Wicked is the Curse.

06 | Rumors

Chapter Six | Rumors

Very few spirits would pass up a party.

Those who were stronger could wander away from their resting places in Lower Irial, but they would not last long amongst the opulent houses without Aire.  As always, she brought Royden with her;  his pinkie bone was stuffed into the tight corset of her dress. Tonight, he gushed over the finery, sneered at the uneven hems and slipped in snippets of news that he had gathered.

"Little Toothless Timothy says that the Bloodbound brought more than one prisoner into the city." Royden sat shoulder height in the grand white-oak entrance of Lord-Mayor Wynne's palatial home. The home was grand, tucked away behind manned walls and hidden from the common folk by trees. The apple trees spread wide branches along the edges of the stone wall and filled the evening air with a crisp, mouth-watering scent. They had escaped the rot and Aire marveled at them, having grown used to the grey pallor of Irial. 

Servants lined the gravel path, carrying trays of drink and small baked goods. The faint strains of music beckoned the guests inside.

"Aether?" She breathed very softly.

Royden shook his head, peering over a servant's shoulder to gaze morosely at their tray. "Little Toothless Timothy says that they have their hands, mouths and eyes bound. He calls them cargo for the Emperor."

Strange. The thought of a new secret rumbled her and she stewed on it as Junhyn stepped up beside her. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and pasted on a docile, polite smile. People with their hands, eyes and mouths bound? So familiar to her and yet, impossible.

Her attention cut to the guests, wariness curling in her gut. People always made sure to stop and greet Junhyn. He wasn't born into wealth and his rise to power was a mystery to all those who sought to dismantle him, but no one could afford to get on the wrong side of such a rich man. Their attention slid over her too – her painted face, her coiled dark hair. The hint of exposed skin turned their attention away again. Rarely was a man in Upper Irial seen without a woman at an occasion like this. Whether a wife, a fiancée or a rented lady.

Those who skirted the underbelly were not as foolish. She liked to think of herself as a pretty little flower that spat barbs and poison. Others had used harsher words.

They stepped into the balmy air of the estate. A servant brought a tray of drinks of Junhyn and Aevran appeared, plucking a flute up to test the bubbling liquid. The servant cowed under his flinty stare, then blushed when Aevran cast him a curling smile. "It is safe."

His antics didn't shake her from the thought of a ravelled secret. Prisoners. Prisoners brought by the Bloodbound for the Emperor? More Aether? But why would their mouths and eyes be bound?

She plucked a flute up when it was deemed safe, moving past the arched mirrors. She was a figure in dark blue, the sleeves capped at her elbows. The neckline dipped, exposing silver dusted collarbones and her hips had been padded to hide a blade. The dress skimmed her shoes, masking their surprising sturdiness. She looked the part; an acceptable accompaniment, but the dress was light and comfortable.

'I need to give Ms. Alainne a tip.'

The only draw-back was the satin-like gloves to hide her silver-scarred hands. The hands of an Eoban user.

Junhyn leaned down, his breath tickling her ear. Aire bit down a shiver, uncomfortable with him so close to her Rot-Wort hair. It wasn't strange to have dyed hair, but she was afraid of Junhyn's ever questioning nature. What if he ordered her to wash it out for his own bored curiosity? They would see the moon-lit silver and they would know, they would figure out ...