left her sword in Walegrin’s care and made her way to the Street. It was nearing
dusk by the time she got there and some of the poorer, more worn women, who did
not dwell in any of the major establishments, were already on the prowl, though
the Aphrodisia was not yet open for business. One of them jeered at her as she
climbed the steps to the carved doors: ‘They won’t take your type there,
soldier-girl.’
She stood there uncomfortably, ignoring the comments from the street below and
remembering why she always came in the morning. The doorman recognized her,
however, and at length the doors swung open to her. The downstairs was beginning
to come to life with music and women dressed in brilliant, flower-coloured
dresses. Cythen watched them as the doorman guided her to the little room where
Myrtis was getting ready for the evening herself.
‘I had not expected to see you again,’ Myrtis said softly, rising from her
dressing table and discreetly closing the account book, which crowded out the
cosmetic bottles. ‘Your note said your meeting did not go well. You had not
mentioned returning here.’
‘The meeting didn’t go well.’ Cythen eyed Myrtis’s smooth, clenched white hands
as she spoke. There was a barely perceptible nervousness in the madam’s voice
and a barely perceptible rippling to the edge of the table rug beneath the
account books. Both could have any number of benign explanations, but Cythen had
brought Bekin here expecting, and paying for, her sister’s safety. Myrtis had
not provided the services she had been paid for and Cythen’s vengeance could be