Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of Rivers of the Sky - my fantasy novel about loss, redemption, and the mysteries behind the Great Rivers of Transmigration.

The Golden Zinnia was a tired old brothel that stood on a tired old hill two miles from Scarlet Hollow’s outer wall. It certainly wasn’t the most inviting of places--not with its broken roof tiles and weathered façade and partly rotted mortise and tenon joints--but to Adrian it had served as a welcome respite after his wife’s death some years ago.

He lowered his head and sneaked past the tired old gatekeeper, careful to avoid familiar eyes. Inside, the common room was crowded with patrons who were laughing and shouting and downing huge gulps of flavorful wine from earthenware cups. Adrian hopped over a sozzled fool who lay curled up on the floor, then weaved around a serving girl who nearly spilled a tray of jellied meats on him. He paused to ogle a half-dressed bawd emerging from the private screens beyond the common area, only to be distracted by the cheers of the rowdy gamblers in the rear dens.

The proprietor was a short fellow with a short temper, and right now he was shouting at his bruisers and his servers and whoever else set him off. Adrian usually found the man terribly obnoxious, but today he was glad for the distraction. It allowed him to reach the stairs unnoticed, though his ascent was a bit clumsy since his legs still ached from his frantic escape from the city. Sure, Adrian was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop to rest. Not yet. Bands of mercenaries and companies of soldiers were surely being organized to hunt down the fugitive. How large the price for Adrian’s capture?

The very thought unnerved him. He wasn’t supposed to be seen--he’d assured Niall that he wouldn’t be seen--but he was seen, so now Adrian was alone and without supplies and standing at the doorstep of a four-month journey. He needed help, and he could think of only one person who could help. Jessamine.

He rounded the corridor and approached the first private chamber on the left. Vacant. Maybe she was still downstairs? Adrian moved to the balustrade to overlook the rowdy common room below, his eyes focusing on the bawds. Some were comely, others were curvy, and a few were both, but not one was Jessamine. Where are you, goddamn it.

“You look in need of company.”

Adrian turned. A woman approached, dark of hair and clad in little more than a red chemise. When she joined him near the balustrade, he couldn’t help but notice how tall she was--even barefoot she still managed to stand eye to eye with Adrian. Not that Adrian was ever the tallest man in a room, but he usually stood above most women.

“Is Jessamine here?” Adrian asked. “She’s not in her room.”

She frowned playfully at that, pretending to be insulted. Her face wasn’t unattractive by any means, though she would’ve been prettier with a smaller nose and without those dark circles around her eyes. “She’s with a client,” the bawd said. “Some wealthy robe from the imperial palace, a secretary to a high minister or some other.” Her bangles clinked as she motioned to a private room on her right.

Adrian bowed his head and headed for the room. The bawd called after him. “I said she’s with someone.”

Adrian ignored that. He raised the door curtain and went inside.

Jessamine stood in the center of the room before a large wood-framed featherbed. At the sound of his footfalls she turned. Tresses of brown hair flowed past her shoulders like a shimmering cascade, framing a narrow face and eyes as warm as autumn leaf litter. Though she was a pleasing enough sight from the neck up, Adrian couldn’t help but stare lower, at the lovely curves accentuated by the tight floral slip she wore.

A man sat up from the featherbed, bare-chested and potbellied but still wearing his trousers, thank the gods. He frowned at the visitor, but made no move other than to scratch his hairy chest with a pair of hairy fingers. His rheumy, drunken eyes followed Jessamine as she stepped away to cover herself with a silk robe. He seemed disappointed to see her fully clothed again, but Adrian couldn’t fault him for that.

Jessamine turned to Adrian and puckered her lips. “You’ll have to come back, handsome.”

Adrian motioned her closer. His voice was low and grave. “I need to talk to you now. I’m leaving the city, I’m leaving the north.”

She stared at him for a long moment, so long he wondered if she was just going to outright deny his request. But then she turned and padded back to her client. She placed his silk outer robe and scarf and pearl-studded shoes by the bedrail and bent down to pick up his sash and tunic. “Dress yourself. We’re done.”

Adrian had seen pomegranates that were less red than this man’s face. “We’re done? No, no, no, you don’t tell me when we’re done, I tell you when we’re done. Do I need to remind you of just who I am? I’m the assistant secretary to the Minister of--”

The tunic landed on his face, silencing him. “I know who you are,” Jessamine said. “You still have to leave.”

Adrian couldn’t help but smile at her. Such a spirited little lady.

The man huffed and puffed for a while, but in the end he pulled on his robe and shoes and fastened his scarf. He looked a bit more distinguished in his attire, certainly an improvement over the paunchy old frog he was without. He stomped to the door like a spoiled child, glaring at Adrian the whole way. Adrian replied with a smirk that surely did nothing but infuriate him more. Wasn’t the shrewdest move but Adrian wasn’t about to let some imperial lickspittle throw his weight around.

The nobleman gone, Jessamine was left shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have done that. That wasn’t some no-name fool, Adrian, that was--”

Adrian cut her off. “I need coin, and I need a horse--and not some sorry nag, I need a courser capable of riding all the way to the southern coast. Please, Jessa, I need your help.”

Jessamine threw her arms around Adrian and kissed him. Her lips tasted of citrus and cinnamon, and so comforting was her embrace that he couldn’t find the strength to pull away. Adrian could feel his baser urges overbearing the practicality of reason. Jessamine was well trained in the art of lovemaking, which meant she knew just how to touch him, just how to move her body against his. When their lips parted she purred in his ear, her hands moving from his shoulders to his chest and stomach, then lower to his--

Adrian pushed her away.

Her face sank into a childlike pout, but at last she seemed to grasp the urgency of the situation. “You really are leaving.”

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then without a word she went over to open a trunk beside her bed, pulling out a leather purse and tossing it to him. Adrian untied the thongs and looked inside. Strings of coin, two hundred shimmering ounces at least. She also fastened him in a lightweight traveling cloak, and handed him a sheathed knife. By the gods she was good to him, and he told her that.

“You’ve always been my favorite,” she replied.

Adrian believed her. Why shouldn’t he? He wasn’t considered an uncomely man; no, he had a look that was both rugged and playful, along with a head of thick brown hair that complemented perfectly the richness of his dark eyes. And though he could stand to be a little taller and perhaps hold a little more muscle, he generally had little to dislike about himself--well, except for his burned hand of course.

“The stable master recently took in a charger,” she told him. “Needs to be groomed and re-shod, but it was once a soldier’s horse, well trained in single-handed commands and subtle aids.”

“What about the stable master? He won’t be happy.”

“Don’t fret over that oaf, I’ll handle him.” Her dark eyes blinked, and a frown slowly found her face. “Adrian, what’s happened to you, what’s wrong?”

Adrian sighed and shook his head. “Listen to me, Jessa, tell no one I was here. Do you understand?”

She nodded at that. “Were you not seen coming in?”

He shook his head. “Just that client of yours and some bawd, but neither knows who I am.”

Jessamine nodded. Her fingers moved down to raise the sleeve of his tunic and touch his single gloved hand. She never teased him about it, nor did she ever ask him to remove it, not even during the warmest summer nights. Few had ever shown him such consideration. That must’ve been why he favored her, as well. He favored her and now he wished he didn’t have to leave, but soon enough imperial guards would be crawling all over this brothel, questioning the patrons and panderers and of course the proprietor. Adrian had to get out of here, and he had to do it quickly. “The horse,” he said. “Please, Jessa.”

Without a word she led him down the stairs and into the stable yard. A young groom worked quickly to have the horse curried and saddled and ready to ride. It was a long-bodied beast with a slight swayback, dun in color save the black of its fetlocks and dorsal stripe. The grooms helped Adrian into the saddle since he was tired and weak and long out of practice. The horse adjusted immediately to his weight, as if Adrian had been its master for years. “I think I’m meant for this horse,” Adrian said. He patted the beast’s flank with his good hand, then reached up to take the reins. “Yes, I can feel it. We’re going to be together for a long time.”

Author's Note

Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read my material. Unfortunately I wasn't able to secure a contract for representation, but a few literary agents praised my writing and world-building.