Aralim opened the heavy oak door into the front yard. He was on his way to meet Zarru, the prostitute that Ovoe wanted dead. There was no sign of Miresh, of course, and Aralim had made certain that this part of his plan—which he did not intend to result in a dead body—did not disturb Miresh’s training.
Someone was coming onto the property, a woman and her guards at the end of the yard, and Aralim paused in the threshold of his estate.
The one-armed woman from the Third Court caravan closed the iron metal fence gate with a clash and turned to see Aralim watching her. She looked at her guards—a massive black man with tattoos across his shoulders and chest and a small man with a scarred shoulder—and nodded to them. She walked up the stone path on her own, her blue vest swaying in a revealing way with each step. When she reached the steps that Aralim looked down from, she paused. “Good morning,” she said.
“Good morning to you as well,” Aralim replied.
Awkward because he had seemingly predicted her arrival, the caravan owner smiled and said, “Is now a good time to speak?”
“I was going out, but my plans will wait,” Aralim said. Zarru had not specified a time, just that he should visit her in the morning. “Come inside. Vaenuth, right?”
“That’s correct,” she replied, and followed him inside.
“Ko!” Aralim called. “Tea. We’ll speak in the meeting room upstairs, if that’s acceptable.”
“Lead the way,” Vaenuth said. They didn’t bother with their sandals, and climbed the curved staircase up to the second floor of the estate. She didn’t comment about the lavish adornment—she probably just saw Aralim as another lord from the court.
By the time they got seated at the four-seating circular table in the square meeting room, Ko had appeared with a platter and a kettle. He poured them both a tea and then made himself scarce with a bow and murmur. Vaenuth looked at her tea, but didn’t partake at first. Instead, the sharp-faced woman looked at Aralim. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.
Aralim smiled. “How directly I can answer that question depends on if I can trust you. But, in essence, it sounds like you’ve also had the misfortune of doing a favour for Ovoe the Keeper, and I was hoping your insights might make it less unpleasant for me.”
“Ovoe helped me greatly,” Vaenuth said. She was clearly not a woman to mince words—which was refreshing after that afternoon with Miss Athanu. Vaenuth leaned back and tilted her single curtain of hair down over her ear. “The only thing I’ve wanted in the past six years has been accomplished because of him. He’s since offered me work I do not want, and I politely turned it down, but I’m not wont to betray my amiable acquaintance to him. He helped me do the world a great good.” She said it with a bitter smile.
“Out of curiosity, what did you accomplish?”
Vaenuth looked at the tea again, and frowned. “I don’t know you, sir. I killed a slaver, but trust does not come easy for me.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve grown accustomed to people knowing me,” Aralim said, grinning. He took a sip of tea and gave her a proper explanation. “I’ve become too prominent of a foreigner in these parts. I am Aralim, Walker of the Path. I’ve wandered from south of any map you’ve read, in pursuit of those that have the power to shape their own destiny. Miresh was capable of harnessing visions without training, and Hayan killed the slaver that captured him. And I would very much like to hear your story so that I may learn from it for my trials ahead.”
“I don’t know Hayan,” Vaenuth said. “But I also killed the slaver who captured me.”
Aralim blinked. A moment passed, in silence. He was not certain how to respond, when she had made it clear this was a private subject to herself.
“That’s what Ovoe helped me accomplish. Killing the bastard at last.”
Aralim nodded. “I’m glad you could achieve that, but you had already escaped? Why return to finish him off?” he asked.
Vaenuth shrugged. “I escaped a few years ago. When I was 21. The world is not an easy place for a 21-year-old with a brand.” She didn’t look at her stump—her arm had been amputated at the elbow. Thanks to his brush with bandits in his homeland, Aralim could imagine the horrors she had faced in her life. She was still ten years his younger, at least, but she had probably faced far more than he.
But she had faced them, he thought. “I imagine it isn’t,” he said. “Yet you seemed to have surpassed such challenges.”
“Not really. I hid who I was for a long time, until I could be accepted because of my business acumen. Now I’ve crossed the world to kill a man who had already ceased his evils, in a land where I was and still am powerless to cause change. The real challenge would be to stop slavery,” she said, with a scoff.
“You think so little of your actions?” Aralim asked.
She bristled, but he could not tell what phased her about the question. She took a sip of her tea at last, to think, and lowered it when she was ready. “I just don’t see myself as overcoming challenges. This is a world where people do what they want, so I did what I wanted. And I will continue to do so in the foreseeable future, by putting more snakes around me than humans.
Aralim chuckled in surprise and a small bit of delight. “Such an attitude resembles those far along the Path. The capacity to do despite the wishes of others, and a disregard for the world at large… you’re a very interesting woman. I think Miresh should like to meet you.”
“Oh.” Vaenuth smiled, and held her tea in one hand. A green serpent made of ink was coiled around the arm, its face hidden by the mug she had sipped. The woman tilted her head, and squinted. “How old is she?”
“She’s twelve,” Aralim replied.
Vaenuth lowered her face. “I didn’t tell you what sort of slave I was,” she said. “I don’t think I have much to say that would help a girl that young.”
“It’s more your outlook she would enjoy, rather than your knowledge. She is a very unique Walker of the Path,” Aralim explained. There were moments throughout their conversation where Vaenuth looked surprised by Aralim’s lack of response to her grim history or her scanty level of dress.
Vaenuth shrugged. “I’m very busy. I suppose I could make another trip into town in a few days, just before I leave?”
“However you please. Join us for dinner if you like. Food tends to make the trip more worth while,” Aralim said, raising his tea in a mock toast.
Vaenuth smiled, and stood up.
“Oh, before you leave. I have a question for you to consider, about my troubles ahead.”
“About your troubles?” Vaenuth clarified.
Aralim nodded and frowned. “As I said, Ovoe has asked an unfortunate favor of me. I know you prefer snakes to people, but I’d like to avoid murdering a slave woman.”
“You’ve caught my attention,” Vaenuth said, and sat back down.
“I have yet to speak with the woman, but I’m sure she’d prefer life, and you’ll be leaving town in a few days,” Aralim said.
Vaenuth considered his plan. “Would this put me at odds with Ovoe? He wants this woman dead?”
“If Ovoe thinks she’s alive, I’ll likely be killed. I was going to use your caravan to ‘dispose of the body.’ He’ll hopefully assume he got what he wanted and that you helped.”
“Tell me why Ovoe wants her dead, and I’ll agree to help.”
Aralim ran a hand through his hair. “She’s the Emperor’s favorite escort. There’s a longer story, but that’s the basic reason.”
Vaenuth’s face darkened and she looked down. Her hair hung over one eye as she hung her head forward. A moment later, she looked up. “If she wants to come with us, she can speak with myself, Banno, or Tagg, at our caravan outside the city. She’ll have to pull her weight though; she won’t be a royal consort any longer.”
“Good,” Aralim replied. “I’ll hopefully have more for you at dinner, whenever you’re free.”
After Vaenuth had left, Aralim called Ko in to clean up the tea mugs—Vaenuth had barely touched hers.
It was a long walk across the city to the Evening Lion. Zarru had sent a courier to invite Aralim to meet with her this morning. Beyond all the grim tidings, Aralim was curious to see what Tag’na’s lost love looked like—Ovoe had said that to the Eternal Emperor, she was the reflection of his long past wife.
He barely reached the tavern before the streets flooded with noon traffic, workers looking for food and respite. The morning was quiet at the brothel and tavern, and the women were all clothed, if scantily. He had not visited the tavern at night yet and had no plans to. A broad-shouldered man with a skull tattooed on his cheek stared at Aralim as he entered the inn. The bouncer didn’t stop him, but the message was clear.
In addition to the bouncer, Aralim quickly noticed an increase in security at the Evening Lion. There were guards in the corners, and eyes followed him to the front desk, and then up to the room where he was directed. It was not until he entered that he had privacy from armed sentries.
Only a lone black woman waited for Aralim within. She had short, strait hair, undyed, and no piercings or tattoos that he could see. Her smooth skin was only blocked by a thin pair of breeches and an enormous black scarf. She smiled, when he entered. “I’m Zarru,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”
“I’m Aralim,” he replied. “And I will pass on the drink.”
“Do you mind if I drink?” she asked, softly.
Aralim smiled. “Not at all.” She had been sitting on the bed, but stood up to pour herself a small glass. Aralim sat down at the table, and she froze momentarily when she heard the wooden chair creak.
She turned around. “You said your visit concerns the Emperor. Would I be wrong in hoping it’s only because you want to enjoy my services after you heard about my relationship with the Emperor?”
“Unfortunately, you would be,” Aralim said. “I’m not quite over my late wife. Sorry.”
Zarru lifted her shoulders briefly, a casual shrug, and then quietly lifted a sheen burgundy robe from the cushions of the bed. She draped it around her shoulders. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him with more distress than her first smile. “If you intend to do me harm, you should know that you would forfeit your life. The Eternal Emperor cares a great deal for me,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but he could hear that it was a clear, gentle voice. She was timid, in appearance and demeanor, with a small nose and angled eyes.
“And I care for the Emperor a great deal. I just have a lot of questions that possibly only you could answer… possibly too many for one evening.”
“So you’re a spy,” Zarru said. “Why should I divulge any of his secrets to you?”
Aralim smiled and leaned his lantern staff against the wall behind him. “The most direct answer is that I’m working for the Emperor. Ask him if he trusts me the next time you visit. Or do you only engage in… business?
“I will then,” she said. She sat down on the bed.
Aralim stood up to go, but paused. Against the wall he had entered from was a four-foot painting in an ornate wooden frame. Stark mountains rose above dense jungles. The style was unique, but the quality was masterful. “That’s an impressive piece of art.”
She didn’t reply. He looked at her, and she still didn’t reply, but he waited an awkward moment longer. Finally, she shared. “… it was a gift,” she said.
“These don’t look like local trees. They remind me more of the North Isle… which I suppose your land knows as the Great Isle,” he said. “It must have cost quite a lot.”
“I’m sure it did,” Zarru replied. She smiled. “Most of the things in here cost that much.” There were other paintings, fabrics, glass and silverware, jewelry. And her.
“Considering your line of work is normally grouped with disparity, you seem to do quite well for yourself,” Aralim said.
Zarru blinked, her wide white eyes shining out of the darkness of her canopy bed. “What do you mean, grouped with disparity? Speak plainly—I am not shy.”
“Most courtesans are treated more like slaves than employees. Yet, you have the air of a business woman when it comes to these quarters,” Aralim said. Her timid appearance and her fearful reception of him at first were likely all an act, he was realizing.
Zarru sat up straighter. “I have earned a position wherein I choose my own clients. The tavern does not run that way, so in a sense I have become my own business.”
“If you don’t mind my curiosity. Would you do it all again? Was this position worth the journey?” Aralim asked. He leaned on his lantern staff.
The prostitute laughed quickly, then cut the sound short. “I was born with the right face. Would you choose a different face if you could do it all again?”
“People often wish to walk a different path, not realizing we all walk the same one,” Aralim said. “But I’ll spare you discussions of the Path for now. They tend to put people on edge.”
Zarru shook her head. “It’s alright. I thought this might go a lot worse than it did. Not many people know who my wealthiest patron is. I’d only ask you keep it that way.”
“That needn’t be a concern. Secrecy is what’s keeping me alive for now,” he explained.
“Us both, I suspect,” Zarru said. She rose and leaned against the corner post of her bedframe. “I’ll ask him about you, as you suggested.”
Aralim smiled, though the delay worried him. Vaenuth would not wait as long as Zarru might. But for them all, he kept his face friendly, and said, “Then we’ll have more to talk about soon.”