by Ailx Nichols
The Vestal’s Steward
Keepers of Xereill, Book 5
Alix Nichols
Foreword
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
XEREILL GLOSSARY
XEREILL LOCATIONS & CAST
One
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I love this place.
Haysi smoothed the slipcover of the reclining barber chair and looked around.
Actually, “love” was too weak a verb to convey how she felt about her tattoo shop. At the risk of sounding like Maggi, whom she often teased over his careless use of superlatives, adoration reflected her feelings better. She adooooored her parlor.
Unremarkable on the outside, its interior had a joyful, sensual feel to it, inspired by Haysi’s second passion, belly dancing. It brimmed with warmth and color. The scent of dried flowers mingled with the dalwood-scented candles Maggi liked to burn. Throw in the aroma of freshly brewed kawa, and you had a workplace that smelled like happiness. Not to mention that it was also her home.
When they opened a year ago, Haysi had painted the walls a rich purple. Framed copies of her best designs now hung on them, along with a hodgepodge collection of mirrors donated by Mother Vada, the owner of the brothel next door.
Even the stacks of white towels and bandages sitting next to ink bottles and needle boxes didn’t dampen the artsy feel.
A shelf on one of the walls held a display of extravagant costume jewelry for sale. The massive rings and brooches weren’t exactly Haysi’s taste, but they appealed to many in the neighborhood. Besides, they were the handiwork of Ma’s confidante and mentor, Polana. A now-retired harlot who had avoided the pox, stayed out of jail and saved enough for room and board in her old age, Polana was a celebrity in the borough of Lanterns.
Ma hadn’t been so lucky. The pox, that horrid “fornicator’s curse,” had cut her life short eight years ago.
This tattoo shop had been the shared dream of Haysi and her mother. An impossible dream, Ma always said. But through hard work, frugality, advanced persuasion skills and dogged perseverance, Haysi had made it come true.
Small wonder I treasure this place!
The “place” was a tiny two-story house adjacent to Mother Vada’s brothel. It even had indoor plumbing. The tattoo parlor occupied the ground floor. The second floor was partitioned into two rooms, one of which she rented out to her best friend, receptionist and accompanist Maggi.
Because she owned the house.
Well, almost.
It would be irrevocably hers in less than a decade, as soon as she’d paid off the fifteen hundred drinars she owed her benefactors. One of them was none other than Mother Vada. The other one was “Chubby Ronn,” an aged Orogate banker who used to be Ma’s regular client before she became sick.
On this chilly Midautumn morning, like every weekday morning, Haysi had come down to the parlor at seven. She’d made sure everything was perfectly clean and in the right place. Then she sat down to sketch new patterns, taking advantage of the quiet hour before Lanterns awoke.
At half past nine, Maggi would come down and flip the Closed sign on the entrance door to Open. He scrubbed the parlor squeaky clean every evening. But Haysi gave it another pass and sterilized all the tools once again in the morning, just to be on the safe side.
No one’s getting an infection in Haysi’s Tattoos—not on my watch!
She’d nearly finished her new design when Maggi turned up and murmured his usual, “Morning, beautiful,” on his way to the reception area.
“Today’s first appointment is at ten,” Haysi answered, packing away her pens and pencils. “You better hurry.”
There was a rustle, footsteps, and a splash of water as Maggi washed his hands. “Do I know her or him?”
“It’s Delaya from the brothel.”
“Ah, so she did make up her mind.”
“It seems.”
The doorbell chimed, and Maggi welcomed Delaya. “Let me take that splendid cape of yours, honeybee. Look at that soft fur on the hood. I adooooore it! A present from a beau? It looks ab-so-lute-ly smashing on you.”
Haysi smiled at all the fawning Maggi had managed to squeeze into a half minute of chatter. A few more years as his bosom friend, and she’d be talking like that herself! There were signs the process had already begun.
Five minutes later, Delaya shifted in the barber chair, visibly apprehensive.
Skating her swivel chair closer, Haysi touched the woman’s arm. “Relax and trust me. I’ll be gentle.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what my first client said before he deflowered me.” Delaya gave a nervous laugh. “It hurt like hell.”
“Did you know him enough to trust him?”
“I’d never seen him before that night.”
Haysi sat up. “Do I look like that guy?”
“Heavens, no!”
“How long have we known each other?”
“Two Lanterns brats? Twenty-six years, darling. Since my ma—may she rejoice in Aheya’s Garden—helped your ma deliver you. May she, too, rejoice up there.”
Haysi closed her eyes and touched the ouroboros hanging from a delicate chain around her neck.
May Aheya soothe her soul.
“Exactly,” she said, opening her eyes. “We’ve known each other long enough that when I ask you to trust me, you should know you can. Can you trust me?”
“I suppose…” Delaya squirmed. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask about all the crazy stuff you’ve been doing to get the Pox Bill repealed. Any headway?”
“I’ll tell you when we’re done here.”
“Tell me now.”
Haysi tut-tutted. “You’re grasping at straws, trying to delay why you came here.”
Delaya scrunched her face into an apologetic grimace. “I hate needles.”
Haysi sat back. “All right. Fine. Why don’t I give you a fake tattoo first? No needles, no pain.”
“How so?” Delaya furrowed her brow, confused.
“I’ve been developing and testing temporary tattoos these last few weeks.” Haysi pulled her left sleeve up to reveal an intricate pattern on the inside of her forearm. “See?”
“Is that a fake?”
“Uh-huh. It’ll come off in about a week.”
Delaya still looked unconvinced.
“I use a special kind of paint,” Haysi said. “It’s waterproof, plant-based, and absolutely safe.”
“It’s lovely, but…” Delaya shifted her gaze from Haysi’s forearm to her eyes. “If I’m getting a tattoo, I want it to be a real one. Forever.”
They remained silent for a moment, while Haysi rolled her sleeve back down. “It’s your
decision, darling. You can walk out now. There’ll be no charge.”
“But I want my tattoo! Your design is beautiful. And besides, tats are all the rage again. Clients love them! Some girls swear they’ve been getting better tips since you inked them.”
Haysi smiled. “Why do you think Mother Vada gave me a loan? I’m good for her bottom line.”
“Let’s do it!” Delaya’s face tightened with determination, and she pushed her bared chest out. “I’m ready.”
“All right then, here we go.”
Delaya’s eyes darted to the three long needles in Haysi’s hand. “Can you talk to me while you’re doing it, just to keep my mind off that thing?”
“I need to focus on the task to do it right.”
“I see.”
“But I have an idea. Maggi will play his coilpipe for you.” Haysi turned toward the door. “Hey, Maggi, come play some music for Delaya.”
“What would you do without me, eh?” Maggi swept into the room, carrying his instrument high, and his head even higher.
That was his “stage stance” when he accompanied Haysi’s dance show. Except now he wore scrubs, no makeup, and no wig to transform his close-cropped hair into a wild mane. But he still knew how to make an entrance.
For the next hour, Maggi played and Haysi inked a fantastic bird over Delaya’s cleavage. Gradually relaxing, Delaya closed her eyes. Her expression was so serene she almost looked like she’d dozed off.
Halfway through the session, the skin on Haysi’s back started to prickle.
She pushed the sensation aside and willed her mind to stay focused on the job at hand. But as soon as Maggi led Delaya to the reception area to process the payment, the prickling sensation returned with a vengeance.
Haysi knew what would come next. Her vision would blur, her ears would ring with strange sounds, and then her spirit would kind of scoot to one side, making room inside her body for someone else.
Good thing the next client wasn’t due until midday!
Haysi slid her chair toward the wall and leaned back, bracing herself for the arrival of her extraordinary visitor.
At eight in the evening they closed the shop, and Maggi asked for the umpteenth time if Haysi would be fine. The young woman assured her friend she felt great. There was ab-so-lute-ly no reason to worry.
Inwardly, she thanked Aheya she wasn’t dancing tonight. Like the previous two times, Unie’s visit had left her exhausted.
Haysi dragged her feet to Mother Vada’s and borrowed the bawd’s commlet for a call.
This time, the famous Rateh master Iyatt Martenn answered on the first ring. “I checked your file at the police station.”
Haysi swallowed her polite greeting. “The cops have a file on me?”
“They have a file on all Lanterns birds.”
The distaste in his voice when he said “Lanterns birds” gave her pause.
Is that the kind of man you are, Samurai Martenn? A man who despised harlots while recognizing they were a necessary evil? Because, well, with so many virtuous maidens saving themselves for their future husbands, someone had to do the dirty work. All those poor fellows with their baser needs required a helping hand to take the edge off every now and then. A dirty, reprehensible hand, but one that was so convenient.
Peeved, she decided to end the call, but paused when Iyatt cleared his throat.
“In your case, there are mitigating circumstances, I suppose,” he said.
“Are there?”
“You were born there, a fatherless daughter to a fallen woman.” He paused before adding, “Your options must’ve been limited growing up.”
“Like you’d understand, Samurai Martenn,” she bit out.
“Actually, I do understand.” Ire lined his voice when he added, “Please don’t assume you know me.”
“Don’t assume you know me.”
“You’re a brothel belly dancer who runs a tattoo business on the side.” His voice was dry now. “Is that inaccurate?”
The way he’d listed her occupations left no doubt what he thought of her. Well, he wouldn’t be the first nor the last man to be convinced “belly dancer” was just another term for “harlot.” She wasn’t going to disabuse him of that notion.
“Anything I’m missing?” The sarcasm in his voice turned her stomach.
“No, sir.” She did her best to sound just as sarcastic. “What else could there be to a woman like me?”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“You know what?” Haysi said at length. “I will not trouble you again. You already have proof that your dead fiancée has been talking to me. I provided it last week.”
“You could’ve obtained that information through someone close to her. Someone she’d confided in.”
“Oh, yes?” Haysi sniggered. “Like who? Listen to me, Rateh man. Personally, I don’t need or want anything from you. If you wish to find out what she needs, you know where to find me.”
By Aheya!
Haysi’s patience was wearing thin. The way he acted, who would guess it was her doing him a huge favor? She was trying to help the love of his life, stuck in a purgatory between Thisworld and Otherworld. Yet he couldn’t muster enough courtesy to be civil to her. If it hadn’t been for Unie’s desperation, Haysi would’ve sent Sir Holier-Than-Thou Iyatt Martenn to hell after their first conversation.
Honestly, what in Xereill had a fine woman like Unie seen in that jerk?
Two
The fading sun had plunged the streets into twilight.
It was just curiosity, Iyatt told himself as he made his way to Lanterns, the least respectable borough in Orogate.
Curiosity is a sin, a maxim he’d heard as a teenager from the vestals, rang inside his head. The injunction nearly made him turn around and go home. He felt like a thief, but he kept walking forward, reminding himself he was a grown man now. A steadfast man. Not an angry, hurting, lost teenager who was given a rule for every aspect of his life. Because he needed those rules.
That was many years ago back in the orphanage. Iyatt had come a long way since then. He’d served his sentence, studied on a foreign planet and become Eia’s only black belt samurai. He’d grown into a man capable of using his own judgment to set a course of action.
So far, his judgment hadn’t failed him, not once. Tonight, it had prompted him to look at Haysimina Lommen, the Lanterns bird who claimed she communicated with Unie.
Nonsense. He didn’t believe her for a second. Iyatt had never heard of or read about the departed talking with the living. Such a thing was impossible. Once a soul was claimed by Divine Aheya, it never lingered in Thisworld, and it certainly never traveled back and forth.
Not to mention that only a fool would trust a woman like Haysimina.
He pictured a vulgar-looking strumpet with a shiny face under layers of garish makeup. She’d wear revealing, indecent garments and shake her backside in front of drooling men. Someone like that simply couldn’t be a rich-blood endowed with a unique gift.
Someone like that, reaching out to him with a “message” from Unie, with no ulterior motives?
Ludicrous!
He knew he’d crossed into Lanterns when a cloying smell of cheap perfume hit him, followed by the odors of alcohol and vomit. Music poured from an open window to his right. He could hear people talking, glasses clinking, and women laughing coyly.
Most of the houses on both sides of the street had red lanterns in at least one window. He’d expected that, given the borough’s name.
The biggest building, tall and sprawling, faced a small square. It had lanterns in all its windows on every floor. A sign over its front entrance read Vada’s. This had to be the main brothel in the area, owned and run by disreputable bawd Mother Vada.
What Iyatt hadn’t expected was the number of expensive-looking carriages pulling into this square and dropping off well-dressed men of all ages. Other well-dressed men stumbled from the brothel, adjusting their clothing, drunk on alcohol and sex
.
Iyatt grimaced with disgust.
He’d always pictured the patrons of establishments like Mother Vada’s as scruffy, dissolute outlaws, even if he knew that harlots seduced menials, proficients, and noblemen alike. But it was one thing to know that and quite another to see supposed quality men here.
Couldn’t they keep their baser urges in check like he did? Did they even try?
He strode toward a courtesan who’d just walked her client out to his motor vehicle—the man had to be someone very important to own one—and waved goodbye as he drove off.
“Where can I find Haysimina Lommen, please?” Iyatt asked the woman.
She gave him a blank look before her eyes brightened. “You mean Haysi? The tattoo girl?”
“Yes.”
“I believe tonight is her dance night.” The woman pointed out one of the brothel’s windows on the ground floor. “That’s the show hall. Cross the foyer and turn right.”
He thanked her and headed toward the building.
At the entrance, a bouncer patted him down and nudged him in.
Iyatt went straight to the show hall where another bouncer greeted him at the door, this time to sell an entry pass. The room was full, but Iyatt was lucky to spot a vacant chair in the third row.
On the raised stage stood a slender, graceful woman dressed in a fitted sleeveless top covered in sequins and a flowing, gauzy skirt. Its bejeweled waistband rode low on her hips and it had two vertical slits that revealed the woman’s long, lithe, legs. Her midriff was bare. Her auburn hair was prettily braided.