced in moments by their loving fathers, who besides comforting their grieving wives, also found time to comfort the grieving lovers.

"What's in it?" a thin voice asked from behind him. Solona's gaze met the milky white look in the mirror. Solona often forgot Ariris couldn't read. She wondered if she hadn't had the Orlesian disease Madame Chaudron would have bothered to educate her. Vagrants had a high market in Val Royeaux. And an albino vagrant would definitely have raised the agio of the fleurs du mal in her prestigious institute.

Solona took a cigarette from the case on her dresser and lit it. "It seems the war is soon coming to an end," She replied. "There is a ceasefire at the Western Front. They are exchanging prisoners," She flipped a page. "Also, another flu epidemic has broken out in the Alienage."

For a moment she felt the motion combing her hair hesitating and saw the vagrant girl's gaze wandering into the void. "Don't even think about it, Ariris," she said, knowing exactly what was in her mind. "Madame Chaudron wouldn't let you anyway."

"Maybe he is there," she answered. "He is a doctor after all... well, he was..."

Solona jumped up suddenly and went to her wardrobe. She used her fingers to sort the clothes hanging on the hanger. Her choice landed on a green satin dress. "Even if he is there, he is the reason the first place you ended up here."

Solona handed Ariris the dress, to help her. The girl obediently smoothed it. "I still love him, you know..." she said hesitantly as she pulled up the zipper on the back of her dress and settled the creases.

"Love is a dark pit, Ariris," Solona sighed as she sat down to her vanity once again. She took a brush and dipped it into the red lip liquid. Her glance settled on the girl through the mirror as she began to tidy up the room. Her hand hesitated and eventually, she put down the brush. "Love makes people end up in places like this," she said, her voice bitter.

Ariris stopped in her chores and watched Solona expectantly. "Did you ended up here, because of love?" she asked.

"Amells was a respected family in the Free Marches, you know," she replied, picking up the brush again. With some precise and delicate move, she applied the red painting on her lips and reached for another brush, thinner, and added a smooth black line on her eyelid, just over her eyelashes. "My family originally came from Kirkwall, but my mother married the son of a merchant in Starkhaven, way below rank. But she died shortly after my eighth birthday. And I became the heir. So my grandfather took me away from my father to himself to ensure the proper survival of the name. He planned my life for me in advance. What education I would receive, to whom I would marry. To the son of a Kirkwall businessman," she chuckled." In my engagement contract, the bastard even stipulated that our descendants would continue to bear my family name." She took a vial and gently tilted it letting some oil cover her fingers, which she smoothed down her neck in a delicate motion. Then she repeated, but this time she put some behind her ears. Slowly the air filled with the sweet scent of the oil which even without this ritual had seeped into her skin and clothes long ago. But Solona became the slave to these habits.