I slumped against the wall, my hands curled into fists.
~~~
There are people who find themselves in a precarious situation, believe themselves betrayed, and will do nothing but run their tongues ragged in criticizing the world for not helping them better. Like wailing dogs in the rain, they strain against their leashes instead of turning to gnaw their bonds to freedom, or sit on their piss and wait for pity.
The wolf knows better. I was raised a princess. I was not pampered. But people find it hard to see past the flocks of servants and assume everything was handed to me on a silver platter. Only another child of Yeshin’s would understand, I think, and they are all dead, cold bones under the ashes of Old Oren-yaro.
I made the mistake of saying “I can’t,” once. I think there had been a lesson, a problem I couldn’t solve. But I remember Yeshin’s eyes turning towards me, the softness in them replaced by something hard, a rage that burned within.
“You’re my daughter,” he had replied. “Figure it out.” There was no hint of threat in his words—despite what people believed about him, my father never threatened me. Instead, his voice was laced with the weight of expectation, one rivalled only by the standards he held for himself. A wolf of Oren-yaro looks at the circumstances and deals with it.
There was a barred window in that room, which I should have noticed when I first awoke. Bars kept thieves out and were a common sight in rundown parts of a city, but the way the iron was melded to the frame made it clear that here, they also served the purpose of keeping people locked in. Not long after Ziori and her men left me alone, I dragged myself closer to it.
The window opened up to a street below. I looked down and noticed a man in a straw hat passing by, pushing an iron cart with a stove built into it—a moveable stall for selling fried food. I leaned against the opening and called for his attention. He looked up. His dark face, flecked with white stubble, broke into a toothless grin.
“Maybe if I sell enough fish balls!” he jeered. He tipped his hat at me before continuing on his way.
I bit my lip in an effort to keep my rage in check. Ziori Ashi would hang for this in my father’s time. But here, locking women up in a brothel against their will seemed entirely normal. For someone who had lived her whole life within the confines of the law, I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone could sink this low. I still wasn’t even sure I wasn’t dreaming.
I noticed the rusted hinges on the window. I took the spoon from my porridge and wedged it under the cracks. The frame lifted slightly, and I learned that with a certain amount of movement, I could make the nails creak with some effort. With renewed hope, I began to rattle it, hoping to loosen it enough that I could pry the window open with something bigger.
It was slow, excruciating work, one which further taxed my already-exhausted body. But it helped me keep my mind clear, held my worries for Rayyel at bay. It was nearly dark when I felt the window begin to give way. I held my breath, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of how I was going to find my way through those streets again.
The door creaked.
I rushed back to the bed with such speed that the mattress was still shaking a little when Tati walked in. “It’s not so bad,” she said softly. “I was scared my first time, too. Just look at the ceiling, count the lizards, and try not to breathe into their mouths. Some of them don’t like that. If they want to kiss you, let them, but most don’t expect that. This isn’t like that fancy place by the docks. The men won’t expect you to do things, either. If they ask for too much you just threaten to tell the mistress because it means they’ll have to pay extra.” She placed a folded dress beside me and patted my hand.
I wondered if I could knock her flat before she could make a sound. But as if reading my mind, she craned her head towards me and murmured, “The mistress told me to warn you not to do anything funny. This man you will be with is not…well, you don’t want to cross him. That’s all.”
I couldn’t help myself. “And why is that?” I found myself asking.
She pressed her lips together. “I’ve had him before. He’s a frequent customer. Powerful.”
“Money?”
Tati nodded. “Lots and lots.” I wondered what lots and lots meant in this world. I didn’t have a frame of reference.
I realized that violence wasn’t going to solve this problem. If this was an important man, Ziori would’ve warned her guards to keep an eye on me. Also, I didn’t want to hurt the poor girl, who looked almost hopeful now that I was talking to her. “Tell me more about him,” I said.
Her eyes sparkled as she began helping me put on the dress. “He’s not a bad man. Not mean or cruel, like the others. He’s smart—really smart. They say he runs his business like a tight ship. He doesn’t like me because he complains I talk too much but I think he likes the talk so I don’t really know what he meant when he said that. He goes here for his health, he says. He has a wife but she runs him ragged, keeps him on the edge. His favourite was Ganya, but she paid off her debt a few weeks ago and left with one of the other customers, which really made him angry, so I wouldn’t mention her at all. If you become his new favourite, it will work out really well for you. He’ll pay for your time, exclusive, unless you want to work with someone else, and then you’ll have to work it out with him and Manshi Ziori. You do get paid, you know. Don’t think she’s holding it over your head. Ten percent for every profit we make off a customer—the rest goes to the house expenses. She’s just trying to help us. Anything the customer gives extra, you can keep. A good incentive, don’t you think?”
She paused and took a deep breath, which gave me a moment to think. I realized, belatedly, that Tati had finished lacing the dress and was staring at me. “Is there something on my face?” I asked.
“What? No. I just—I thought, for a moment, that it didn’t look right,” she said. She gently ran her fingers along my arm, on a long bruise there. I don’t even remember from which assassin I received it from. “You’re a fighter. I can tell. Manshi Ziori told me what you tried to do when she told you. Whatever you’re thinking of doing when you’re in there with him, don’t. It’s not worth it. It’s over a lot faster than you think.”
“Small comforts,” I murmured. I glanced at the window. “Will I be…entertaining him here?”
“No. We’ve got a special room. Come.”
I braced myself to stand up, my legs still shaking. She looked like she wanted to say something about that, but shook her head and was blessedly silent about it for once.
She guided me through the hall and past a larger one, with a ceiling that was two storeys high. I could hear noises emanating from the other rooms—angry grunts, faked moans, the sorts of sounds I didn’t even think people could make in the throes of passion. I felt the hair on my arms stand on end and it took all of my strength not to give in to the desire to flee. We went down a flight of stairs and into a room just underneath the staircase. “Han Lo Bahn likes his privacy,” she explained, almost apologetically, as she opened the door.
It was a large room, with a mattress that took up about half the space and was covered with silk sheets and several pillows. I noticed rope, a bucket of water, a chamber pot, and the smell of scented candles, though none were in sight. Tati lit a lantern by the window. This one was barred, too, and overlooking a fenced section that formed part of the courtyard. My last plan wasn’t going to work here.
“I’ll tell the mistress you’re ready,” Tati said. She dropped her head—not the deep bow of respect, but a slight incline of sympathy—and drew back, closing the door behind her. I heard her talking to a man, probably a guard. The sound of their voices quelled the last of my rebellious thoughts, and I found a corner where I could sit without bothering my wound.
I closed my eyes and focused on keeping myself calm.
Chapter Eight
Lord of Shang Azi
It helped that I was not a maiden, with a body that had already borne the brunt of childbirth. I was also nearly eight ye
ars married by that time (though five of those, admittedly, were without my husband). Otherwise, I think the whole situation would have frightened me beyond my wits.
The door opened and a man in a loose robe walked in. He looked at me, sliding the door closed behind him, and began untying his belt. I took a moment to observe him—a thick, grizzled face, with a trimmed beard that was several shades of grey. It contrasted with his hair, which was still very much black and gathered in a ponytail above his head. He had small eyes. Brightly coloured tattoos depicting various deities snaked up from where his robe fell open at his chest. They went all the way to his throat. “Where are you from?” he asked, noticing my attention.
I folded my hands on my lap. “Jin-Sayeng, my lord,” I said.
He looked surprised. “You’re far from home. What’s a Jin doing in a place like this?”
“Gambling debts,” I said easily. “My husband—but that’s not important. You are named Han Lo Bahn, I’m told?”
“You know how to be courteous, at least,” Lo Bahn said, nodding his approval. “Perhaps overly so. What’s your name?”
“Kora,” I said, trying not to think about my handmaiden. She had been left behind in Qun’s home—surely she was safe. I watched Lo Bahn shrug himself out of his jacket. “It’s early in the evening. What would you say to a game of Hanza first, and perhaps some wine? It will give us time to get to know each other, and I’m sure Manshi Ziori wouldn’t deny either for her best customer.”
He paused, a flicker of amazement on his face. “That’s the last thing I’d expect to hear from a Shang Azi neighbourhood whore.”
“I’m Jinsein,” I reminded him. I craned my head to the side. “But perhaps you’re frightened I would beat you. Yes, perhaps it’s best we forget what I said.”
Lo Bahn’s nostrils flared. “Not likely. I’ve been playing Hanza since I was young. You think you’ve got a head for strategy, woman?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” I said. “We can find out.”
He stepped out of the room in a whirl and returned with wine and a game board. He slammed the board on the floor, poured himself a bowl of wine, and watched as I arranged the pieces. This Hanza set used pebble-sized conch shells, painted and hardened with lacquer. There were two colours, red and white. He let me have the red side, as a gesture of goodwill; traditionally, red was the easier start, giving a slight advantage to anyone who knew what they were doing.
I used to play Hanza with my father. Not for fun, which was initially a hard thing for a child of seven to grasp. The warlords all dabbled in Hanza, and he told me that a simple game could reveal so much about how they thought—if they understood strategy or only tried to mirror my actions, and most importantly, whether they respected me or not. After he had died, I would practice with Arro, and then later, Rayyel.
Neither had offered the challenge that this Lo Bahn now posed. I think I had a smug face when we began, one which slowly disappeared the further we got into the game. I had formed my own strategies around attacking someone hell-bent on self-preservation. Lo Bahn did no such thing. He attacked decisively, capturing my pieces like a ravenous wolf. We didn’t talk much during the game, as he spent more time staring at the board than at me.
He defeated me, but not easily. I poured him more wine. “Well-played, my lord,” I said. He drank deeply and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Let’s have another,” he said.
“You’ve defeated me without question. Are you sure…?”
Lo Bahn looked up at me, a layer of irritation on his brow. “I need to see if your defense wasn’t a fluke. Someone taught you to do this properly.”
I bowed. “I’m glad you think so. My father was an avid player.”
“I see.” He started putting the pieces back on their proper places and flipped the white side towards me. “Let’s switch.”
“Stacking the odds in your favour? How very noble of you.”
Lo Bahn’s lip twitched. “Less talk and more play, woman. You wanted this.”
I bit back my amusement and started the game. He was fuming now, watching my moves as a hawk might watch a mouse.
My father had taught me that there are many different types of men in the world. Some believe that no one else can know as much as they do, desiring absolute control at the expense of everything. I had pegged Lo Bahn for this type from Tati’s description of him, and so far, the game was proving me right. He did not like that I was able to thwart his moves, did not like that he had underestimated me from the beginning. He was upset enough during the whole game that he overlooked one of my attacks, which set into motion my own series of counteroffensives that eventually led to my victory.
His eyes were wide open.
“Luck,” I reminded him, before he could say anything. I fanned myself with my hands. “I’m sure, had my lord seen my formation from another angle…”
Lo Bahn reached for the wine and realized the bottle was empty. “You wait here,” he snarled, gesturing at me. “We’ll have another game.” His words were slurred, his movement unsteady. I had been pouring his wine bowl to the brim while neglecting my own. He had been so intent on the game that he hadn’t noticed.
He stumbled back out the hall as I returned the pieces to the board for a third time.
I wasn’t really trying to win or lose. I was intent on making the next game drag on for as long as I could. I was starting to lose this one, too, but I threw all my pieces at him one by one while letting him mount counter-assaults that made him feel superior about his strategies. Each time he thwarted me, I made a soft sound of surprise.
“Just give up already,” he snarled, at some point. “You’re losing. I’ve never met anyone who would draw out a losing battle the way you are.”
“Am I losing? How do I know for sure? Maybe I’m actually winning and you’re just trying to throw me off. An ignorant girl like me wouldn’t know one way or another.” I tried to titter, but I had never been very good at that and ended up coughing instead. I took a sip of wine. I was still on my second bowl.
He turned to me. I could already see the exhaustion creeping on his face. “How could someone be so stupid?”
“My apologies. Perhaps you can show how stupid I am by defeating me a little faster.”
He snorted. I couldn’t tell if he was amused or upset.
To his credit, he was actually a very good player, but the wine and his uncertainty of me made everything doubly difficult for him. After he finally defeated me, he pushed the board aside. “Enough talk,” he said. “The last time I let a woman get to my head like this—let’s start on what I’m paying you here for.” He reached for me. I was eyeing the lamp, wondering if smashing it on the back of his head would kill him. I didn’t want to, but given no other choice, I would do it in a heartbeat.
I saw him fumble. I placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured, “On the bed, my lord. I don’t know the last time they swept this floor.”
Lo Bahn laughed, a chuckle that reached deep into him. For all his words, I think he genuinely enjoyed the game. He crawled into the mattress and grabbed me into a fierce embrace, his mouth making a line on my bare neck. “You smell so good,” he grumbled. “A Jin. Hah! The others won’t believe me. Lamang will have fits of jealousy when he finds out.”
I let him pull me into bed and made the pretence of kissing him back, but I didn’t even have to go that far. A moment later, I heard him snoring on my shoulder. I pushed him onto the mattress, arranging the pillows behind him, and removed the rest of his robe. I threw that in the corner and placed the blanket over him.
I was suddenly aware of my own exhaustion. Trying to keep the man on edge while plying him with too much drink had sapped all the strength from me. I crawled to the corner of the mattress, as far from him as I could, and closed my eyes.
~~~
I didn’t sleep—at least, not deeply. My mind remained alert, occasionally waking me so I could scan the quiet room for signs of Lo Bahn stirr
ing. It also replayed the last couple of hours with stark acuity, contrasting it to the times I’ve played Hanza with Rayyel. He lost more often to me, and it upset him too, but in a far different way.
“It’s just a game,” I had told him more times than I cared to remember. “Your monks and priests didn’t prepare you for the subtleties. But it’s not important.”
“When I’m Dragonlord, they’ll expect me to know strategy,” he would fume. “A king needs to know how to make logical moves.”
“You don’t need this sort of strategy. We’re not at war,” I would remind him.
And each time he would look up at me, his eyes searching, accusing. Like everyone else, he was afraid of the Oren-yaro, even when she was his wife. It was something I had learned to live with all these years.
I was awake in the morning before Lo Bahn was, arranging the sheets, pretending to tame the disarray in my hair. I saw him looking at me, perplexed. “It was a good night, my lord,” I said.
He scratched his cheek. I wondered if he believed me. But he didn’t look like the sort who would admit to falling asleep before he could properly do anything with a woman, and I was happy to leave it that way. He reached for his clothes, which I had piled in the corner. I could tell, from the laborious way he put them on, that he had taken in more wine than he was used to. A single vein was popping through his temple.
“If I can ask a favour from you…”
Lo Bahn paused, his face tightening.
“I am not here because I want to be, my lord,” I said. I kept my voice low on purpose, to avoid giving him more of a headache than it looked like he had.
“What’s that to me?” he snapped.
“Take me away from here.”
He frowned. “I don’t think so. I’ve a wife, and this is where you belong.”
“This is not where I belong,” I said. I lifted my skirt up. Lo Bahn’s eyes sharpened, even when I only tilted my leg to show him the wound. “I was running away from my husband.”
The Wolf of Oren-yaro Page 12