Rhea wants nothing more than to kill her father. But not just because he's any run-of-the-mill scumbag. No, he's a god. And he's the one who cursed her with being a goldblood -- half human, half godling. Good for her, she's willing to do anything to...
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I TAKE THE LONG WAY BACK HOME.
The word home is a stretch. It's a functional building that houses over forty girls, with barely an inch of extra space between us all. We are all given the bare minimum: a bed, nightclothes, food. Our day to day belongings and clothes are given to us in the morning with the details of our assignment.
It makes us better at our jobs if we don't have belongings of our own. When we start owning things, they figure, we'll start to want to own ourselves. Once that happens, we might start questioning them and so on and so forth.
I pass by the docks on my way back. The smell of fish and brine and salt is pungent as I pass the wall of boats, each still filled with nets and rods and rags. If I look down further along the shore, I can see washed up debris: damp seaweed, half eaten food, and bits of paper and scraps. I fetch an empty vial from my pockets and toss it into the fray.
I'm slightly disappointed at how easy tonight was.
It's not truly over until I haven't been caught, so speaking now might be speaking too soon.
That is, for anyone else.
But we're professionals.
We don't get caught.
I hurry the rest of the way back. The four story building looms over me as I walk into the courtyard, past the bubbling fountain and the lush, luxuriant, imported palm trees above.
If there's anything the Mistress takes seriously in this line of business, it's to maintain illusions perfectly. But as with any perfect lie, it is based partly in the truth.
In the daytime, we pass as a brothel. But not just any run-of-the-mill red light district establishment. We only serve the wealthy, the privileged, the distinguished. Our services are only heard of by word of mouth, and we only accept clients based on recommendations.
It keeps the risk small, and ensures that we have a constant pool of customers. After all, when you have all the money in the world, the only things left for you to pursue are time, and your enemies.
I don't know what Delarosa did exactly, but I'm sure he must have made someone powerful or wealthy angry.
I step into the Mistress's office a few minutes before midnight. She's sitting in front of the fire, which explains why I'm sweating.
It's not from the fear, I tell myself.
I sit on the rug, my back towards the fire, my knees tucked under neath me. I rattle off details without really thinking about what I'm saying.
"Elderberry juice," the Mistress says slowly when I'm done. Her voice is toneless, cold. "Not the most exciting kill, but well done nonetheless."
She turns a large signet ring around her finger. I can't see what's on its face, but I don't have to see it to know what it is: a rose of blood and thorns.
