Jace pulled his horse to a stop and climbed down. Hand against his lower back, he grunted as he stretched out sore muscles. It had been over a year since he had ridden outside the city. After three consecutive days on horseback, his thighs, rear, and back ached. Sleeping on the ground the previous evening did nothing to improve the situation.
“I hate sleeping on the ground,” he muttered to himself as he scanned for tracks, cursing the stones that paved the roadway. “Only in Farrowen…. Whoever decided to pave these roads has made this job much more difficult.”
The fork in the road required him to make a decision – turn west or continue on to Lionne. He stood and shuffled to the west fork before crouching to search for tracks.
Both directions were well-traveled, and the menagerie could have gone either way. His gaze swept the mountains to the west for signs of movement. He found nothing but long shadows dancing along the edges of the roadway from the wind-stirred grass.
A sigh slipped out. “I wish we had a tracker with us, Ginger.” Ginger was the name he had given the red-tinted horse. “If I head west and they did not go that route, I will end up in Ghealdor, passing them without any way to know. The north route will take me to Lionne. If they are there, I can find the girl and retrieve the item. If not, then I know they went on to Ghealdor and can catch them in Starmuth without having to backtrack.”
The horse had no comment as he climbed into the saddle.
“Still, I have a history in Lionne. Years have passed, so it may not be trouble, but it would be best to remain inconspicuous just to be sure.”
Again, nothing from Ginger.
Jace frowned. “You are not much help.” In response, the horse dipped its head and began to munch on the yellow grass. Jace chuckled. “I am hungry, too.” His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “If we head to Lionne, food will be waiting. Better yet…” He grinned, “so will a bed.”
Having convinced himself, he pulled on the reins and kicked the horse into motion. The sea in the distance waited, the city of Lionne nestled beside it.
Driven by the promise of a hot meal, Jace encouraged Ginger to gallop the remaining miles, not slowing until he neared the city. Beyond the dark walls of Lionne, ships slipped in and out of the bay, their white sails filled by the ever-blowing sea breeze. Thin streaks of orange clouds stretched across the blue sky to the west as evening approached. Another structure stood across the river from the city – a walled complex that had not existed during his last visit.
The new Thundercorps garrison had been built to train an influx of new soldiers. Apparently, the garrison outside of Shear had surpassed capacity five years earlier, so Malvorian funded the construction of another near Lionne. The merchants in Marquithe had been upset by the tax increase, some refusing to pay at first. Three public executions later, and the grumbling ceased entirely. Apparently, a few extra silvers each month paled in comparison to the threat of losing their heads.
Jace drew the hood of his cloak over his head and rode toward the city at an easy walk. The walls of Lionne stood thirty feet tall, a tower standing directly over the entrance. The guards posted outside the gate watched as clusters of people on foot and a man driving an empty wagon entered the city. When Jace drew close, a guard with a blue cape stepped out and held his hand up.
“Hold.”
Jace swallowed a sigh and pulled the reins until Ginger stopped. In a friendly tone, he said, “Hello, good sir.”
“Pull your hood back.” The guard’s tone left no room for argument, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Another guard stood beside the gate, while two others armed with bows lurked in the tower. Jace had no choice but to comply.
The guard said, “State your name and business in Lionne.”
“My name is Jerome Ward. I am a trader simply passing through.”
The guard studied the horse with narrowed eyes. “If you are a trader, where are your wares? What is in the pack?”
Jace patted his pack, which was strapped to the saddle behind him. “Nothing of note. Just some food and a change of clothes. My wares were purchased by a gentleman at the Bureau of Trading in Marquithe.” Jace leaned forward. “You wouldn’t know of anyone selling precious gems here in Lionne, would you? If so, I have a buyer.”
The man grunted and gestured toward Jace’s dagger. “Why the blade?”
Jace patted the hilt. “Did you not hear what I said? Trading gems is a risky business. Better to carry a weapon just in case. It makes thieves think twice.”
After another grunt, the man stepped aside. “You may enter, but if you cause trouble, you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of a dungeon cell.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jace said with a nod as he nudged Ginger into a walk.
With the guards and the gate behind him, Jace was back on the streets of Lionne for the first time in six years. The events of his last visit had been tumultuous, adding to his legend but leaving him with a powerful enemy. He needed to proceed with caution, attracting as little attention as possible.
“Time to find the nearest inn, get a meal, and call it an early night,” he said to Ginger.
People crowded the main street, most dressed as commoners, some as servants for local businessmen or wizards. All appeared to be going about their daily business – selling, purchasing, and bartering for food or goods. He came to an alley alongside an inn, the sign at the front depicting a hat with a plume, Feathered Cap Inn written below it. A tug on the reins led Ginger down the alley and to the back. He handed the reins to a stable boy and gave him a copper to keep her safe. He then untied his pack and entered the back door.
The scent of roasted poultry greeted him, and he immediately felt satisfied with his choice. He followed a corridor past the kitchen and into a taproom with a vaulted ceiling supported by heavy, wooden posts and beams stained a dark brown. A brief scan of the room had him tally twenty-seven people, nineteen of whom were men. Of the eight women, three appeared to work at the inn, two serving tables. Six of the men sat at the bar, a large woman working behind it. Nobody seemed to pay him much attention, nor did they appear a threat. However, Jace knew threats often appeared where one might not expect.
Seeing an open stool at the bar, he sighed as he sat, setting his pack on the floor by his feet. He slapped his hand on the bar, and the big brunette behind it shot him a glance. Between two fingers, he held a half-silver. The woman waddled over and arched a brow.
“What’ll it be?”
“Ale, dinner, and a room.”
She held out her hand, palm up. When he dropped the coin into it, she spun around, grabbing a fresh mug. After filling it, she slid the mug in front of him, foam spilling down the side.
Jace lifted it, took a sip, and grinned. “My lips thank you.”
The woman snorted and walked toward the kitchen.
Mug in hand, Jace spun around and took a read of the room. Four men sat at a table, leaning forward in hushed conversation. Their mugs sat untouched, the men focused on other things.
Whatever they are up to, it is most likely illegal, he thought.
His gaze shifted to a group three tables down, below an open window. Two men and two women sat there, all eating, talking, and laughing. Deciding that table was boring, Jace focused on the next, a game of dice in progress.
A man rolled the dice. They bounced and settled. He whooped. The other men at the table shook their heads, their faces reflecting their distaste. Jace was drawn to the game, yet forced himself to turn away as the barkeep reappeared with a steaming plate of potatoes and half a chicken.
She set the plate in front of him. “When you are finished, I’ll have one of the girls show you to your room.” She started to turn away.
“Hold on,” Jace said. The woman turned back to him, eyebrow raised. “I am seeking a menagerie. Has one come here recently?”
The woman snorted. “It’s been two years since a menagerie has visited Lionne.”
“You are sure?”
She
put her fists on her ample hips and gave him a scathing look. “Do you think something like a menagerie could come to this little seaside town and I wouldn’t know of it?”
“No, I suppose not. I’m sure you know the town well.”
“Too well.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen
Not too friendly, that one, Jace thought as he picked up his fork. He then noticed guards wearing dark blue capes coming down the rear corridor. Spinning around, his eyes grew wide. Two more guards stood inside the front door. Between the two men stood an ugly, familiar face.
A gravelly voice called out, “I am surprised to see you in Lionne, Jerrell.”
“Captain Vordan,” Jace said in a friendly tone. “I am only staying one night, then I’m off. There was no need to present yourself for a formal welcome.”
Vordan approached with a grin bereft of humor. “Oh, your welcome reception has been a long time coming. We have something special planned for you.”
“In that case, I am ready to leave.” Jace picked up his pack and stood.
The guards in the room responded by drawing swords, blocking the exits. Jace darted toward the front of the building and dove, landing on the table where the two couples were eating. He slid across it, crashing into plates and mugs before falling out the open window to the street below, leaving gasps and curses in his wake. Rolling, he leapt to his feet, prepared to run. The street was blocked by city guards with weapons drawn. Spinning, he discovered the other direction blocked, as well. He considered the shop across the street and was about to duck inside when a guard stepped out, sword in hand.
Vordan and his escort emerged from The Feathered Cap, laughing. “Your reputation worked against you this time, Landish. I was sure to take no chances. The high wizard demands your presence, but you will have special accommodations for a few days while you wait for him to return from Shear.” He pointed at the sign above Jace’s head. “How ironic. Capturing you has been among Montague’s highest desires and will surely be a feather in my cap.” His grin fell away. “Shackle him and strip him of his weapons.”
Four guards closed in on Jace as he weighed his options. So many times before, his creativity had helped him escape seemingly hopeless situations. In this case, he had no ideas. A guard gripped each of his arms, while a third shackled his wrists behind his back.
There was no way out. Whatever High Wizard Montague had planned, it would be bad. A man with such an ego would never forget public embarrassment.
13
Montague
Six Years Ago
“Pucker your lips,” Hedra said, pursing her own. “Like this.”
Jerrell did as instructed, sticking his lips out so the woman could rub a glossy substance on them. She stood back and tilted her head, her eyes narrowed in thought.
“You make a surprisingly pretty girl, Jerrell. Perhaps I could get you a job here. We sometimes get patrons asking for pretty boys.”
“No, thank you. I really wouldn’t enjoy that type of thing.” He held his hands up in apology. “No offense.”
The woman shrugged. Dressed in a thin shift, the simple motion oozed sensuality and heated his blood. “I am not offended. I have a job I do well, and it earns me a good living. Sometimes I even enjoy it.”
He shifted closer and placed his hand on her hip. “You seemed to enjoy yourself last night.”
She raised an eyebrow. “All my partners believe the same. Sometimes it is a performance. Sometimes it is the truth. How do you know which applied to you?”
He chuckled. “Fair enough. Just to prevent any unnecessary wounds to my pride, I’ll believe your affection was earned.”
Hedra turned and pulled a dress from the wardrobe, handing it to him. “Put this on. It will be a bit snug at the waist, but it should fit.”
Jerrell ran his hands down the corset he wore, the chest filled out with a pair of grapefruit. “Are you calling me fat?” he said in a high-pitched voice as he held his hand to his cheek in dramatic fashion.
She laughed. “Not at all. In fact, you are one of the fittest men who has ever visited my room. However, even a thin young man such as yourself is wider at the waist than a fit woman.”
He slid his legs into the dress and noticed the smooth skin on his shins. It felt odd to have his arms and legs shaved, but Hedra had insisted. He pulled the dress up and slid his arms through. The half-sleeves were tight on his upper arms and ended at his shoulders, leaving his upper chest exposed. That had also been shaved.
He spun around. “Will you button me up?”
“Can’t do it yourself?” Her hands worked the buttons as she spoke. “Perhaps all men should do this once or twice, just to gain a better appreciation for the pains we women go through to look beautiful.”
“I saw how you look in the morning, without the makeup, jewelry, or fancy garments. I doubt you ever look anything less than gorgeous.”
She finished and turned him around, running her hand from his shoulder across his upper chest, before leaning in and kissing him. “You are smooth, Jerrell. I’ll give you that.”
He smiled. “You kissed a girl? How did it feel?”
With an arched brow, she gave him a sideways look. “You think that was the first time?”
“Oh, now I am curious.”
Hedra shook her head. “A story for another time. You paid me to help you, and we are finished. Take a look in the mirror.”
He crossed the room and stared into the oval-shaped mirror. The person staring back at him was unfamiliar, save for the eyes.
His short, dark brown hair was now covered by a black wig, piled at the top with curls hanging down his upper back. Rouge on his clean-shaven cheeks made his face appear narrow, the dark lines of kohl about his eyes making them bolder, the red on his lips making them fuller. With his fruit-stuffed corset and the padding strapped to his hips, he filled out the striking red dress in an impressive fashion.
Hedra appeared behind him and reached around, holding the mask before his face so he could see through the eyeholes.
“This is what they wear?” he asked.
“Yes. Masquerade balls are the current trend among the wizards, adding an air of mystery to the event. You must admit, it will be difficult for anyone to know you are a man by appearance alone.” She frowned. “You do know how to walk, right?”
Hedra sashayed across the room with one hand on her hip, her backside shifting from side to side in a fluid, sensual motion. Jerrell had to force himself to pay attention to how she walked rather than merely enjoying the moment. He followed at the same, slow pace, doing his best to emulate her.
Hedra laughed. “That was a bit much, but it will do. Just be sure to keep an easy pace, as if you own the moment and wish to draw everyone’s attention.”
She handed him white gloves and a pair of slippers. “These are Daniella’s. She has the largest hands and feet among the girls here. I just hope they fit.”
Jerrell was short of stature for a man, average height for a woman. Still, he couldn’t do anything about the size of his feet. He sat on her bed and pulled the first slipper on. His foot barely fit, leaving his toes cramped. Sighing in resignation, he forced his foot into the other and glanced toward the window. The sunlight had faded as dusk claimed the streets of Lionne.
“It’s growing dark. I had best be going.”
Hedra walked him to the door, opening it for him. “I wish you well.”
“Thanks, Hedra.” He took her hand. “I know I can trust your discretion.”
She smiled and held a black shawl toward him. “Discretion is the soul of my job. Loose lips shorten a whore’s career. If I shared stories of the men who have come through this door, I would surely be dead by now.”
Jerrell accepted the shawl and draped it across his shoulders as he descended the stairs. He passed through the lounge while slipping the gloves onto his hands. Five women sat in the room, two of whom were occupying male customers. Both men eyed Jerrell as he strolled past, testing his woma
nly walk. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the men staring at his backside, giving him an odd mixture of discomfort and satisfaction.
Stepping outside the brothel, Jerrell climbed into the waiting carriage. He had paid the driver to pick up a brunette at dusk with instructions on where to bring her. The man was to ask no questions and had been paid extra to do so.
The carriage lurched into motion and eased down the dark streets of Lionne. Jerrell pulled the curtain back and stared out the window, watching the city slide past.
The foot traffic had thinned, and enchanted lanterns lit the intersections with soft, blue light. At the second intersection, the carriage turned, and the driver drove it through the eastern gate. The wagon soon began climbing upward, navigating the switchbacks to the high wizard’s castle. Situated at the top of the bluff, warm light in the windows made the building appear like a giant overlooking the city. The man currently holding the castle undoubtedly believed that was the case. Jerrell dropped the curtain and sat back, considering what he knew of the high wizard as he tied the mask to his head.
Montague had come into the position at a young age, just a year earlier. Wizards took years to study and practice their powers before they could successfully challenge a high wizard. Most did not reach the exalted position until they neared forty or beyond. Montague had challenged and defeated Garue, the previous high wizard, at the young age of twenty-eight.
Stories of the man had helped Jerrell devise his plan. Montague might be skilled with magic, but the power had gone to his head. His own pride and lustful nature were his weaknesses, and Jerrell sought to capitalize on them to get what he needed.
The carriage reached the gate outside the castle and stopped with a lurch. The driver handed the invitation Jerrell had stolen to the waiting guards, who read it and peered inside the window before waving the driver along. Moments later, the carriage stopped again and the door opened.
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