It's Not a Brothel

“Rakkan, did you really drag your sister here without explaining anything?” Madame demanded.

He shrugged. “Trust me, Morenna’s not someone you can drag anywhere.”

“Well, kindly bring her up to speed, and both of you please refrain from further yelling. We are maintaining a certain atmosphere. Princess, I’m afraid guests are not permitted to carry weapons inside the salon. You may leave your sword with the front desk, and I swear upon the honor of my house it will be handled with the proper respect and returned to you.”

“There’s…not really any point,” Morenna said.

“Rest assured,” Madame said patiently, “in this house we understand the importance of a personal weapon to a Miurdan.”

Morenna drew Blackwing and set it upon the desk. As soon as the young woman reached for it, Morenna summoned the sword back into her hand, causing the desk girl to jump.

“No point,” she repeated.

“In fact,” Madame replied with a thin smile, “that’s perfect, your Highness. Clearly you need not fear losing access to it. Meanwhile, my clients come here for a relaxed, comforting, safe environment, in which no one goes armed.”

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Morenna sheathed Blackwing, then unfastened its scabbard from her belt and held out the sheathed blade; this time the desk girl accepted the sword with both hands, bowing and handling it as reverently as if it were the Emperor’s own crown.

“Thank you, Princess,” Madame said with a bow. “Please, follow me; a suitable alcove awaits your convenience.”

She held aside one of the wall hangings, courteously ushering them into an equally lavish hallways behind.

“Why am I going along with this?” Morenna muttered as she and Rakkan followed the proprietess. “I could just leave you to whatever nonsense you’ve gotten yourself into. Frankly I should.”

“I’ve been wondering the same,” Rakkan agreed, grinning. “Dunno about you, but I’m looking forward to finding out the answer!”

She scowled at him…and kept following.

Madame passed several doorways before stopping at one, pulling back its curtain and bowing as she gestured them inside. “A private alcove for your stay this evening. Rakkan, I trust you will familiarize your sister with the expectations of the establishment. I’ll bill your account,” she added a little more archly.

“You’re the best, Madame,” he said, winking. “Just what I expect from my fiancee.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I know I don’t encourage you; sometimes I wonder if I should start slapping you or something. A courtesan is already on the way to entertain you.”

“A courtesan?” Morenna hissed as Rakkan shooed her through the door and Madame swept off back down the hall. “Rakkan! Did you bring me to a brothel?”

“Morenna, why would I bring my sister to a brothel?”

“How should I know? Why do you do anything?”

“For that matter, why would I bring myself to a brothel? I’m twelve, Morenna, there are none in this city that’d serve me.”

“You make it sound like you’ve checked!”

“Well, not all of them. Yet!”

They were in a small and opulently comfortable nook, with a low table in the middle and sofas along both walls half-buried in cushions. Opposite the door, there was no wall, leaving the nook to open onto a wide space which had to be the center of the building; more such apertures lined it on all sides, with enough distance between them to ensure privacy. Layered curtains of gauzy fabric hung over the opening, allowing them to see out, but hiding them from view.

The central chamber was also beautiful and cozy, its furnishings expensive and deeply padded; comfortable chairs and sofas were interspersed with tables, arranged loosely around a quietly splashing fountain. Several men and women lounged about, enjoying snacks and wine and clearly, company. Though the patrons were both male and female, the young women present were clearly employees—all were strikingly attractive and wore a uniform that tastefully showed off more skin than would have been acceptable outside these walls. One courtesan was softly playing a flute, another was reading aloud from a book of poetry, and two more were engaged in quiet conversation with customers.

“This is a salon, your Highness, not a brothel,” said another young lady in the uniform of the house, entering their alcove with a tray in her hands. “Our guests come here to be entertained by attractive companions skilled in arts of conversation, music, charm, and versed in all manner of subjects which a weary professional might enjoy discussing. All those who enter the House of Reprieve depart calmer and happier than they arrive. If it please you, Princess, I am Jemiina, and I have the honor of making your stay a pleasant one. Hello again, Rakkan,” she added with a wry smile. “I’m always relieved to see you’ve made it here un-murdered.”

The tray she set down on their table held cups, a pot of fragrant herbal tea, and small finger pastries. Jemiina began pouring them cups, her every movement as smooth and elegantly precise as a dance.

“It’s not like they don’t try,” Rakkan grinned, “but I must live on, in order to gaze upon your smiling face, Jemiina.”

“And gaze into my cleavage, as usual. I really hope you have better manners with young ladies not being paid to put up with you.”

“So,” Morenna said suspiciously, “there aren’t private rooms for, you know…”

“That is not against the rules,” Jemiina said with a smile, handing her a cup of tea, “but most visits do not end up that way, your Highness. Courtesans may and do take clients to bed, but only if considerably impressed, and persuaded. If anything, it is more difficult to seduce a savvy professional than a girl picked up in the market. Our guests do not, as a rule, come here for that.”

“So it’s…like prostitution, but you make them pay a cover charge for the chance to try and get laid? That is…a brilliant racket. You’re a genius.”

“Morenna, this is not a brothel,” Rakkan said in exasperation. “You can’t buy sex here! And these ladies appreciate being called whores about as much as you would.”

“I’ve been called worse. I even deserved some of it.”

“Don’t worry, my Prince,” said Jemiina, her smile undiminished. “I was forewarned that our new guest was socialized in a… Well, I believe raccoons were mentioned?”

“Also bats,” Morenna said, scowling, “and mold. I’m collecting a list of reasons to stab you later, Rakkan.”

“As long as it’s not in here,” he replied. “They’ve got rules about that. And apparently it’s quite hard to get blood out of silk and velvet! Any stains would be charged to my account, so keep it in your pants.”

“How often have you been here?” Morenna demanded.

“Oh, he’s here at least once a week,” said Jemiina. “And no, teenagers and especially children are not generally permitted in the salon. You, Princess, are too young to be allowed in except in the company of an established member, and Rakkan especially has no business in a place like this. Not now, and even more so, not when he first started showing up.”

“And yet,” Morenna drawled.

Jemiina chuckled softly. “Madame succumbed to the twin pressures of a chance to build a connection with the royal family, and providing this foolish boy a place in the city where he’ll at least be safe from assailants, since there was never any chance of persuading him to just stay in that nice, secure castle upon the plateau.”

“Right,” Rakkan said pointedly, meeting Morenna’s eyes. “Safe and secure, that’s our castle. Sister, how many times has someone tried to kill you in just the last week?”

“Does yesterday only count as one? There were about fifty of them.”

Jemiina almost dropped the teapot.