The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 11: Blood on the Old Godsway, Part 3

 Next door, inside the Prideful Lioness, Carala was getting her first look at a brothel for herself. Whatever she had been expecting, it was a surprisingly pleasant place. The rooms were tastefully appointed, if the furnishings were nowhere near as sumptuous as those of the Chalcedony Palace or even Talinara's finer taverns and inns. It might, however, have passed as one of the capital's more midrange salons, one that belonged to a once-prominent House that had fallen on hard times. 

Truth be told the princess was only barely registering her surroundings. The image of Lena lying in the street seemed branded on her eyes, and even without that terrible sight she was being roughly if kindly passed from one Lioness girl to the next in an effort to disguise her. Never in her life had her face been painted with makeup this heavy, nor had she ever worn clothing this revealing or thin. Her entire midsection was exposed, and she nervously kept the sleek dark green silk wrap around her hips as high on her waist as she could. Perhaps Ammas was right that no one here could read heraldry, but surely if they noticed the Deyn family crest inked on her hip, the same one all her siblings and even her father bore, there would be uncomfortable questions.

Casimir had disappeared. There were many hiding places and cubbyholes he knew well from his years in this place, and in which one he had ensconced himself no one seemed to be sure. There was, however, a marked reduction in the pile of fruits and cakes on the table in the parlor where the Lioness girls met most of their customers.

That parlor was where Carala now found herself. Barthim's man, Drusis, knelt facing a corner with his hands laced behind his head, having been divested of his club at Sergeant Cayle's insistence. Seated in couches and on chaises and chintz chairs around the room was a baker's dozen of Lioness girls, plus Carala. Madame Laurette stood in close conversation with Sergeant Cayle, looking more at her ease despite her disheveled hair. Every now and then, though, Carala noticed a glance pass between Laurette and Selene, the latter's eyes narrowing and an angry set twisting her mouth for the briefest of moments. 

Whatever Laurette was saying to the Sergeant, so far he seemed satisfied. The Lioness girls themselves were not much like Carala had imagined prostitutes to be. They were pretty, yes, but under the flaking makeup they looked hard-worn and tired, even though most of them were not much older than herself (and the one who had raised the guard, Yula, looked distressingly younger). There was a quiet, almost submissive quality to most of them, though how much of that was from the nature of their work and how much was because of what had just happened to Lena, Carala didn't know. She hoped, at least, that on most nights there weren't this many tears.

Finally Laurette turned to them, tightening her shawl around her neck. "All right, girls. Sergeant Cayle is going to ask some questions about what happened. I've told him that I didn't actually see it, so I don't know who was there. Just tell him what he needs to know and the guard will do what they can to find Lena's killer. And," her gaze flicked ever so briefly to Carala, "if it has anything to do with the man next door, be sure you tell him."

Madame Laurette drew back, just beyond the arched doorway that led from the parlor to the kitchen and pantries, watching the Sergeant apprehensively. Cayle was tow-headed and looked younger than Lyros, and was not all that uncommon a sight here at the Lioness, though this was the first time any of them had ever seen him wearing a sergeant's medallion. With a hard smile he stepped into the middle of the parlor, one hand fingering the hilt of his truncheon. 

"All right, my lasses," he said in an unctuous tone that made Carala's skin crawl. It reminded her of an unflattering impersonation of Varallo Thray -- a bad one. "I know this has been an ugly business, but I'm sure most of you know a werewolf attack doesn't just come out of nowhere, especially not in a city like ours. We're not on the edge of a wilderness here. So first -- who saw what happened?"