The Myths of Ophelia (The Curse of Ophelia #4)

Chapter 43

Chapter Forty-Three

Malakai

I sprawled on one of the couches in the Lendelli inn’s many lounges. Mila and Lyria were in chairs across from me and one of Lucidius’s journals was in my hands—Soulguider Territory this time. One of the fae books on the sphinxes lay open on the table between us, but as much as I tried to focus, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the girls’ whispered conversation.

“I don’t know what I want from it,” Lyria said, watching the bright mystlight dancing in its lantern in the chandelier strung over the table. “I like being back with everyone, though.”

“Oh, my company wasn’t enough?” Mila teased.

“Shut up,” Lyria groaned, laughing. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mila exhale, relieved she and her friend were settling back into their old routines. “You know it was, but that was before. We were traveling the territories, there was always something new to explore.”

“I know what you mean,” Mila said. And I swore I tried to read the journal instead of listening.

The damn gates would not let me in but legend spoke of them and the ones who tell tales of legends whispered of it too so this must be it.

What gates was Lucidius on about?

Mila continued, “Being with a close-knit group reminds me of the early days in the army, but I miss getting to see new places. A mix of both would be nice.”

“I did miss my brother.” Neither acknowledged that the different lifestyles they discussed would force them to be separated. I didn’t think either wanted to accept that until the time came.

“Have you told him that?” Mila asked.

Lyria was silent for a moment.

“Lyr…” Mila prodded.

“No,” Lyria groaned, and a dull thunk led me to believe she’d thrown a pillow at Mila. “No, I haven’t. I’ve avoided more important conversations with him as I avoided the decision to retain my title since the war ended.”

“You do realize—” I cut myself off, not looking up from the journal.

“We know you’ve been listening, Warrior Prince,” Mila said.

I whipped my head toward them. “How?”

“You haven’t turned a page in minutes,” Lyria answered.

I groaned, but went on, “You realize that in not making a decision, you’re keeping the title?”

Lyria nodded. “I’m not ready to let it go, yet.” There was a hopefulness in her voice that I hadn’t heard since before the Battle of Damenal.

“What are you reading over there?” Mila asked, leaning across the table to swipe Lucidius’s journal.

“I’m looking for mentions of the sphinxes,” I said. “Lucidius had been in Firebird’s Field where we found the Bodymelder emblem. Had likely visited Brontain, too. I’m trying to map where he went in the desert and compare it to this book we stole from Ritalia.”

Mila and Lyria looked about to comment when a voice interrupted from the doorway, “There you are.”

I craned my neck to find Cypherion and Tolek waiting, the latter leaning casually against the wood and surveying the room.

Sitting up, I asked, “What are you guys doing?”

“ We are getting ready for tonight’s agenda,” Tolek said.

“Which is?”

His answering smile was almost too devious for my liking. “Pleasure house.”

My brows shot up. “That’s truly what everyone’s doing tonight?”

“Certainly is,” Tolek said, falling onto the couch beside me.

I looked to Cypherion who hadn’t moved from the doorway. “You’re going?”

He shook his head, jaw tense, and Tolek looked cautiously at him. I didn’t know what that was about, but all Cypherion said was, “Erista told Vale where she can get some unique tincture in the market. She’s going to take us. The Engrossians are going to stay back here with the fae. Jezebel and Santorina are going with them, though.” He inclined his head toward Tolek.

“And do I even dare ask what’s at the pleasure house?” I asked.

Tolek smirked, “Well, Mali…”

“Fucking Angels,” I muttered.

Tolek spoke over me, “Many people who enjoy some more depraved proclivities seek out pleasure houses for?—”

“For the love of the Angels, Tolek,” Lyria said, holding up a hand. “Please do not speak from personal experience.”

Tolek laughed at his sister, then directed at me, “Erista said it’s the most likely place to find Storytellers. Their magic thrives with the lack of restrictions.”

“Storytellers,” I muttered, looking down at the books I’d placed upon the table, then up at Mila, exchanging a knowing grin. “I guess we’re going to the pleasure house.”

“ This is a pleasure house?” I muttered, my eyes widening at the large sandstone facade, intricate carvings creeping up the sides and around the window frames, most with thick curtains tightly drawn.

Mila laughed, brows raised. “You act as if you’ve never seen one?”

Ophelia and Tolek started up the grand staircase leading to the bronze-carved door, clouded glass marring the figures within. Lyria, Santorina, and Jezebel followed.

“I’ve seen them,” I quickly corrected.

Mila laughed again at my flustered response. “Oh, do you frequent them? Good to know.”

I blew out a breath as we climbed the steps to that looming doorway. “I meant that the brothels in Damenal and Palerman…from the outside, they were never so…” I waved a hand at the ornate decor. “Grand.”

It was a kind way to put the difference. The Damenal brothels were tucked on private streets on the edges of the Merchant Quarter alongside gambling dens, apothecaries-turned-vice-dealers, and other less than reputable establishments. The brothels were legitimate, at least. Just not quite so stately.

“You’re spending time in disagreeable brothels, then?”

“Spirits, Mila,” I swore. “I’m not visiting any! It’s not to my taste.”

“Too good for it?” Mila asked.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” I grumbled. “But I preferred to meet women in taverns or shops.” The doors were heavy as I held them open for Mila after the others. They had to cost a fortune.

“So many women,” Mila whispered, shaking her head as she ducked beneath my arm to follow into the entryway, and I caught the teasing gleam in her eye.

“Pain in my ass,” I mumbled, and she released another low laugh.

It wasn’t that I thought myself too good for a brothel. But every damn day since I was imprisoned, I’d received pitying looks. If I was going to fuck someone, I didn’t want it to be in exchange for money. I wanted to be wanted. That twisting need I experienced when Mila looked at me the other night. How she’d looked at me every time since.

I didn’t say any of that as I stepped across the threshold into a dark hallway, thick violet curtains draping across windows, scarves tossed over mystlight lanterns to cast the entire space with a hazy hue. Stone archways lined the entryway, branching off into a maze of rooms and corridors, everything gleaming with rich textiles and fixtures.

I glanced back at those heavy doors. Definitely cost a fortune, then.

Stepping right up behind Mila, I whispered low in her ear, “Maybe there were other women before.” She shivered against me. “But not anymore.”

Mila looked over her shoulder from beneath her lashes, but her eyes weren’t on mine. They were locked on my lips as her own parted. So close, her exhale drifted across my skin.

“How committed of you,” she taunted.

I gripped her chin. “You expect anything else at this point?”

“You two are my favorite sort of customers,” a sultry voice purred from my left.

Reluctantly, my attention whipped to a woman dressed in nothing more than a silk shawl. She leaned against the archway, her bronze skin glowing in the low mystlight, curves on display and dark hair tumbling over her breasts. But what really caught my attention was the hungry spark in her eye.

“What do you mean?” I asked, ignoring the curious stares of our friends and keeping one hand on Mila.

“Young and naive, but true feelings lie between the two. Always makes for a decadent evening.” The woman sauntered forward, dragging a finger over my shoulder. “So much jealousy to play with.”

Reflexively, my grip tightened on Mila. It didn’t escape the woman’s notice. “Oh, that is divine.” She held a hand toward the nearest archway. “Shall we?”

“Nolletta,” a voice snapped from the gloomy hall ahead. “You have a client coming tonight. Go bathe.”

The woman didn’t cower or flinch at the harsh command. Dragging one last gaze over both Mila and me—hunger still burning in her eyes—she turned without a word, hips swaying as she disappeared back beneath the archway.

“Pity,” Mila said when she was gone. “That could have been fun.”

“Always the teasing,” I muttered against her lips, pulling back before she could seal that kiss. I suppressed a laugh at Mila’s disgruntled scoff, taking a few quick steps to catch up to the group where they stood before the woman who had instructed Nolletta.

“You two done?” Lyria asked with a brow quirked.

“No,” I said bluntly.

Tolek chuckled. “Careful, or you’ll end up bedded before we get the information we need.”

Right. Information. We were here—at this pleasure house that should be called a pleasure palace—for very specific, necessary information.

“They will certainly try to win you over,” that critical voice said again. “But they understand what no means.”

The owner stepped into the light, her tall, reed-thin frame adorned in similar scarves and shawls—of the richest silks and shimmering threads—as the men and women visible through the archways, though hers covered her entire body from shoulder to toe.

“The Madame?” Ophelia asked.

“At your service,” the woman answered with a flourish, tucking a pipe between her puckered lips. Onyx-black hair was coiled tightly above her head, giving her entire face a shocked expression, and gold dripped off her hands, neck, and ears.

The house was not the only thing lavished in wealth, then.

Angular, dark eyes surveyed our group. “I do hope some of you are here to enjoy the amenities. Such a wealth of opportunity. Such overwhelming distress clouding your minds.”

Erista had warned us that no matter what, we’d feel swayed to participate. To spend days here fucking and feasting and forgetting whatever plagued us outside these walls. As an alluring silence settled over us, I wondered if there was more to it than simple temptation. Even the air in here, the way the light swayed in sultry puddles and distant moans carried through the corridors, had my cock hardening and my resolve fading.

“We will be indulging in what you have to offer,” Ophelia answered for us. Carefully chosen words.

“Excellent,” the Madame nearly moaned, taking a hit of her pipe. “I was told you’d like to roam free. To see what we host within.” She waved a hand. “One rule: you touch it, you pay for it.”

“Understood,” Ophelia said.

“Then by all means,” the Madame purred, “welcome to the pleasure house.”

“This place is a labyrinth,” I muttered to Mila.

She hummed in agreement, and the sound went right through me. “It would be very easy to get lost in here.”

Spirits, I wanted to, but I shoved off that desire again.

We passed yet another room where the arched wooden door was closed, but moans and slaps of flesh against flesh carried through the walls. This entire corridor was full of them—some doors opened to reveal luxurious beds, silk cushions, and tapestries adorning the walls—as were the last three corridors our group had walked down since ducking under one of the archways off the foyer.

At the end of the hall, Ophelia turned to face us. Mystlight cast a wavering haze over her features, purple from the shawl draped across the orb. “These are all private rooms.”

Sure enough, from behind the door over her shoulder, a chorus of lewd cries echoed off the stone wall.

“And they seem to be hosting quite a bit of fun,” Lyria noted, eyes gleaming.

“Please, Ria,” Tolek said. “I don’t need to know what you find fun .”

“As if you?—”

“I think we should split up,” Ophelia interrupted, and I was grateful for it. “Whoever finds a Storyteller first, you know what to ask. And use the shells from Rina to alert everyone if we need something.”

I palmed the method of Seawatcher communication in my pocket, a trinket the ocean-faring warriors had given Santorina and the humans to pass along messages. Rina had spread them among us weeks ago, teaching us how to send basic alerts.

“Good plan,” I agreed. “Mila and I can head that way.” I nodded down one of the twisting corridors. There were plenty of empty rooms?—

“You sure you two will be all right on your own?” Lyria teased.

“By the Angel, Lyria.” I sighed, tipping my head back and pretending I hadn’t been thinking precisely that. “We told that woman no, didn’t we?”

In a sing-song voice, she said, “She didn’t try very hard to persuade you.”

“We’ll be fine,” Mila said with a laugh. “We’ll meet you all out front?”

Ophelia nodded.

As Mila and I left the rest of them to figure out their groups, I wrapped an arm around her waist, whispering in her ear, “This worked out well for us.”

And she flashed me a feline grin. Because Mila and I had come here with the intention of finding the Storytellers—and asking our own questions about history.