To Spark a Fae War (The Fair Isle Trilogy #3) - Tessonja Odette Page 0,1

turns. Our eye contact is severed. My breath hitches as I watch him walk in the opposite direction. Any moment he could turn back around. As far as I know, most glamours end when eye contact is lost. However, I gave him an active order. Will the glamour last long enough for him to do as he was told? I didn’t stick around the dressmaker’s shop long enough this morning to find out what happened once I left with my borrowed goods.

I remain in place as I watch his unsteady progress back to the group. Only when he rejoins them and lets out a casual laugh do I feel I can breathe again. With a turn on my heel, I continue on my way.

To the Briar House.

I’ve never been inside a brothel—nor outside one, come to think of it—and I’ve never wanted to be. Not until I learned Henry Duveau, the councilman who shot and killed my mother, brings unfortunate fae females to this particular pleasure house after illegal capture. Over the last week since Mother’s death, I’ve thought mostly of two things: killing Mr. Duveau and taking down the Briar House.

If I’m lucky, I’ll do both tonight.

The brothel’s foyer is a mass of scarlet silk, maroon velvet, and gold lace as far as I can see. The lights are dim; no electricity, only several lanterns with red or gold glass covers. Plush couches line the walls, strewn with pillows bearing an ungodly number of tassels. Partitions that look like dressing screens separate certain corners and alcoves, and I can hear tittering laughter behind at least two.

I try not to allow discomfort to show on my face as a stately woman in a dark pink gown steps into the foyer from one of the halls. The cut of her dress is modest like mine, her gray-streaked brown hair arranged in a neat pile on the top of her head. My auburn tresses, on the other hand, are hidden beneath a wide white hat decorated with black peonies. Anything to keep me from being immediately recognized should I come into contact with Mr. Duveau. Hence my human state of dress.

“I am Madame Rose,” the woman says. A false name, obviously, considering it fits a little too neatly in with Briar House. Nonetheless, she’s whom I came here to see. Her posture is confident, her eyes are keen, and her smile is welcoming. “What can I do for you? Have you come seeking companionship tonight?”

“I have, Madame.” I take a step closer to her, lowering my voice. I repeat the same thing I said to the drunk man outside, use the same term I once overheard Henry Duveau use when mentioning the Briar House. “I have…exotic tastes.”

She nods, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “And might I ask how you came to know of my wares? I do not recognize you as a regular patron.”

I know she’s testing me, but I have my lie prepared. “I was referred to your establishment by a colleague of my father’s. We are visiting from out of town, and I needed to sate my unusual appetites, if you know what I mean.”

She eyes me with scrutiny, although her smile remains on her lips. “How did you sate these…unusual appetites before? The Briar House is the only of its kind in all of Eisleigh.”

It takes no small effort to hide my giddy relief. If this is the only brothel peddling fae females as merchandise, then what I’m about to do will be far more satisfying than if I’d learned there were several more establishments like this. I hide my relief behind a conspiratorial grin and lower my voice further. “I have my ways.”

She gives me an approving nod and extends her hand toward a velvet divan strewn with gold satin pillows. “Then tell me more about your tastes and I will see if I can find something to satisfy you.”

We take a seat on the divan and I pretend to ponder. “I like them to have a tendency to put up a fight.” My voice remains steady as I say it, but my words make acid churn in my stomach. I can’t help but recall how similar they are to what Lorelei had said about Mr. Osterman. I think he liked his prey to put up a fight. Mr. Osterman was one of the two men who’d captured me and Lorelei and tried to do unspeakable things. The other man was my mentor, who I apprenticed under