The Changing Tide: Book One of Rogue Elegance

by K Dowling

  “Your Majesty,” whispers that same voice. “The girl must go. Arden will take her somewhere safe. Lord Stoward’s men have stormed the bailey. You must go out to meet them. Your people need to see that their queen will not cower in the palace while they burn.”

  Beyond the thick stone walls, Emerala can hear the distant sound of hammering boots—the war cry of soldiers dying. Steel rings against steel in a shivering ballad. Across the room, the blue-eyed midwife—a Cairan woman, and loyal still—watches Emerala sadly.

  “She’s got green eyes, your Grace,” the midwife says. “Like her father.”

  “Take her away,” Emerala hears herself order. “Hide her. I will meet my fate upon the steps with my sons.”

  With a loud grunt, Emerala hits the lumpy pillow of the catacombs. She is seated between Roberts and Nerani, staring up at the sleeping figure of Mame Noveli. Next to her, she can feel Nerani staring pointedly at her, a look of accusation in her eyes. Her stomach churns slightly beneath her corset. Her mouth feels dry.

  “What?”

  “You cried out aloud,” Nerani says reproachfully. “You fell asleep right at the start of her story.”

  “I—” Emerala starts and stops, unsure of what to say. Confusion broils within her gut. “You didn’t see things? In the smoke?”

  One shapely eyebrow rises upwards on Nerani’s forehead. “Of course not, Emerala. Unlike you, I managed to stay awake.”

  On Emerala’s left, Roberts has gone as pale as a ghost. His lips press together in a thin line as he studies the open palms of his hands upon his lap.

  “What about you, Rob?” Emerala asks. He glances up at her as if surprised to see her there. A shallow groove has rooted between his brows, casting his expression into a permanent frown.

  “What about me?”

  “You know—did you see something in the smoke?”

  Rob glances over her head towards Nerani and Topan. “No,” he retorts, his answer coming too quickly to be believed. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Wipe your chin, Emerala,” Nerani instructs. “You’ve drooled a bit.”

  Emerala shoots her cousin a scathing glance, pawing at her face with the back of her hand. At the front of the room, Mame Noveli lets out a loud snort. Her blue eyes pop open one at a time.

  “Have you no respect for the elderly?” she snaps. Her lower lip quivers. “Can’t you see I’m resting?”

  Next to Nerani, Topan rises to his feet, offering her his arm as he does so. “We’re terribly sorry, Mame.”

  “Don’t apologize, just get out.” She waves her hand in the direction of the door. “Be gone with you all.”

  They obey immediately. Emerala is all too eager to be free of the dimly lit room. She feels as if she is going to be sick. Already, the images in her mind are fleeting, catching on the corners of her memory and fading away to the place where dreams are stored.

  Had she fallen asleep?

  She supposes it is entirely possible that she had been dreaming. The sleepy darkness of the catacombs is enough to lull anyone into the depths of sleep, and she has never been good at paying attention during long-winded stories.

  Still, the dream had felt so real—the images had been so stark. Deep within her, her aching womb feels raw and empty. She thinks of Queen Saynti, and how the Cairan queen had been stripped of her fineries and burned at the stake before all of Chancey. A visible shudder runs through her.

  Next to her, Rob is as silent and as grey as stone. His black hair is wilder than usual—the front sticks up at odd angles as if he has been pulling at the roots.

  “Are you alright?” she asks him finally, nudging him with her elbow. He jumps as if he has been branded with a hot poker.

  “I’m fine,” he snaps, not sounding fine at all.

  She scowls up at him, unconvinced. “What did you think of the story?”

  “It was a fine story,” he mutters darkly. “I’ve heard it before.”

  “And do you think it’s real?”

  He meets her gaze head on at that, his scowl deepening. His green eyes are haunted. “It’s a legend, Emerala. The Forbidden City has always been nothing more than a legend.”

  With that, he turns and walks away, heading off quickly into the shadows alone.

  Emerala leans back against a low table and watches him go, wondering about the existence of the Forbidden City. Topan had implied that it was a real place. And if what she saw in the smoke had been more than an idle dream—

  If the city is more than some legend buried by the years—if it is a tangible dwelling hidden away from the Chancians, then she would like to go there, she should think. She frowns up at the mildewed stone above her head and feels herself shiver against the unremitting chill. Anywhere would be better than this stifling prison of stone.

  CHAPTER 15

  Seranai the Fair

  Seranai lets loose the breath of air that she has been holding. She glances around the darkened street, her grey eyes wide. She is going to have to be more careful.

  The man that meandered around the corner mere moments before had nearly stepped directly upon her feet in the dark. She cannot chance being recognized—not here, as close as she is to the brothels and the slums. But this is where the golden-eyed pirate has taken up residence, she is sure of it. She cannot think of a better place to meet.

  She pulls her traveling cloak tighter about her body as she walks. Keeping close to the walls, she trails her soft fingers against the abrasive exterior of the crumbling brick. The murky shadows of the alleyway provide a strange sort of solitude.

  Overhead, the sky is growing lighter. The grey dawn bleaches the corners of the horizon, fading the black night overhead into varying hues of violet. Seranai knows she only has a few more hours until sunrise. She pauses at the edge of the alleyway and glances down at the attire that bulges out from beneath her cloak. The suit is of a blood red hue—the skirt billows out so far that it trails uncooperatively behind her. The material is finely made—foreign, she should think. Whoever bought it probably paid a pretty penny to have it made. She pets it softly, running her fingers down the whispering taffeta. She wonders how much more regal she would appear if the gown had been tailored specifically for her. She frowns down at her feet. Beneath the gown, the ruffled white petticoat is hers. The hem is muddied and torn in places.

  Slowly, she pulls off her fitted red jacket. The ruffled white sleeves are beginning to fray at the ends. She eyes them with disdain as she lets the jacket drop to the ground at her feet. The cold night air tickles the exposed flesh of her shoulders and she shivers. Her crimson corset is tightly laced with gleaming, black stays. It cinches her waist almost to a point. Her bosoms heave over the bone lined edge.

  She wants to be away from the brothels long before sunrise. That is when James Byron’s shift begins. She does not want to chance running into him again, not after he had treated her so poorly the last time. She knows how she looks today—knows what he will think of her if he sees her exposed and dressed for seduction, lingering beneath the shadows of the brothels. Even in his self-indulgent days as a private he was too good for a whore.

  Her grey eyes narrow into slits as she thinks of him. She wonders if he is awake yet, and if he has received her letter. The landlord promised that he would hand deliver it to his quarters. She wonders if James will act upon the information she provided him. She wonders if he will think better of her, now. She has cooperated with the guardians. She has separated herself from that vile Cairan wench.

  Emerala the Rogue.

  She sneers at the thought of the dreadful young gypsy. It is Emerala who has brought her to this point—it is Emerala who has led her to Mamere Lenora’s. It is Emerala—that wicked, rotten girl—who has made things difficult for her.

  Seranai needs her gone.

  She needs her gone, and there is only one man she can think of who can carry out her wishes.

  The vociferous catcalls start as soon as she rounds the corner. Seranai flashes a winning
smile at the drunken men that mill about between the brothels. Raising an idle hand, she pushes her white blonde locks over her shoulder.

  She finds a familiar looking girl seated upon the front step to Mamere Lenora’s. The girl frowns as she studies Seranai’s deep, crimson gown. Reaching up with dirty fingers, she fixes the steadily plunging neckline of her own ripped cotton chemise, which she has slipped carelessly over a cream colored petticoat. Her black corset is moth bitten and misshapen. Seranai’s dainty nose turns up at the sight of her.

  “Good evening, Whinny,” she says, and sniffs.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” Whinny demands bitterly. Her two, overlarge front teeth protrude from behind parted lips.

  Seranai fidgets absently with her petticoat, refusing to meet the harlot’s gaze. “I told Mamere I’d be coming by.”

  Whinny’s only response is to spit at her feet. Seranai glowers down at the spot of saliva before her slippers, repulsed.

  “I’ll just go in, then.” She sidesteps Whinny, gathering her gown within her fists and holding it off of the soiled ground underfoot.

  You’ll find him in the third door on the left. That was what Mamere Lenora had told her, her black eyes glittering hungrily as Seranai dangled one of her mother’s old bracelets before her. Be quick about it, Fair. Can’t have you pulling focus from my girls.

  Seranai wanders down the narrow hall, keeping her eyes towards the floor. The cloying smell of lavender and old cologne permeates the musty foyer. She wrinkles her nose, holding her breath. As she walks, she counts the doors. Mamere had promised it would be left unlocked.

  The soft glow of a candle shines out of a crack in the doorway. Door number three. Seranai draws to a stop, staring at the slanted beam of gold that lies across the fusty carpet. She slips through the opening and pulls the door closed behind her. It latches with a click, shutting her inside the cluttered room.

  “Finally,” a male voice says.

  Seranai plants a smile upon her face, taking several steps further into the room as she catches sight of the pirate by the window. His back is to her and he clutches at a decanter of liquor. The fingers of his free hand trace circles upon the soiled glass panes. She wonders if he is drunk. For her sake, she hopes not.

  “I apologize for taking so long.”

  The Hawk turns around, surprised at the sound of her voice. He surveys her with suspicion, his golden eyes glittering beneath the flickering light. He is handsome, she realizes. The chiseled jawline of his face accentuates the lopsided grin and deep, shaded dimples that root permanently upon his cheeks. His sharp gaze pierces her pallid skin. She feels a small prickle of pleasure at the sight of his eyes. She remembers them distinctly from the blacksmith’s workshop. How could she forget? She has never seen anything quite like it. Her intuition has once again led her to the right place.

  “You’re not at all who I thought,” he grumbles. Shadows pull across his face as he frowns and takes a swig of his drink.

  “Mamere didn’t tell you I’d be coming?”

  “Not expecting you, am I?”

  “I suppose not.”

  There is a prolonged moment of uncomfortable silence as the two strangers survey one another across the room. Seranai wonders what he is thinking. Does he remember her? It was only a few days ago that they encountered one another, and he does not seem like the type to forget a face. She squares her shoulders and steps within the throw of the flickering lanterns that line the wallpapered room. The warmth tickles her exposed flesh. Raising a languid hand, she flicks her wrist so that her white locks drape across her shoulder. She smiles softly—bats her thick, black lashes.

  “You’re not a prostitute,” the Hawk states simply, setting down the decanter of liquor upon the windowsill. Stray locks of his black hair fall out from beneath his tricorn cap and sweep across his brow. Seranai drops her hand to her side, a scowling pulling her lips downward.

  “Of course I’m not,” she snaps.

  The Hawk glances implicatively around the room before turning his gaze back towards Seranai. “Aye, well this is a brothel, love.”

  “This was the safest place for us to meet.”

  He scoffs. “Where’s Lenora?”

  He brushes past Seranai, heading toward the door. Steadily—her heart pounding against her ribcage—Seranai places one cool hand upon his chest.

  “Wait,” she commands. She fights to keep her voice even. She cannot afford to lose his attention—not now. Not when she finally has a plan to pull herself out of a lifetime of undeserved poverty.

  The pirate glares down at her hand, held fast against the moth bitten black fabric of his jacket. His lips curl into a sneer and he peers closely at her face.

  “I know you,” he says at last. At this proximity she can smell the ale upon his breath. It tastes rancid upon her tongue. She tries not to wrinkle her nose in distaste. She allows a small laugh to fall forth from her lips. The sound is light—alluring.

  “I believe you do. We’ve met before.” She is gaining control of the situation—can feel him relaxing beneath the palm of her hand. The pirate grabs one delicate wrist in his dirtied fist. He backs her hard against the door, his face drawing nearer to hers.

  “If I remember correctly, you said you don’t consort with pirates then, love.”

  “I do when it’s a matter of convenience.”

  “Aye?” She watches as a lewd smile stretches across his face. She can see his gold-capped tooth catch in the light. “And just how am I convenient for you?”

  Seranai allows herself a genuine smile, pleased that the pirate is choosing to play along. “You mentioned the other day that you were the kind of man willing to get your hands dirty.”

  “Aye, I suppose I did.”

  “It just so happens that I have dirty work that needs doing.”

  The Hawk tightens his grip upon her wrist, drawing her close to his chest. She can feel the warmth of him through his clothes. “It doesn’t come free, you know.”

  She pries herself out of his grasp, putting space between them. Meeting his gaze, she smiles. “You will be compensated for your efforts, believe me.”

  The tip of his pink tongue darts out between his lips. He reminds Seranai of a coiled snake lying in wait for its prey. His golden eyes flicker back and forth across her face.

  “You have my attention.”

  “Have you ever heard of the Cairan fortune? Queen Saynti’s buried treasure?”

  He grimaces, studying her in unreadable silence for a long time. After a moment, he shakes his head. “No.”

  “No?” Seranai echoes, smiling wider. “If you do this job for me, you’ll be helping me access it.”

  The Hawk mirrors her smile, taking a slow step in her direction across the fetid carpeting underfoot. “And what kind of fortune are we talking about?”

  “Gold,” Seranai says without missing a beat. “Lots of it.”

  She watches as the pirate considers this for a moment, his tongue pressed in the corner of his lips. His unblinking golden eyes linger upon her pale, grey gaze. He presses the unbuttoned cuffs of his sleeves up around his elbows, and she sees the black silhouette of a soaring bird inked across his forearm.

  “What would you have me do?”

  Seranai exhales sharply, smothering her relief. “There is a woman—Cairan born. I want her gone.”

  “You’d have me kill her?” The eager way in which he asks the question sends a shiver down Seranai’s spine. She blinks rapidly, trying to wipe away the bloody image of the butcher’s tools that has suddenly imprinted itself upon the insides of her eyelids. She can see her father’s grave—freshly dug—can feel her trembling fingers at her sides.

  Murderer, she hears her mother whisper.

  “Murder isn’t a game, pirate,” she says before she can help herself.

  He laughs at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It is if you know the rules.”

  “And you do?”

  “Aye, love, I wro
te the rules.”

  Something in his voice unsettles her deeply. She clears her throat, flicking a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. “I don’t want her killed. I just need her to disappear.

  His eyes narrow into slits. “Disappearance isn’t as easy as death. It’ll cost you more.”

  The smile flickers momentarily from Seranai’s lips. She pretends to consider this—turning her back upon the pirate. As she walks, she traces one lazy finger along the peeling molding that stretches along the length of the wall. She can feel those golden eyes glued to her as she goes.

  “Fine,” she relents at last, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her pale hair trickles down into the small of her back. “However much you want, you’ll have it.”

  “And not later,” the Hawk adds, cutting her short before she can continue speaking. “Now. You’ll pay me upfront for disappearance.”

  Seranai pauses, scowling. “I don’t have access to the Cairan Fortune yet.”

  He shrugs, and a bawdy grin splits his face in half. “I accept all manners of payment, love.”

  Seranai sniffs, feeling her skin prickle with impatience. “As long as you do it right, you can name your price.”

  The Hawk lets out a long, low laugh. “This Cairan really did you wrong, did she, love?” He winks at her, his glimmering, golden eye disappearing and reappearing upon his face.

  Seranai ignores him. “It cannot be traced back to me, that is the most important.”

  “Of course not,” the Hawk agrees, grinning lecherously. In spite of his agreeability, she cannot help but feel as though she is being mocked. She swallows. Continues.

  “In any case, I believe I can help you with the disappearance. It shouldn’t be too difficult—your captain has taken a liking to this Cairan woman. I’m sure he would be all too eager to take her with him when you lift anchor in a few weeks.”

  One dark eyebrow rises upon his forehead—disappears beneath the ends of his tousled, black hair. His face becomes serious for the first time since she entered the room. “Aye, is that so? Tell me, who is this Cairan girl?”