Page 6 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

Two

"You bastard!" I shouted, throwing my cards on the table in defeat.

Rhychulson Nygaard, the good-looking, smiling-eyed son of the Knight of Cold Garden, laughed loudly as he swept the pile of gold and silver coins over the edge of the table. He let them drop into his hand with a clink. It was an obscene sum of money.

Rhychulson yelped suddenly and scooted back. He gave Petta a dark, accusing look. I realized she had kicked him under the table when she did it again. “You vile witch!" he groaned, scooting his chair out of her reach.

"Petta is a sore loser," I said, waving away some of the smoke from Arkadian's pipe that had wafted in front of my face. He was smoking a mixture of some herb and godsgrass that filled the air with a cloying scent.

He offered me the pipe, but I shook my head.

I had learned the lesson long ago that one should not lightly partake in smoking godsgrass unless one wanted to be chased down the street by angry, red devils.

At least that was what it looked like when the devils had been chasing Rhychulson through Merchant's Square.

To everyone else, it looked like a well-dressed young lord flailing about, falling over his own feet, crying about invisible demons.

"Another hand?" Rhychulson asked hopefully, collecting the cards from the table.

"No," we all said in tandem.

I showed him my empty coin purse. "I have nothing left!"

"And I only have enough left so that Papa will not be too cross with me for spending my allowance," Petta added, pouting. She was ridiculously pretty with her pale, straw-colored hair in a pile of curls atop her head.

"Papa will give you more, Petta," Rhychulson claimed. "Come on, you guys. I don't want to go home."

"Then go out front and have Anetta find you some company for the night," Petta said, drawing her brows together. "I'm tired, dear Rhychie!"

It was Rhychulson's turn to pout. "You know I don't like to—" he lowered his voice as though we were not the only ones in the private room, "—to pay for it," he finished.

I laughed hard. We were frequent guests in the private card rooms of Windemere's most exclusive pleasure house, and he wanted us to believe he didn't sometimes wander into the upstairs portions of the establishment.

Arkadian gave me a look, widening his eyes meaningfully.

I realized Rhychulson was not laughing. Instead, he was looking at me as though I had said something rather mean.

"Well, how am I to know that you have honor when I am seated next to the Mouse's Ear's most valued customer?"

Arkadian gave me a shove with his big shoulder, but it was true, and he couldn't deny it. He was quite shameless about the fact that he took his pleasure where he could.

The courtesans I had befriended in the three years we'd been playing cards at the brothel all thought the sun rose and set on Arkadian's well-formed ass.

It was a sentiment they took great pains to remind me of every chance they got.

Never mind that the thought of Arkadian's bare ass made me want to vomit.

"Well, if you must know, Sera," Rhychulson said, using a shortened form of my middle name, Seraphem, as we all did when I was in the city. "Someone has captured my heart. I'm afraid I've found myself quite in love."

"Oh," I said, feeling rather bad for teasing him. "I'm sorry Rhych. Who is it?"

I belatedly realized he was coming around the table, lowering himself beside my chair. I leaned away as he closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and began moving toward me. "You," he said, lips puckered.

Arkadian roared with laughter behind me as I placed a boot against Rhychulson's midsection and shoved. He fell back and rolled, holding his side as he laughed.

"Twat!" I said, laughing despite myself.

We filed out of the Mouse's Ear, spilling out into the darkness of the almost chill autumn night.

Petta turned to look back at us. "Whose turn is it to take it?" she asked.

"Sera's," Arkadian and Rhychulson said in unison.

I held out my hand and Rhychulson dropped the purse of his winnings into my palm.

"Want me to tag along?" Arkadian asked.

"No. Madia's father will be asleep. I'll have to be quiet."

He nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and regarding me.

Petta and Rhychulson's carriage rolled up, wheels clattering over the gravel drive. After a raucous goodbye, they left.

Arkadian took his hands from his pockets. "I'll be in the taproom. Come find me so I can see you home."

I nodded, turning to leave.

"Do you have your sword, Sera?"

I nodded again, patting my side where the special scabbard had been sewn into the lining of my long coat so that my shorter than usual short sword could hang unseen inside.

Even if it hadn’t been priceless Obeskan steel, ripe for the plucking for any thief in the city, the picture of a woman carrying a sword on the streets of Albiyn would draw more eyes than I wanted on me.

Arkadian nodded. "Be careful," he said and turned back to the brothel.

"Of course," I called, rolling my eyes. I turned to trot away across the courtyard, following an alleyway to the slums that lay sleeping just behind the opulent buildings that lined this end of Antevemer street.

The slums were a reeking, muddy collection of hovels that looked like haphazard children's blocks stacked on top of each other.

Along the narrow street before me, lines had been strung between the buildings where clothes would hang out to dry in the sunshine.

Most of the spider web of lines were empty now, aside from a few that looked forgotten in the shadowy darkness.

That section of the Windemerian slums was where the washerwomen who collected the soiled linens from the brothels would spend the days washing, drying, and folding.

They would deliver the laundry to the pleasure houses in the morning and return with new cart loads of soiled bedding to begin the process again.

The length of the washerwomen's street was a testament to how many brothels lined Antevemer.

Most were not advertised with a welcoming sign, like the Mouse's Ear.

Most were not marked at all. They were simply small, dilapidated houses on either side of the street where untold horrors happened behind closed doors.

It was another thing I would change as soon as I had the power to do so.

I found Madia's hovel, which was always a little more neat-looking than the others. It had long white curtains hanging behind the filmy glass windows, and the inside glowed with a soft, golden light.

I stepped to the window and peered inside. I dared not knock, since Madia's father lay in the little cot on the eastern wall. His eyes were closed, and his features set in a grimace of pain. He had been bedridden for a decade, sick with something the healers could not identify.

Madia saw me within a few heartbeats, and her face spread in a soft smile.

She stepped outside, and I placed the coins in her hand. She swept them into her apron and held them still so that they did not make a sound. "Thank you, Aelia," she said.

Madia had always known who I was. She served as a nursemaid in the castle when I was young until her father's illness forced her to retreat to the slums so that she could work while she cared for him.

She had been a surrogate mother to me, and I was heartbroken when she left her post.

"You know you don't have to keep doing this," Madia said, indicating the empty purse in my hand.

"I know."

Madia had needed enough coin to summon a healer for her father from the Athelen Citadel, something that cost more than a fortune in gold.

I had taken to filching my own jewelry for her until I was caught at it, and then I had begun pushing my friends into high stakes card games.

Sometimes I lost, and it cost me more than it helped, but then I began to unapologetically cheat with the help of a well-placed courtesan in the room.

When I was ultimately caught by Arkadian, I was forced to tell the truth and a tradition had been born. The four of us had been playing cards with our monthly allowances for more than a year. We played, drank, and laughed until all our gold was lost. Then we took turns delivering it to Madia.

We could have just given it to her outright, and once or twice when we could not gather for our games, we did. But it was our weekly tradition, and we all enjoyed the time spent away from the relative weight of our respective duties.

The healer came last spring. He took Madia's chest of gold and one cursory look at her father. He told her there was nothing he could do. Antonin's death would come, and his magic would not stop it.

Still, we played cards and took turns delivering the winnings to the washerwoman.

Sometimes we made a game of it, inviting another noble or two and cheating spectacularly with the help of the courtesans.

But it was all worth it, especially when we learned that Madia had begun dispersing the coins amongst the people of the slums.

After I left Madia, I took a detour. I knew Arkadian would probably be neck-deep in a whiskey bottle and in no hurry to get home.

I walked along the little canal that ran through the slums, the muddy brown water choked with garbage and debris, and I planned. I would change this city. I would make the lives of these people better.

Windemere was the wealthiest kingdom in the world, in terms of gold, at least. The godsgrass we exported across the globe made our coffers overflow. There was no world where it made sense for people in a kingdom like that to be forced to live like the inhabitants of the slums.

I was making plans for how I would clean the water in the canal when I felt like someone was watching me. I stopped, sliding my hand into my coat to clutch my sword and turning in a slow circle.

My imagination, I reasoned.

I began to walk again as the wind lifted the curls that had come loose from my braid. It was an odd breeze, warm even in the chill of the late autumn evening.