She looks just as surprised as I feel, but that shock softens into an expression far more sultry than I have ever seen her make. One of her hands reaches out to slide along the side of my face and when she goes in to kiss me, I have already forgotten Ryleth, the brothel and even the reason why I am there. Her lips feel like heaven and all I want in that moment is to feel her against me, to hear her sigh in contented pleasure.

But then she speaks and the illusion slips through my fingers like grains of sand.

“Lord Ryleth. I like your friend.”

The vision of Thomasin is gone; she did not have a husky voice like that and she certainly wouldn’t have abandoned me to press up against Ryleth in such a way. I feel numb at first, watching as she kisses him, too, lingering to bite his lip sensually and purr at his throat. But slowly, her appearance becomes more and more clear to me and the jealousy disappears. 

She is not pale like porcelain, but has a sunny beige complexion and full, red lips. Instead of blonde hair like Thomasin’s that is thick with curls, her’s is sleek and straight, falling past her waist in an ash-blonde curtain. She’s got eyes the color of honey and curves that any woman would kill for. But most of all, it’s the sheer sexuality that seems to drip from her entire person, from her angled facial features to the way she moves without shame in only her bare skin.

Ryleth’s eyes have closed and one of his hands moves along the back of her head, stroking her in the way a lover would. I have to clear my throat somewhat audibly to snap him out of it. He jumps and hurriedly stuffs his knuckles into the pockets of his coat to keep them to himself.

“Vara.” my colleague says, clearing his throat and scratching the side of his face anxiously. “Good to see you.”

I can tell how hard he is trying to keep his eyes on her face. Mainly because I, too, am fighting the urge to look her up and down. Worst of all, there is something very telling in the way she smirks and watches us, as if she knows exactly how much power she can show with just two sentences and two kisses.

“My lord, it’s not like you to make small talk.” Vara croons.

Her hips sway as she turns her back on him and Ryleth has to close his eyes and take a deep breath as she shifts against his front and rests her head back against his chest. Everything between her forehead to her toes is facing me directly and when I shield my eyes with a flat and angled palm, she giggles.

“You’ve brought me a cute one this time, Ryleth. I’m curious to see what you have in mind.”

“Actually, Vara…” Ryleth begins, eyes still closed and body stiff. “You uh… You might want to put some clothes on. We came to talk to you.”

“Talk?” Vara repeats with a rising amount of mirth in her lustful tone. “What could have driven you to pay so much just to talk with me?”

“It’s about the hunt.” I speak up.

Her face changes. She looks at me quizzically, then steps away from Ryleth (much to his relief). Vara paces away from where we stand near the door and edges towards her canopy-covered bed. There, she draws up a gold robe from the floor and slips it on over her shoulders. However, the fabric it is made out of is thin and floaty and does little to cover what we have already seen.

Vara sits on the edge of the bed and motions for us to follow her. I look at Ryleth in uncertainty but he gives me a reassuring nod and takes up the lead. Thankfully, her lewd mannerisms have ceased as we sit beside her. Not that I am against it in any way; it just feels very inappropriate given the timing and circumstances.

“This is Fayne Blackspire, Vara. She’s one of us.” Ryleth tells her.

She appears interested when she gazes in my direction. I give her an affirmative nod and try to sit up a little straighter, but I am unable to shake the nervous feeling that has filled me.

“So, we’ve got a room full of hunters today, have we?” Vara says, amused. “Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose.”

“The last hunter to die was Fayne’s partner.”

Ryleth delivers this information seriously and without hesitation. Vara’s expression falters. Her eyebrows knit together and she narrows her eyes, looking back and forth to both of us. Again, I nod to confirm Ryleth’s statement and await her reaction.

Like Evvie, Vara looks sympathetic to my loss and I expect she will give me the same detached apology or offer condolences. I am taken by complete surprise when she crawls across the surface of the bed towards me and wraps her arms around my neck. I let her hold me, stunned, peering over her shoulder to look at Ryleth for an answer. He looks sad when he smiles and slides his elbows back behind him so that he can keep himself propped up while lounging.

“A long time ago, Vara used to hunt with her twin sister.” he explains gently. “She was killed, too. She has been through the pain you are going through now.”

“Oh…” I say, taken aback. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

I put one arm around her and let it rest upon her back, not sure how else to comfort her. But she seems pleased by the small gesture and buries her face against the crook of my neck. I can’t help but inhale her scent, sweet and musky like a gardenia.

When Vara pulls back, her fingers curl at my jaw and she takes me by the chin so that I cannot look away. Her face has gone firm and though there is still hurt in her eyes, I can see a fire that burns defiantly from within them.

“Grief is a terrible thing.” she says in a broken tone. “But it can make us stronger. I lost everything when my sister died, but she is the reason why I keep fighting. I won’t stop until I kill all those damn things or die trying.”

I find myself nodding along in agreement with her. I can feel a connection from these words alone. When I look at Ryleth, I suddenly understand why he chose to bring me to Vara, out of all the other hunters. There is no need to try and persuade her. She desires the same thing that I do. My hands take hers from my face and I grasp them tightly.

“There is a chance we can end this forever.” I say firmly. “We can avenge them, but we have to do it together.”

Vara is intense as she listens attentively, hanging on my every word. I can see the eagerness she is restraining and how little hesitation she has.

“I’ll do anything.” she promises. “Just tell me.”

And so I relay the details of Silas’s research, the location of the caves and our plan to drive the beasts out and pick them off until none remain. There are points where I have to slow down because my mouth is moving faster than my mind can keep up. Speaking to Vara comes far easier than it did with Evvie and Burdock in our previous visit. Like me, she has nothing to lose. Like me, she is willing to try anything. Her sister’s death will not be in vain and neither will Thomasin’s.

When at last I finish, the courtesan is brimming with resolve and excitement. She casts a glance back to Ryleth, as if ensuring that we are not just playing some sort of cruel trick on her. Ryleth smiles and I find myself smiling, too. It doesn’t last long, though, because Vara is kissing me again (which Ryleth seems to find hilarious) in a show of thanks.

“When do we leave?” she asks me when we separate for breath. “I can be ready by the morrow, if need be.”

I shake my head.

“One week. We will have one final hunt before we go.”

She looks disappointed, but I clasp her by the shoulder and give a confident grin.

“Don’t worry. The better we know how to fight together, the more formidable we will be.”

A knock comes from the door beyond, causing all three of us to jump. Vara frowns and slides off the bed to stand up. The fabric of her sheer robe flutters around her legs, spinning and cascading to the floor beneath her feet.

“I suppose we’re out of time.” she sighs. “A shame. I’d love to get to know you better, Fayne.”

I nervously laugh the remark off, trying to ignore the heat that has returned to my face. Ryleth has gotten up to go and I rise to do the same, but Vara is quick to stop me in my tracks. I’m not quite sure what to think when she fiddles with my hair, slipping out the comb at the back of my head and letting the dark layers fall down over my shoulders. I self-consciously go to brush it smooth with my fingers, as I haven’t had a chance to wash it since the day before. But Vara swats my hand away, then goes to work at the opening of my dress. She pops open the first two silver buttons, ignoring my attempts at protest, then carefully arranges the fabric so that a small glimpse of my cleavage can be seen.

“That should be okay.” she decides, making sure to step back to get a good look at her work.

When I blink and look confused, the courtesan merely laughs.

“Usually, the people who pay to see me don’t leave looking like they did when they come in.”

“Oh.”

Ryleth, however, remains unchanged. The only thing he does is pull the cord from his hair and brush it back so that it spills down his back. Other than that, his clothes remain crisp and neat and not even Vara makes an attempt to dishevel them a bit. I quirk an eyebrow, but he just smirks.

“They know me better around here,” he says. “Sometimes, I just like to watch.”

Gross. I didn’t need to know that at all.

Vara escorts us to the door, just as another knock comes. When we slip back out into the hallway, we are greeted by a young man in bangles and very little silk. He looks from me, to Ryleth and then to Vara, who hangs in the doorway. Luckily, I’ve still maintained my blush, Ryleth is apparently a well-known deviant and Vara playfully curls her fingers to wave, dropping one side of her robe and offering a brief glimpse of her bare shoulder and breast before closing the door behind us. The decorative young man smiles politely, then offers to lead us back to the balcony and down the stairs. We are not questioned once by him and when we pass Ahsha in her human-sized birdcage, she winks.

Nobody suspects a thing.

The sun is setting when the coachman pulls up in front of the gates to the churchyard. I promise I will only be a moment and hurry for the temple with my skirts held in one hand.

For the first time in weeks, I can feel something other than overwhelming grief, sorrow and a complete lack of motivation. It is only a tiny spark, but it is the most positive thing I can possibly hold on to. The thought of revenge is sweet, of course, but protecting the kingdom as Thomasin asked means far more.

As I draw closer, I notice the temple doors sit wide open and Silas is stepping outside at that very moment. He is winded, his eyes wide and worn clothes covered in dirt. His leather-bound journal has been tucked beneath his arm and when he takes notice of me, he has to swallow in order to catch his breath and clear his throat.

“...Miss Fayne, you uh… There’s something you should see.”

His anxious tone is infectious. I feel something drop in the pit of my stomach and I am instantly worried.

“What is it?” I manage. “Is there going to be a change in our plans?”

The scholar shakes his head but otherwise does not give me the response I had hoped for. Instead, he takes off for the cemetery in the churchyard beyond. I am trailing him closely, panting and stumbling in my cumbersome outfit that was not meant for anything more strenuous than a light stroll.

The sky has started to redden and the graves we run past cast eerie shadows that steadily stretch with the setting sun. Straight ahead, I can see Ethias. He is standing beneath the old elm tree, arms folded and looking down at his feet. It quickly dawns on me where he is looking and where we are headed and I find that I am unable to run. My knees lock and I slow to a pathetic tread, while Silas keeps going and doesn’t stop until he has reached his uncle.

How long was it since I was here last? It’s only been one day and yet it has been drastically changed. As I get closer, I can feel the ripped stems and squished petals of the flowers beneath my heels. The ribbons that had been woven through the tree now hang like gallows rope, swaying in the light breeze in deflated defeat.

But it’s Thomasin’s grave that almost brings me to my knees. The earth is scattered everywhere and the mound in which she was buried beneath is now a gaping hole.

My first thought is that someone else has done this. I fear grave robbers or even a wild animal has disturbed my love’s final resting place. If that were the case, however, then why did Ethias and Silas look so fearful as they gazed upon the destroyed plot?

“What happened?” I choke out. “Who did this?”

Ethias does not answer and does well to avoid making eye contact with me. His nephew, however, kneels down over the upturned earth to examine it closer. I step cautiously behind him to see what exactly he is looking at, but I quickly regret it.

The ground is damp and thus, much of the spot is muddy. If it weren’t, then the unmistakable imprint of claw marks would not have remained so fresh and intact. They do not come from a spade or any tool a man would carry, nor an animal that had attempted to dig with its paws. No, these prints are small with slender fingers and what’s more, they seem to have come from inside of the grave.

I dare one small look into the hole itself, but the thought of looking upon Thomasin’s corpse makes me sick and I have to step back and touch a hand to my brow.

“Is...is she still there?” I ask in a trembling voice.

But it is not Silas who answers me. It’s his uncle.

“No.” says Ethias. “It’s empty. She is gone.”

My legs buckle beneath me and I teeter dangerously, but the priest moves fast and keeps me steady. I can feel my chest expanding rapidly, on the verge of hyperventilating, and it’s the only thing I can do. I can’t cry, I can’t vomit, I can’t even scream or run away.

For the past seven years, I have mercilessly slaughtered in the secrecy of night. I have been covered in blood, I have disemboweled, decapitated and dismembered creatures that are essentially the living dead. I have lived my entire life in a region that has adapted to fear to the point where unnatural death is almost expected and fortune favors only the well-prepared.

My life has been one nightmare after another, and yet the thought of sweet Thomasin as a bloodthirsty monster scares me more than anything I have ever known.