The Courtesan’s Avenger (Desertera #2) - Kate M. Colby - E-Book

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Kate M. Colby

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The Courtesan’s Avenger (Desertera #2)

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The Courtesan’s Avenger

Desertera Book Two

Kate M. Colby

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2016 Kate M. Colby

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Published by Boxthorn Press

New Haven, CT

ISBN-10: 0-9967825-3-2

ISBN-13: 978-0-9967825-3-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016953154

Cover design by Damonza.com

Editing by Red Adept Editing

Created with Vellum

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

Ready for Book Three?

Get a FREE Short Story!

Also by Kate M. Colby

Acknowledgments

About the Author

1

Dellwyn Rutt listened, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, to the palace bishop as he issued King Lionel’s latest decree. Ever since King Lionel’s coronation the month before, His Majesty had made several amendments and redactions to Desertera’s laws—laws that had not changed since the Queen Hildegard anchored and their ancestors settled around it—but none of them had been this drastic. Aya had told Dellwyn that King Lionel was nothing like his late father, King Archon. Dellwyn finally believed her.

The bishop, no doubt seeing the blank looks on the brothel workers’ faces, squared his shoulders and repeated the newest change to Desertera. “By decree of His Royal Majesty, King Lionel Willem Monashe, adultery is no longer punishable by death, nor is it a crime in any respect. While King Lionel encourages the strict upholding of Desertera’s morality, His Majesty recognizes that the criminalization of adultery can lead to more heinous acts. He believes the salvation rains will not come through a poorly enforced law, but by the actual fidelity, in body and spirit, of the royal family.”

As the last word echoed against the Rudder’s iron walls, Dellwyn scanned the room, observing the reactions of her fellow courtesans. Most of the women stood with their hands clasped and lips pressed together as Madam Huxley had instructed before the bishop’s arrival. Kalinda and Jasmine huddled together and whispered to one another behind their curtains of black hair. Alisa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and shook her head. Augustus, who stood next to Dellwyn, tapped his fingertips on the tops of his thighs and bounced like an excited child. On Dellwyn’s other side, Sybil covered her mouth with her hand and looked up at Dellwyn with watery hazel eyes.

Dellwyn placed a hand on Sybil’s shoulder. “Shh. Everything is going to be fine.”

“What does this mean for us?” Sybil whispered, tucking a lock of copper hair behind her ear. Sybil had only worked at the Rudder for a few weeks. Madam Huxley had taken her on as a cleaning girl, and in a couple years, she would start Sybil with priming appointments, teaching her to be an appetizer before becoming the main course. The moment Sybil had walked into the Rudder, with her gangly legs and glassy, naïve eyes, all Dellwyn had seen was a young Aya.

Thinking of Aya made Dellwyn’s chest hurt. Even though Aya was finally back in her true home, Dellwyn couldn’t help but worry about her. The night Aya had come back to the hovel, she had rushed to her room, snatched up her mechanical frog Charlie, and cradled him in her arms as she explained all that had happened. Dellwyn had needed to sit down to process everything—King Archon’s demise, Aya’s reclaiming of her father’s cogsmith shop, the fact that Dellwyn’s favorite client, Lord Collingwood, was uncle to the new king, and that the new king was Aya’s lover.

Once Aya had taken a moment to breathe, Dellwyn had hugged her and told her how happy she was for her. And she had meant it. Aya had despised working at the Rudder—and only two days after King Archon’s trial, she had moved back into her father’s shop. Despite Aya’s insistence that Dellwyn come with her, Dellwyn had chosen to stay behind in Sternville. Aya Cogsmith, with her doll-like figure and old-world craft, belonged in Portside, if not Starboardshire. Dellwyn had been born into this life, branded for rutting from the moment she took her first breath, and luckily, it suited her fine.

“Dellwyn?” Sybil tugged at her sleeve.

“I don’t know yet.” Dellwyn squeezed Sybil’s shoulder. “But Madam Huxley will tell us once she does.”

As if hearing Dellwyn’s words, Madam Huxley cleared her throat. Dellwyn did not have to see the madam to know that she stood behind her workers at her tall, wooden podium, her totem of power, as Augustus called it. “Bishop, does this mean that King Lionel shall forgive the trespasses of those who committed adultery before its legalization?”

“King Lionel forgives all past indiscretions, Madam.” The bishop held out both hands in a gesture Dellwyn assumed signaled his goodwill. It looked more as if he intended to receive a loaf of bread.

The first time the bishop had come to the Rudder, a chorus of giggles had spread through the courtesans. How could a man so tiny be so powerful? While his bejeweled rings and crisp white robes had only incited more whispers, his booming voice had quieted all teasing. Dellwyn had literally jumped at its force. After all five of his visits to the Rudder, it still surprised her to hear such a sound come out of the little man.

“I’m relieved to hear that,” Madam Huxley replied. Dellwyn heard the madam’s long fingernails tapping against the wood. “And what about this establishment? There is no use in pretending that King Lionel does not know what goes on here. Does the king intend to allow my business to run as usual?”

“Is that even a question?” Sybil whispered. “Every other king let this place run unchecked, even when adultery was a crime.”

Augustus leaned over in front of Dellwyn, his pale skin cast yellow by the lantern light—the moon to Dellwyn’s night sky. “You bet they did. If they hadn’t, the people would have found more sinister ways to satisfy their needs.”

Dellwyn scoffed. “You make it sound like we’re the unsung saviors of Desertera.”

“You’re damn right we are.” Augustus winked. “Though I have made quite a few men sing in my day.”

Sybil stifled a laugh. Dellwyn rolled her eyes and swatted Augustus’s arm. He grabbed his bicep in mock pain, and Dellwyn replied by baring her teeth playfully. If anyone could lighten the mood on the day one of the three capital crimes was legalized, it was Augustus.

“The better question is, why is King Lionel really legalizing adultery?” Augustus asked.

Sybil shrugged. “Maybe he knows the rains are never coming, and he’s sick of seeing his people executed over a lie.”

Dellwyn shook her head. “He’s trying to prove that he’s not like his father. He wants to atone for King Archon’s sins.”

Augustus ran his fingers through his blond hair. “Who cares?”

“He does,” Dellwyn said. And so does Aya.

The bishop glared at the three friends before craning his neck to meet Madam Huxley’s eyes. Dellwyn wondered if they should have found him a box to stand on. “As you have never had a patron, Madam, King Lionel considers you a private business owner. You are to run your establishment as you see fit, so long as it does not violate any of Desertera’s other laws.”

Madam Huxley inclined her head. “I understand. That should no longer be an issue.”

Wrinkling his nose, the bishop returned her nod. Every time he had come to the Rudder, the bishop had shown distaste. After his first visit, Dellwyn had asked Aya what she knew about him. Aya had told Dellwyn that the bishop presided over all the official palace proceedings, that he was the keeper of the ceremonies and holy salt water. That statement had sent Dellwyn’s drink through her nose. She knew the farmers over in Bowtown still clung to the faith—but the nobles? In that, she found the definition of hypocrisy.

“Do you have any other questions, Madam?” The bishop glanced toward the courtesans’ hallway. At the end stood the exit door, which led into the main areas of the palace. Dellwyn wondered if he were merely disgusted by the brothel or anxious to spread the news to the rest of the kingdom.

“Not at the moment.” Dellwyn heard Madam Huxley’s smile in the lilting of her voice. “I’ll send word if I think of anything.”

The bishop bowed and scurried toward the exit. Once he had disappeared down the corridor, Madam Huxley clapped once, and the courtesans turned to face her. Dellwyn noticed the madam’s skin was flushed—something that only happened when she was filled with rage or joy.

“This is splendid news, isn’t it, everyone?” Madam Huxley beamed, not waiting for anyone to answer. “Once the people start to trust King Lionel’s word, I expect our clientele will begin to grow rather nicely.”

Alisa guffawed. “That’s an understatement. We’re going to be flooded.”

Madam Huxley’s grin fell into a smirk. “I hope you’re right, Alisa, dear. I think more business would do wonders for all of our purses.”

“Especially hers,” Augustus muttered. Dellwyn elbowed him.

Madam Huxley continued. “Given this expectation, I think it’s best for us to begin preparing now. Therefore, starting tonight, all priming girls will take turns receiving training from our veterans.” A few of the younger women squeaked, and Madam Huxley quieted them with a wave of her hand. “Alisa, Augustus, as our top courtesans, may I count on you for this?”

Dellwyn breathed a sigh of relief, happy that she remained in Room G, sixth in ranking, for the time being. On the few occasions she’d been called to assist with training, she had hated it. With the right clients, her job could be fun, but having the younger women watch from the corner, or try to get involved, had made her skin crawl. As nerve-wracking as it could be, Dellwyn thought the budding courtesans should just be given a few hours alone with a gentle client—let intuition do the work and save everyone the embarrassment.

“Does this mean I’ll have to help with priming?” Sybil’s voice wavered, and Dellwyn did not have the heart to meet her gaze. The thought of her, a girl of just fourteen, having to touch an adult in that way…

Dellwyn shook her head. “Not yet. Madam Huxley knows you’re too young. Besides, the clients are only interested in grown women.” She inclined her head toward Augustus. “Or him.”

“I heard that.” Augustus smirked, his green eyes sparkling. “And trust me, they’re all interested in me.”

Sybil’s brow smoothed, and she giggled. Dellwyn allowed herself to smile.

“It appears it’s nearly time to open.” Madam Huxley gestured behind the group of courtesans to the pink light seeping through between the palace’s propellers. Dellwyn shivered, imagining what this part of the ship must have been like when it sailed—dark, cold, engulfed in the churning of the blades and water. Only a few inches of steel and iron separating the inhabitants from endless nothing.

Madam Huxley wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. “Before I send you all to your rooms, does anyone have any questions?”

Kalinda stepped forward, her long black locks swaying across the top of her hips. “What do we say to our clients? Do we tell them about the new law?”

Dellwyn rolled her eyes. Leave it to Kalinda to worry about talking to customers. That was the last thing they wanted from her full, red lips.

“I daresay the rest of the kingdom already knows, or will before night’s end.” Madam Huxley wrapped her hands around the side of her podium. “However, in case we are the first to hear of it, let’s not broach the subject with our clients unless they open the discussion.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the group. Alisa pushed herself off the wall and walked toward the madam. “And what about our wages?” Alisa squinted, her blue eyes sizing up Madam Huxley. “If business improves, shouldn’t our pay?”

The madam pursed her lips. “As always, your wages shall depend on your room assignment, seniority, and the quality of your work.”

Alisa snorted. “So nothing will change, then.”

Madam Huxley’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edges of her podium tighter. Before she could retort, Augustus raised his hand. “Madam, what I believe Alisa is trying to ask is, if our workload increases, will our pay rise alongside our labor?”

As Madam Huxley’s grip relaxed, Dellwyn bit her lip to hide her grin. Augustus had a way with most people, hence his popularity with clients, but he had an incredible knack for defusing Madam Huxley. Over her years at the Rudder, Dellwyn had used Augustus to calm or distract the madam many times. Dellwyn even thought some of his charm might have worn off on her.

“If each courtesan’s number of clients and nightly visits increase drastically, then I suppose I will have no choice but to increase pay.” Madam Huxley stared out over the group, her dark-green eyes flitting from one anxious face to another. “In fact, if demand for our services rises, I suspect prices may as well.” She smirked. “You all better make it worth their while.”

A few of the women chuckled nervously. Dellwyn put her hands on her hips. She admired Madam Huxley’s business sense; the madam was always a step ahead of her clients. With adultery’s legalization, the business would be changing in unthinkable ways, at least to Dellwyn, but she knew Madam Huxley would foresee and adapt as necessary.

Dellwyn tilted her head to the side, watching the madam as a hawk would watch a snake. She noticed the lines around the madam’s eyes and the sagging skin in her cheeks and jowls. Madam Huxley was not getting any younger—surely she would be searching for a successor soon, someone to pass the Rudder to when she became too old to stand sentry behind her podium. Maybe, if Dellwyn worked hard enough and put on more Augustus-style charm, she could climb her way to Room A and win the madam’s full trust.

Alisa had been crabby lately, and Augustus was a man. Though in high demand, he did not understand the madam and her position as a woman could. Besides, Dellwyn had been there almost as long as Alisa and Augustus, and the other courtesans respected her, sought her counsel. She would be the perfect heir. She just had to make Madam Huxley see it.

“Are there any other questions?” The impatient tapping of Madam Huxley’s toe sent pulses through the room. Before anyone else could respond, she gave the group a dismissive wave. “Off to your rooms, then. Alisa, please be sure to take one of the priming girls with you.”

Alisa’s jaw clenched, and Dellwyn smirked. It served her right for giving the madam lip. This was not the time, nor place, to be worried about pay raises, not until they saw how the new law truly affected the business.

“Have a nice evening, ladies,” Augustus crooned, swiping a blond curl off of his forehead. “I know I will.”

Dellwyn wiggled her fingers in a playful farewell before turning to Sybil. “When you finish your chores this evening, will you do me a favor?”

Sybil’s hazel eyes darted between Dellwyn’s brown ones. “What is it?”

“Gather your things from the storage room and take them to my hovel.” Dellwyn placed her hand on Sybil’s cheek. “I want you to come live with me.”

Sybil beamed. “Really?”

Dellwyn’s hand fell to Sybil’s shoulder, and she squeezed reassuringly. “Really.”

Sybil’s eyebrows knitted together. “You don’t think Madam Huxley will mind?”

“I think she would be happy with one less mouth to feed.” Dellwyn smiled to soften the truth. Nodding, Sybil glanced at the madam out of the corner of her eye. Dellwyn followed her gaze, watching as Madam Huxley spoke to one of the priming girls. A lump swelled in Dellwyn’s chest. She couldn’t protect Sybil from what went on behind the Rudder’s doors forever, but Dellwyn could give Sybil somewhere to lay her head at night that belonged to only her, with no scent or memory of clients lingering on the pillows.

“Now then, I need to prepare for Lord Collingwood. I’ll see you at home before sunrise.”

Sybil’s grin returned. “See you at home.”

With her chest lightened, Dellwyn headed toward Room G. After the bishop’s announcement, she was even more pleased that Lord Collingwood had booked her for the entire night. She didn’t have the energy to fake enjoyment with one of her other clients or puzzle over the desires of a new one. Besides, if she acted like the distressed damsel, Lord Collingwood might divulge King Lionel’s reasoning for legalizing adultery, or more of his future plans.

As Dellwyn reached the hallway, Madam Huxley called out to her. “Come here for a moment, would you?”

Dellwyn walked to the madam’s podium, holding her breath for fear that Madam Huxley would ask her to take on a girl to train at the last moment. “What is it, Madam?”

“Lord Collingwood’s valet came by with a message this afternoon.” The madam’s eyes scrutinized Dellwyn’s features. “It seems Lord Collingwood is unable to make his appointment tonight.”

Dellwyn kept her face neutral, but inside, her stomach sank. Hopefully, he was just wrapped up in business with the king. As much as she’d been looking forward to a comfortable evening, she could forgive Lord Collingwood’s absence if it meant more information for her to source from him the next time. “Do you want me to handle walk-ins, then?”

“No, no.” The madam waved her hand. “There are plenty of other girls to serve anyone without an appointment. I sent word to Lord Derringher, and he’s delighted to see you this evening.”

“Lovely.” Dellwyn bit the inside of her cheek to avoid groaning—of all the nights to have to deal with Lord Derringher’s sausage fingers. “If that’s all, I’m going to get ready.”

Madam Huxley nodded. “That’s all.”

Dellwyn turned on her heel and huffed. She didn’t realize she was practically stomping away until she heard the madam chuckle.

“Now, now, Dellwyn.” Madam Huxley tsked. “Play nice with Lord Derringher. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of him over the coming weeks.”

The madam’s words cut through Dellwyn’s annoyance, and she smirked, finally seeing the opportunity before her. She would play nice, all right—so nice that Lord Derringher would be spent and out of her hair within fifteen minutes.

Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so tiresome after all.

2

When Lord Derringher closed the door to Room G behind him, Dellwyn heard the doorknob rattle in his shaking hand. Sweat beaded across his brow and upper lip, which he licked as his eyes landed on Dellwyn’s curves.

She smiled. Even after several years of coming to visit her, Lord Derringher still acted like a boy first experiencing a woman, as though his mother would walk in and catch them at any moment. His shyness was charming. Too bad his lovemaking techniques were equally underdeveloped.

“Good evening, my lord.” Dellwyn curtsied, pulling back her skirt at the slit to reveal her bare thigh.

Lord Derringher swallowed and stepped toward her. “Have you heard the news?”

Dellwyn straightened and frowned. So the whole kingdom did know, then. “Yes. The bishop came to tell us right before we opened.”

Lord Derringher wiped his hands across the front of his white dress shirt, leaving dark spots where his sweat met the fabric. He stood before her as impenetrable as a wall—not only in frame, which was blocky and tall, but also in face. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it made her nervous. She didn’t want him to be thinking at all.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Dellwyn closed the distance between them, slid her hands to his shoulders, between his smoking jacket and shirt, and shrugged it down his arms.

“Yes.” Lord Derringher allowed her to remove his jacket and toss it across the room onto the velvet fainting couch opposite the bed. He glanced between the bed and Dellwyn before grinning. “Yes.”

Dellwyn saw relief flicker in his blue eyes. Hoping to prevent further conversation, she reached up and untied his gold cravat. Before she could fling it on top of his jacket, Lord Derringher grabbed her hands and brought them to his lips. “I don’t have to hide anymore.” His breath was hot on her fingertips. “My family won’t be pleased, and my wife will give me quite a row, but that’s all they can do. They can’t hurt me for doing what I want.”

Dellwyn pulled her hands away and cupped his face, his stubble pricking her fingertips. “You’re right. And you won’t be the only nobleman, that’s for sure.”

Lord Derringher rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t talk about anyone else.” He lowered his hands to her sides, and the ends of his fingers fiddled with her corset’s strings. “You’re mine, Dellwyn. You alone understand me, all of me.”

Dellwyn wanted to say that she knew, that she had over a decade of studying lonely, unloved, and power-hungry people, that she could tell him things about himself he couldn’t even fathom. But she knew better than to spoil the illusion. She feigned a blush, pulled Lord Derringher’s face to hers, and kissed him.

He responded instantly, one hand entwining in her dark hair, pulling it a little too hard, and the other fumbling with the buckles on the front of her corset. Dellwyn let him struggle for a minute, but when his breathing began to quicken, she pulled away. Sure enough, his face burned crimson with embarrassment and frustration.

Smiling, Dellwyn gently pushed him back toward the bed. Lord Derringher sank into the plush, jewel-toned comforter. It had been a gift from Lord Collingwood—and a pointed response to the silk sheets Lord Derringher had given her.

As Dellwyn ran her fingers over Lord Derringher’s smooth head to soothe him, she noticed his gaze wander to the gold-framed mirror that stood next to her armoire. His hungry eyes drank in Dellwyn’s round behind before falling to the ornately patterned violet-and-indigo rug under her feet. The rug was another gift from Lord Collingwood, in retaliation for the scenic wildflower tapestry from Lord Derringher that hung over the bed.

Sliding her fingers down to the nape of Lord Derringher’s neck, Dellwyn rubbed the knot at the top of his spine. She knew she needed to bring him back to her. If he became too jealous or anxious, he would add a little roughness to his clumsiness, and with the possibility of an increased workload looming, she didn’t need sore wrists or love bites marring her skin.

“You’ve had such a trying day,” Dellwyn cooed. “Why don’t you let me serve you?”

Lord Derringher frowned, and the wrinkles on his nose hinted at his internal conflict. To be served like a king, or to control like one? It had always been his hang-up. He wanted power, or at least, to feel powerful, and he never knew how to express it. Luckily for his desire, and for her impatience, Dellwyn usually managed to make the decision for him.

She stepped back from the bed and slowly unfastened the first buckle of her corset. “Why so cross, Your Majesty?”

Lord Derringher’s face smoothed, and Dellwyn could see his excitement stirring. Playing king was his favorite game—a good standby to bring out whenever he acted particularly difficult.

“It’s my duty to serve my king, is it not?” The top three buckles now undone, Dellwyn tugged her corset down just enough to allow her ample bosom to spill over the top. “Don’t you want me to serve you?”

Lord Derringher licked his lips again, holding out his meaty hands like an infant begging for its mother’s milk. Dellwyn made him wait a moment longer as she undid the last two buckles and let the corset fall to the floor. When she finally allowed him to touch her, Lord Derringher’s fingers trembled as he clenched her sides, and his hot breath came out shaky as he nestled his face in her breast. He may have been the one craving the power, but his reaction told Dellwyn that she held every speck of it.

“Now then, Your Majesty.” Dellwyn lowered herself onto her knees in front of him. “Why don’t you tell me precisely what you want?”

It took longer than fifteen minutes, but Dellwyn had Lord Derringher satisfied and out of Room G within the hour. As he shut the door behind himself, Dellwyn stretched on the bed, feeling her muscles groan in protest. He had been hesitant at first, but once his instinct had taken over, he had gripped her tighter than usual, and she could still feel his fingers digging into her ribs. It seemed the new law had made him bolder now that he didn’t have to fear execution, and Dellwyn wondered whether this had been but a glimpse into the new Lord Derringher. She hoped he wouldn’t become much more forceful—at least, not without learning to better control his movements. She didn’t know whether her body could take it.

After a little rest, Dellwyn slipped into a clean dress and went to find Madam Huxley to ask whether there were any other clients on her schedule for the evening. If not, maybe she could sneak home before Sybil arrived and fix up Aya’s old room or scrape together a welcome meal. Dellwyn grinned, imagining how Sybil would squeal with delight when she realized she had her own room, one without cleaning supplies and soiled sheets piled inside.

When Dellwyn reached the lobby, she stopped short. The room was empty—entirely. Even Madam Huxley was not perched behind her podium. Normally, a few clients lingered about with hats or hoods pulled down to cover their eyes as they waited to be served. But tonight, as Dellwyn left the courtesans’ hallway and headed to the other corridor that ran parallel to it—the one with empty, unneeded rooms and the madam’s private chambers—her soft footsteps echoed throughout the lobby.

Had something happened, some kind of accident that had closed down the Rudder for the evening? Was the new law a lie? King Lionel didn’t seem the kind to play tricks, but maybe he had issued some test to the people, and the courtesans at the Rudder had been left out of it on purpose. Or, most nerve-wracking possibility of all, maybe there were no clients tonight.

As Dellwyn rounded the corner into the other corridor, she saw a strip of light shining beneath Madam Huxley’s door, and she sighed with relief. At least the madam was still there. That meant no accident. Before Dellwyn could raise her hand to knock, the door opened in front of her, and Alisa came barreling out, her bony shoulder knocking into Dellwyn’s as she hurried past without an apology.

Dellwyn rubbed her shoulder and peered into the office. Madam Huxley sat behind her desk, hands folded on top, as if she had been expecting Dellwyn. Dellwyn raised her eyebrows. “Was Alisa crying?”

Madam Huxley pursed her lips. “I believe so.”

Dellwyn shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

Madam Huxley smirked. “Tears?”

“No.” Dellwyn snickered. “An emotion other than anger.”

“Trust me when I say, those were tears of anger.” Madam Huxley unfolded her hands and patted her red hair. “Now, I assume you had a reason for coming to my office?”

“Oh, yes.” Dellwyn leaned against the doorframe. “Do I have any more clients this evening? I’m through with Lord Derringher.”

Madam Huxley inclined her head. “Are you through with him, or is he through with you?”

“Both.” Dellwyn widened her eyes and inhaled sharply. “He exhausts me, and not in the way I exhaust him.”

“I see.” Madam Huxley leaned back in her chair. “You do not have any other scheduled clients. Lord Collingwood had booked your entire evening, and Lord Derringher was the only other of your regulars who could come on short notice.”

Dellwyn nodded. She thought about turning to leave. If she hurried, she could still make it home before Sybil. But as she studied the madam’s office, she realized the madam had nothing to do. The coins were stacked in neat, counted rows along the edge of her desk, and the guest book sat closed on a table, with the ring of keys to the courtesans’ rooms resting on top. If Dellwyn wanted a time to talk to Madam Huxley in private, this was it.

She pointed to the single chair in front of the madam’s desk. “May I?”

Madam Huxley motioned for Dellwyn to sit, and she did. She waited for the madam to speak, but the older woman only stared at Dellwyn expectantly.

“Busy night, isn’t it?” Dellwyn offered.

Madam Huxley snorted. “Is there a statement of significance hiding behind that idiotic question?”

Dellwyn bit her lip. “I just mean, is something wrong? Or do you think it’s about the new law?”

“It will take time.” Madam Huxley shifted to cross her ankles. “There will be distrust at first. But once the people realize that King Lionel is a man of his word, they’ll return. We might lose some, perhaps those who only came here for the thrill of getting caught, or those seeking to satisfy whims they couldn’t with the ones they desire in their social circles. However, I daresay we’ll see more new clients than we’ll lose.”

Dellwyn considered the madam’s words. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might lose clients. Like Augustus, she had assumed the worst in people, that they would be swarming the propellers in a sandstorm of lust.

“Do you trust King Lionel’s word?” Dellwyn whispered the question, as if Aya might be nearby to overhear and become upset.

Madam Huxley cocked her head to one side. “I do. Don’t you?”

Dellwyn licked her lips. “I want to. I mean, after everything he’s done for Aya…” She let the sentence trail off. Dellwyn didn’t need to explain anything about Aya to Madam Huxley. The madam knew the details of Aya’s involvement in overthrowing King Archon and her subsequent romance with the then Prince Lionel, probably better than Dellwyn did. “I guess part of me fears that he will end up like his father, or that all his changes are coming too quickly, that something will go wrong.”

Madam Huxley crossed her arms. “Are you concerned for yourself or for Aya?”

“Both.” Feeling her opportunity to turn the conversation, Dellwyn looked the madam straight in the eyes. “And for the Rudder.”

Something akin to recognition glinted across Madam Huxley’s face, and the wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out. “Don’t worry about your wages, Dellwyn. The Rudder has been doing steady business for decades, as it did under Madam Bovan before me.”

Dellwyn scooted to the edge of the chair. “And what about after you?”

“Well, I intend to be around for a long while, and I suppose what comes after isn’t much your concern. Besides, if the Rudder does fail, I’m sure you could find a generous cogsmith to shopkeep for.”

Dellwyn’s cheeks burned. “And what if I don’t want to move on from here? What if I want the Rudder’s future to be my concern?”

Madam Huxley smiled. Dellwyn imagined the look was similar to how King Archon used to grin when he trapped witnesses into damning themselves during his trials. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. I thought you would go in one of the typical ways.”

Dellwyn shook her head, her straight, ebony locks whipping her neck as she did so. She wasn’t about to lie around, waiting for a potential husband to come along and rescue her. And she certainly wasn’t going to stay in bed until old age, sliding back down to Room Z, passing more and more nights alone until the new madam deemed her unprofitable and kicked her out to starve.

“I don’t think I’m made for either of those options, Madam.”

Madam Huxley shrugged. “Very well, then. What do you have in mind?”

Dellwyn swallowed. She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase what she wanted to say, and subtlety had never been her strong suit. Screw it. “You’re getting older, Madam. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You don’t have any children or family, and I doubt you want the Rudder to go up for auction to the highest-bidding nobleman when you die.”

Madam Huxley scrunched her nose. “Go on.”

“And me, I’m not getting any younger, either. I’m closer to thirty than twenty. In a decade, if I’m lucky, my clients are going to start trading me in for younger women. It’s inevitable, and I’d like not to get thrown out on the street when it happens.”

Madam Huxley tapped her fingers on her desk. The clacking of her nails made Dellwyn’s heart race. She hoped she hadn’t been too blunt. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you make a fair point—for both our futures.”

Dellwyn let out a long breath. “I’m not asking to be handed anything. I’m just asking you to think about it.”

“I shall.” Madam Huxley glanced over Dellwyn’s shoulder. “In fact, I can think of a couple of your coworkers who may appreciate the same consideration.”

Dellwyn clenched her skirts in her fist, silently cursing the madam’s manipulative nature. Of course she had to turn this into a contest. Why couldn’t Madam Huxley just keep quiet and let Dellwyn think she had no competition, even if it weren’t true?

Madam Huxley patted her dress, as if they had been discussing the ever-unchanging weather. “Is that all?”

Dellwyn closed her eyes, rolling them behind the safety of her lids, and let out another breath. “That’s all.” She stood to leave.

“Are you heading home for the evening?” Madam Huxley smirked. “Or would you like to stay so you don’t lose any wages?”

Dellwyn’s stomach churned. “Um, I can stay.” The wicked gleam in the madam’s eyes never meant anything good, and Dellwyn knew that after the conversation they’d just had, she was being tested. “What can I help you with?”

“Apparently, Alisa did not feel able to handle her training duties tonight.” At the madam’s words, Dellwyn’s stomach went from churning to completely overturned. “I hope that I was able to convince her of the importance of the task, but as you saw, she left in such a fuss.”

“And what would you like me to do?” Dellwyn couldn’t keep the defensive edge out of her voice, not that she’d tried particularly hard.

“Could you go check on Room A? If Alisa is there, as I hope she is, you can go.” The madam had equipped her high, feminine lilt, the one she loved to use to lord her authority over others. “If not, could you see how Elsie and Captain Ferris are getting along?”

Dellwyn moved to put her hands on her hips, but thought better of it and deflected by feigning to straighten her corset. “And if they aren’t getting along?”

Madam Huxley grinned. “Why, then help the poor girl. She shouldn’t be abandoned by all her mentors.”

Another tug on the corset. “And if they’re getting along well just the two of them?”

Madam Huxley tucked a stray curl back into her bun. “You know what they say, Dellwyn. The more the merrier.”

Dellwyn paused long enough to force a thin smile to her lips and present the madam with a terse nod. Then, for the second time that evening, she turned on her heel and marched away from Madam Huxley. In all her years at the Rudder, Dellwyn had never once longed to see Alisa’s cross face, but at that moment, she wished with every step she took toward Room A that Alisa would be there.

3

The sound from Room A followed Dellwyn out of the Rudder the next morning, and even as she seated herself at the hovel’s common room table, she still couldn’t shake it from her memory. Eee! Hee! Eekee!

When Dellwyn had cracked open the door to Room A and saw that Alisa hadn’t returned, she invited herself in and joined Elsie and Captain Ferris, as Madam Huxley had directed. When the time came for Elsie to pretend to reach her peak, she squeaked the noise, sounding every bit like a rusty door hinge. Captain Ferris was too caught up in his own enjoyment to notice the sound, but Dellwyn heard it in painful detail as she faked her own shakes and moans. As if the entire “training” situation itself wasn’t humiliating enough, Dellwyn knew that sound would haunt her for days.

After Captain Ferris had left, Elsie asked Dellwyn if she had done a good job. Dellwyn replied that she had done fine, making a mental note to tell Madam Huxley the exact opposite. As much as Dellwyn didn’t want the poor girl tossed out onto the street, she didn’t want to hear Elsie’s squeals ever again—even as dull shrieks through the Rudder’s thick, metal walls.

Pink light filtered through the common room window, and Dellwyn heard rustling coming from Aya’s—Sybil’s—room. A few moments later, Sybil emerged. Her copper hair was wild and dimples dented her freckled cheeks. She pointed behind her. “Is this whole room mine?”

Dellwyn chuckled, a yawn slipping out at the end. “You bet.”

“Oh, thank you.” Sybil clapped her hands. “I’ve been so excited, I couldn’t sleep. I just keep tossing in my blankets and stretching out as far as I can reach.” She demonstrated, her legs and arms spreading out until her body formed an X.

Dellwyn grinned, remembering the too-short bed that she once had slept in as the Rudder’s maid. “Much better than that little closet, huh?”

Sybil pulled her door shut behind her, and the hinges whined. “Infinitely.”

Dellwyn shuddered. “What time did you get in?”

Sybil glanced at the window. “A few hours ago.” She shuffled over to the trunk where they kept the kitchen utensils and a few other useful items. “I did some exploring. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. It’s your home, too.” Dellwyn winced as the hinges on the trunk creaked. Elsie’s puckered lips flashed before her eyes, and Dellwyn pressed her fingers against her temples.

“Are you okay?” Sybil retrieved two tin cups and closed the trunk’s lid.

Dellwyn had another flash, this time of Captain Ferris’s round belly bouncing in front of her. For a guard, he certainly hadn’t looked fit for fighting. She swallowed, doing her best to ignore the bitter taste in her mouth. “Just tired. Alisa went home early, so I had to stay late to cover for her.”

Sybil uncorked the glass water jug and filled the tin cups. Some of the water splashed onto the hard-packed dirt floor, creating a thin layer of mud that Dellwyn knew would dry within minutes. Dellwyn opened her mouth to offer Sybil help with the jug, but upon seeing Sybil’s forehead scrunched in determination, she closed it. A few drops of water were a small price to pay for Sybil’s self-respect.

“That doesn’t seem fair.” Sybil inserted the cork into the jug and picked up the cups. She slid one over to Dellwyn, and the tin bottom scraped across the tabletop, making Dellwyn’s eye twitch.

“It wasn’t.” Dellwyn drained her cup in three long gulps. As she set it down on the table, she noticed a blond hair from Elsie lingering on her cloak. She grimaced and brushed it off.

Sybil’s brow furrowed. “Did Lord Collingwood show up?”

“No. I served Lord Derringher instead.” Dellwyn closed her eyes, searching for a pleasant image to meditate on—what her next encounter with Lord Collingwood would entail, or even her slightly rough encounter with Lord Derringher—but her mind only found the beads of sweat rolling down the captain’s back and Elsie’s thighs. “Then, a guard that was meant to see Alisa.”

“That sounds so intimidating.” Sybil giggled and spun her tin cup by its base. “Lords and soldiers. So powerful.”

“They’re just people.” Dellwyn rubbed her temples again. “Remember that. No matter what titles they hold, when they disrobe, they’re the same as you and me.”

Sybil shrugged. “I wouldn’t know how to talk to people so important, let alone…” She shifted her weight in her chair, and the wooden rods of the back creaked.

Dellwyn turned her head away, and a lock of hair fell across her face. As she breathed, she smelled the sour mixture of exerted flesh and Elsie’s cheap perfume. It was the last straw. She bolted upright and pulled her cloak tighter around her. “Well, you’re going to have to figure it out.”

Sybil stood. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I can’t stand myself right now. Get your cloak on. We’re going visiting.”

“To see who?” Sybil called, already rushing to fetch her cloak.

“The future queen.”

“Are you really going to be queen?” Sybil’s voice faltered on the last word, and her wide eyes shone with a mixture of fear and wonder. Dellwyn stifled a chuckle and glanced around the cogsmith shop in a futile attempt at appearing innocent.

Aya’s green eyes narrowed into slits, but a telltale flush spread across her neck. “Did Dellwyn tell you that?”

Dellwyn raised an eyebrow and gestured to the cluttered room. “Don’t act like I lied. Look at this place! King Lionel is practically begging for your hand.” Not only had King Lionel given Aya her father’s shop and tools back, but he had sent over every dormant machine and cogsmithing book he could find in the palace’s rooms and libraries. The modest workshop overflowed with mechanical gadgets, and as Aya gazed at the splendor around her, Dellwyn saw nothing but love reflected in her eyes.

“She’s exaggerating, Sybil.” Aya crossed her arms. “The king is merely sending me as many relics of my craft as he can because having a working cogsmith is in the best interest of all Desertera’s people, himself included.”

Sybil nodded, a frown crossing her face.

Dellwyn leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to Sybil. “If I exaggerate, Aya is too modest. Some men send pastries or wildflowers; the king sends cogs. He knows it’s the fastest way to Aya’s heart.”

“Is this what you do?” Aya huffed, a smile playing on her lips. “You come here and bathe in my basin then harass me about my nonexistent love life when I should be working?”

Dellwyn smirked and ran her fingers through her wet hair. When she and Sybil had shown up at Aya’s door at sunrise, Dellwyn hadn’t even needed to ask. Aya had noticed the way Dellwyn scratched at her skin and had pulled her inside, saying, “Keep as much water in the basin as possible. It can be dirty, but I need it for the machines.”

“I’m sorry.” Dellwyn touched Aya’s hand to show she meant it. “Perhaps I got ahead of myself. I just want you to be happy, and the king seems to make you happy.”

Aya gathered her brown curls in her hand and draped them over one shoulder. “You can call him Lionel, you know.”

Dellwyn laughed. “No, you can call him Lionel. And whatever else you like, I’m sure.”

Sybil giggled. She turned away from the two older women and scanned the shelves in the workshop. As she began to squirm in her seat, Aya laughed. “Go have a look around. Everything on the shelves is functioning or fragile, but you can tinker with anything on the floor.”

Sybil was already leaning out of her chair. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Aya waved her hand. “Let me know if you figure out how to fix anything. I’m at my wit’s end with some of them.”

Sybil nodded and wandered into the back room. When she was out of earshot, Dellwyn leaned forward. “So how is business?”

Aya shrugged. “It’s good. I had forgotten what it’s like in the merchant world, though. They’re just as gossipy and manipulative as everyone else.” She lifted her chin. “But no matter what stories they fabricate, I’m the only one who can fix their broken machines. That’s satisfying in its own right.”

“I’d imagine so.” Dellwyn grabbed a loose gear from the table and spun it between her fingers. “What about your personal projects? Any luck with repairing Charlie?”

Aya’s face fell. “Not yet. Will—Lionel has sent me a few molds, but none of them are for a vortric cog, and without one, Charlie won’t work again.” She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I finally figured out how to melt the metals in the forge, but I’m not precise enough to make anything from scratch yet.”

Dellwyn raised an eyebrow. “Still Willem?” When Aya shrugged, her green eyes downcast, Dellwyn continued. “Can’t you ask to borrow King Lionel’s bird? You can make a mold from the vortric cog.”

Aya shook her head. “Lionel doesn’t know what he has. He knows I fixed Penelope, but I didn’t tell him that I used the vortric cog. He thinks I figured out how to fix her on my own.”

Dellwyn inclined her head. “Which you did.”

“Yes.” Aya sighed. “But Lionel doesn’t know I used the cog, and he believed my father when he claimed they were all gone. Penelope’s wings hide her core. Lionel couldn’t see the cog without taking her apart.” Her brow furrowed. “And even if he did, I’m not certain he would remember its significance. He remembers that day differently than I do. He was focused on his fear of King Archon. That day was a repeat of Queen Lisandra’s death to him, not the day the last cogsmith died to protect a cog.”

Dellwyn pursed her lips, unsure how to phrase what she needed to say. “Are you positive it was all about the vortric cog? I mean, it could have been—”

“It was.” Aya’s entire body stiffened. “King Archon had the butler search my father’s toolbox for it. He had his guards scour this workshop. I don’t know why the blasted thing is so important, but it is.”

“Are the books helping at all?”

Aya rubbed her forehead. “Not with that. I’ve learned a million other useful aspects of the craft, but there’s no mention of the vortric cog anywhere.”

Dellwyn frowned. “Did your father leave anything behind? Notes or something?”

“Not that I can remember.” Aya’s eyes flitted across the room. “I know he kept account records, and I think he used to scribble notes in his ledger from time to time, but he didn’t like to waste the paper. Most of the craft was in his head, but we can’t find the ledger anyway. We think King Archon must have burned it.”

Dellwyn forced her face into an encouraging smile. “If anyone can figure this out, it’s you. You’re the most brilliant cogsmith I’ve ever known.”

Aya grinned and shook her head. Despite looking at Dellwyn, her eyes appeared distant, as if she were remembering some private joke. “Dellwyn, I’m the only cogsmith you’ve ever known.”

Dellwyn winked, gathering her damp hair over her shoulder. “Still the best.”

“Enough of my problems.” Aya straightened. “Now that you’re clean, I have to ask. What happened last night?”

Dellwyn frowned. “I had to help train one of the priming girls.”

Aya’s lip curled into something between a grimace and a snarl. “I thought you were still in Room G? Doesn’t Madam Huxley usually make her top two courtesans do the training?”

“Normally.” Dellwyn scoffed. “Alisa decided she didn’t want to help and stormed out. Madam Huxley asked me to fill in.”

“That was… generous of you.” Aya squinted, and Dellwyn imagined the gears spinning in the cogsmith’s head. She considered telling Aya why she had volunteered, but a knot in her gut held her back. While Aya would understand why Dellwyn wanted to get out of the courtesans’ corridor, she wouldn’t understand why Dellwyn wanted to stay at the Rudder permanently. Dellwyn didn’t have the energy to explain herself.

“If things continue like last night, I’ll need all the extra wages I can get.” Dellwyn let out a long whoosh. “The lobby was entirely empty.”

Aya’s eyes bulged. “Really?”

Dellwyn nodded, placing the gear back on the table. “I don’t think it will last. Give everyone a few nights to realize that your king’s law isn’t a trick, and they’ll be out in greater numbers than ever.”

Aya narrowed her eyes, and Dellwyn grinned, expecting a jab about Lionel and a playful change of subject. Instead, Aya shook her head. “Unfortunately, I’m sure you’re right. I don’t know how you stand it.”

Dellwyn bit her tongue. Aya had never hidden her incredulity at Dellwyn’s enjoyment of the work, and her disgusted tone grated on Dellwyn’s nerves every time it appeared. “It is what it is. I’ll get through it, same as always.”

Aya smiled softly. “I know you will. I’ve always admired that about you.”

Dellwyn’s indignation still burned in her chest, so she glanced in Sybil’s direction to avoid responding. Sybil sat on the floor, legs crossed, examining a metal box with a glass bulb protruding from the top. Wires were wrapped around the machine, and Sybil traced them with her finger before turning the crank on the side. The box made a humming sound, but nothing else happened.

“That is the key to electricity,” Aya said, inclining her head toward the box. “Power has to be generated either by physical energy or by a system of steam and turbines. Obviously, with the water shortage, I can’t create much steam.”

Dellwyn let out a breath, relieved for the change of subject. “So, if you can get it working, that glass bulb will light up?”

Aya beamed. “Exactly.”

Dellwyn’s eyes widened. As she watched Sybil turn the crank, the smooth motion and its possibilities hypnotized her. “Wow. Imagine being able to see at night without lighting a fire.”

“I know.” Aya sighed. “The palace is still set up for power like this, but I doubt we have enough materials to bring it out to the villages. I could probably create a few generators like that one for nighttime emergencies, for the doctors and midwives and whoever else to use, but that would be about it.”

Dellwyn shrugged. “It would still be better than candlelight.”