“Ach, Zu Bu!” one of Madame Sho’s patrons shouted from across the common area. “Come and join us for a drink. Get us a drink, will ya, beautiful?”

  The serving girl, an eager companion in training, ran her fingers through the man’s curly chest hair as she pushed herself up.

  Saya was a light-skinned beauty in a sea of dark-skinned patrons. Zu had spoken to her briefly upon their arrival, curious about Madame Sho’s newest recruit. She was from the Chilika region to the west of the Terythalan Mountains, which made her a rarity in Banx. Her bright blue gaze bored into Zu’s soul, commanding his attention as she brushed her flowing sandy hair away from prominent breasts. Like many novices of her trade, she arched her back so they appeared larger. She would soon learn that men never cared about the size of a breast when it was bare.

  Zu wanted nothing to do with the rowdy bunch, who’d been drinking and yelling half the night. He preferred the quietude afforded by Madame Sho’s regulars. During the warmer seasons, these sorts of crowds invariably wandered through Brogh. But they had bought rounds for all the staff and patrons in the common area the previous evening, so Zu waved in response to their greeting and veered off course to sit with them.

  A raucous cheer erupted when he took a place at the table. Two of the party were so drunk they shouldn’t have been conscious. Another pair had fallen asleep, heads tilted back and mouths agape, but woke from the noise. Their leader—a man of enough renown that Zu recognized his face, but not enough to know his name—raised his mug in salute.

  “Zu Bu!” he roared, loud and obnoxious.

  “Zu Bu!” his compatriots echoed.

  The men returned to groping their companions with the ignorant entitlement of people who believed themselves superior. Hungry hands tore at the sheer clothing, thirsty tongues slipped along the slick, oiled skin of the women who doted on them…so long as coins continued to flow from pouches and pockets.

  A burly human bit his companion’s nipple. She drew a pained intake of breath but waved off help with one hand as the other slid two more coins from the pouch he’d so cleverly placed upon his hardened member.

  “I saw Yechvan here with you earlier.” The leader pulled a woman onto his lap, grinding against her. “Is he still upstairs?”

  “Aye,” Zu said.

  The man leaned in and said in a whisper as loud as his yell, “Then we salute you, the true reason we won the war! I can’t believe the little qince is holding the Inigan in Yechvan’s honor when everyone knows it should be to honor you.”

  “I am but one man,” Zu replied.

  “Ach, but so is he.”

  “Don’t be daft. In war, Yechvan Uldi is the one who decides when to engage and when to pull back. He is the one who positions the troops to maximize their every effort. When I speak to the soldiers, it is to hear their tales of valor and woe, to celebrate or console them. When Yechvan speaks to them, he hears which fighters under his command are still green—whether they’ve seen two battles or two hundred. In war, I am a known quantity of one. One person cannot win a war. When Yechvan leads his people, his quantity is boundless. He is the brains behind the formations, the power that binds the shield wall, the string that propels the arrow, the whisper in the ear and on the lips as his soldiers repeat their mantra. On the battlefield, Yechvan Bu is a hundred hundred men and women all at once. To overlook him is to invite death. When our comrades step onto the field of battle with us, they try to impress me. They want me to recognize their worth, but the approval they truly seek is his. You should fight by his side before you make such hasty and foolish judgments.”

  Zu stood and downed the stunned man’s mead. He smirked at the tiny human and set down the cup. “Enjoy your evening,” he said. “This round’s on me.” He turned on his heel and strode to the bar.

  Madame Sho, perched on her pillowed stool, smiled at Zu, her pristine teeth gleaming in the firelit room. “An impassioned speech. Although you must admit that ‘Yechvan Bu’ doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  Zu laughed heartily. He kissed her cheek and pulled up a seat beside her.

  Madame Sho was a slight woman, easily underestimated—a mistake none made more than once. Honey-brown hair tickled her muted jawline, the skin smooth save for a scar that ran from her chin to one ear. Born a slave in the Five Nations, the fierce girl had escaped and run to freedom after Grusk conquered Banx. She’d had more trouble escaping the Five Nations accent, which had kept her shackled far longer than her iron manacles, despite having lived in Brogh her entire adult life.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The brand on her shoulder, that link to her terrible past, she made it a point to display. Her exquisite, lavish gowns were expertly tailored to accentuate the mark, to remind each of her patrons that no trouble they brought could compare to the horrors she’d seen. To remind each of her workers that she would never dream of treading upon them as her masters had done to her. To remind herself of the importance of her work, of showing dignity to every individual who stepped through her doors. Most importantly, to remind herself of her ultimate purpose: to buy and free as many slaves from the Five Nations as her years and coins would allow.

  “Are you truly going to pay for their drinks?” Her words held a slight slur behind her slow tongue.

  “Why not? I’ve a feeling their purses will be far lighter than they expect when they awaken.” Zu chuckled. “It isn’t as though I’ve much use for money.”

  “Your friend has a chair to replace.”

  “I’ll pay for that as well.” Zu dismissed her remark.

  “I don’t like it when people disturb my peace.”

  “I understand. It won’t happen again, Sudei,” Zu said solemnly.

  She drew on her long pipe and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “It had better not.”

  “No one was hurt,” Zu argued.

  “If Ysla does not wish to have him back, then I must honor her request. I have known my fair share of abusers, Zu.” She straightened to more prominently display the brand. The thick scars of a dozen knife cuts surrounded the puckered flesh—and those she showed were only a sample of the grotesque artwork her masters had carved into her skin.

  “He isn’t like them, and you know it.”

  “I hope for everyone’s sake that you are right.” She sighed through another cloud of smoke. “Ah, I shouldn’t trust you as much as I do.”

  “It isn’t favoritism if no one else knows,” Zu whispered in her ear.

  The chime of her sweet laughter would continue to draw Zu in until his dying day.

  “If only all my patrons could be as pleasant as you.” She nodded in the direction of the rowdy group.

  “Have they given you any trouble?”

  “Nothing my people can’t handle. They tried to ruffle Ennis but were warned.”

  “Ennis,” Zu mused, thinking of the imposing blooded man. A regular with a preference for men—well, one in particular. His proclivities were not popular with the closed-minded.

  “I suppose I may get around to doing something about Ennis around the same time as Yechvan. It isn’t healthy for him to spend all his time and money on one who doesn’t return his affection.”

  “But love is not so easily deterred.”

  “I never took you for a romantic,” Sudei said.

  Zu flashed her a mischievous grin. “I find new love with every visit.”

  “That one will cause many a heartache once I set her free.” She said of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed temptress from Chilika.

  “She’ll be a boon to your coffers, no doubt,” Zu agreed. “What is her story?”

  “When she’s ready, I’ll be sure to let you know. And then you may ask her yourself.”

  “Oh, that is cruel.”

  “See to your friend, Zu. And send word ahead of your next visit. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”

  “Ooh,” he said, hopping off his stool and kissing her full on the lips.

  Savoring the smoke on his tongue all the way up the stairs, Zu imagined a hundred hundred possibilities for what Sudei’s surprise might be. Not one of them unpleasant.

  Ysla turned toward Zu as he breached her doorway, worry painted on her face as if the artist’s intent. She sat on the floor at Yechvan’s side in the darkest corner of the room, her hands resting on his. A white dress showed off her shapely body, the fabric alluding to the dark flesh beneath where the cloth clung to her oiled skin.

  “So?” she asked. “Was she very angry?”

  “Who could remain angry in my presence?” Zu asked with a smile. But he watched his oldest friend with concern, took in the broken chair and the blood-smeared wall. What had Yechvan been thinking? Which of his spirits could have riled him so?

  He wished Ulula hadn’t gone to visit her parents. She had a way of drawing Yechvan out of his shell, a technique that Zu had yet to master.

  “See, Yechvan, everything is fine,” Ysla said, wrapping an arm around his waist and sidling into him.

  Yechvan dragged his gaze up to Ysla’s and Zu’s in turn. He shrugged and retreated further into himself. His olive-green skin was pale, his face drawn, shoulders slumped. He was a shadow of himself, ripped apart by his ghosts, his injuries, his distaste for war. Zu knew Yechvan’s heart to be tender. It was only a matter of time before his keen intellect tore him to shreds.

  “We should get going, Yog,” Zu said.

  Yechvan replied with a grunt. Ysla disentangled herself from him and stood, her eyes probing his. Unaware, he gripped the bed frame with his bandaged hand and pulled himself up.

  “You’ll return after the fete across the lake?” Ysla asked.

  “We shall,” Zu responded. “You should come to the Inigan. It is fun to watch the contests and listen to the drums, the songs, the bards and minstrels. If you come on Banad, eight days hence, there will be diviners from a nearby temple. They are to perform a rite to give the crowd a vision. It should be quite the spectacle.”

  “I am not sure Madame Sho can spare me,” Ysla said.

  “Even for one day?”

  “The festivities will draw many visitors. We are sure to be busy. I will ask, but I can make no promises.” Ysla tried to elicit any response from Yechvan, but he was swallowed up in his own world.

  “Well then,” Zu said, breaking the weighted silence as he steered Yechvan to the door. “We will bring you stories if you cannot make it, but we hope to see you there.”

  Yechvan recovered his wits long enough to apologize to Madame Sho for his behavior while Zu said his goodbyes, but he grew quiet and despondent again on the road to Banton.

  “Do me a favor, Yog,” Zu said after a time. “Open yourself up during the Inigan. Let someone in. Perhaps a candle is what you need to banish the demons that haunt you in the dark of night.”

  “If only that were the case.”

  “What harm would it do if you tried? Could it get any worse?”

  “Don’t you start,” Yechvan warned.

  “Fine,” Zu said, craning his neck to look Yechvan in the eye. “But you know as well as I, it can’t.”