Page 2 of Blood Weaver
Selene sighed heavily and nodded. “Yes, yes,” she muttered, revealing the whistle that hung around her neck on a supple leather cord. “I will call on you.”
It wasn’t just any whistle. Carved from a unique wood found only in the depths of Valoria, its sound was audible exclusively to those of Valorian lineage. A silent, secret alarm.
My mind wandered back to a time, four years prior, when the alleys and squares of Lomewood were still foreign to me. An epidemic had swept through the region, and Madam Rose, ever the opportunist, sought me out, knowing of my abilities, and asked me to treat the girls under her employ. Among them, Selene was in a particularly dire state, her merfolk heritage making her more susceptible to the virulent strain.
Being a blood mage, I secretly used a rare method whereby I transfused her with my blood to purge the ailment. I hadn't anticipated her semi-conscious state during the process, which inadvertently unmasked my identity. Only one female in all of Asteria was known to have the gifts of a blood mage—the lost princess. When she recognized me, Selene promised to safeguard my secret, a pact that forged an unbreakable bond between us.
Handing her the Valorian whistle was a gesture of protection, a silent call she could make should she ever find herself in peril. Yet, over the years, its song remained silent. But with whispersof the Crimson Clan's impending arrival in the Central Plains, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that its call might soon pierce the quiet night of Lomewood.
The Lomewood streets were a tapestry of history and culture, painted in cobblestones and framed by ancient buildings. Gas lamps lined the pathways, casting a soft amber hue that reflected off the wet stones. Vendors peddled their goods from wooden stalls, their voices weaving in and out of the murmur of conversations. The town had grown organically over the years, resulting in a maze of intertwining alleys and courtyards. Towering oaks and elms occasionally broke the monotony of brick and mortar, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze. Each turn of the street unveiled a new scent, from fresh bread to fragrant flowers.
As we navigated this labyrinth, the Rose Petal Lounge loomed ahead of us. Dominating its surroundings, the three-story building was an architectural marvel. Rich, velvety maroon bricks were interspersed with white, intricate stonework, creating a design that evoked its namesake. Elegant wrought iron balconies jutted out from each floor, draped with cascading tendrils of ivy and climbing roses. Large bay windows tinted in a rosy hue gave subtle glimpses of the luxurious interiors. The entrance was framed by two massive rosewood doors, above which an ornate sign read,Rose Petal Loungein swirling golden script.
Already, a brass placard hung on the entrance, etched with words that indicated the lounge's closure for a private event tonight. It was a testament to the establishment's exclusivity that it could shut its doors to the general public for the elite and privileged—the privileged tonight being the Crimson Clan of the Grasslands.
“Selene,” I started. “Be careful. Don’t put yourself in any dangerous situations tonight.”
“I know, I know.” She nodded with a slight roll of her eyes. “This isn’t my first time dealing with those from the Grasslands. I’ll be careful,” she added with a wink.
I snorted. “Yes, yes, you’re quite the siren,” I chuckled. “Even so, be careful.”
“Will do!” With a charming grin thrown over her shoulder, she jogged up to the rosewood doors and let herself inside the pleasure house.
2
In the vast realm of medicine, I'm convinced there's no potion more elusive than the one that persuades villagers to actually pay for it.
“It costs a single glint,” I declared, lifting the sachet filled with medicinal herbs. “You know there’s no one better and cheaper than me throughout the Central Plains. If you want to be cured …” I left the statement hanging as I beckoned to the next person in line.
“Fine, fine. Just one glint, and not a spark or gleam more,” the butcher grumbled as he slammed the golden coin down and snatched the sachet from me.
I flashed him a cheeky smile as he stood. “Pleasure doing business with you as always. And I promise that wart on your bum will be healed in no time.”
He grunted something unintelligible as he turned on his heel. The usually buoyant town butcher departed my clinic with a dark cloud over his mood. His bartering skills were commendable, but I was resolute. My treks into the mountainsides to gather the finest herbs justified the hefty pricetag. No need for bargaining, especially when I already undercut most physicians.
The Central Plains were vast, and in the small town of Lomewood, we were free from the surrounding kingdoms and clans. We were the only neutral location in all of Asteria. Many refugees flocked to the Central Plains for this very reason after dealing with the fallout at the conclusion of the war between Keldara and Valoria. Even so, people mostly lived peacefully here without troubles or worrying about social status and everything else that came from the surrounding lands.
My clinic was a harmonious blend of functionality and tradition. From the outside, it was a modest two-story structure built with aged wooden planks that bore witness to countless seasons. Moss had taken residence between the wood and ivy draped the façade, lending a touch of nature's elegance. A sign hanging by the entrance displayed the emblem of two intertwined herbs – a nod to my profession as the local physician.
It was well past midnight in the dimly lit room of my clinic, and the only sound was the mortar and pestle rhythmically crushing fresh herbs into a fine powder. Each turn, each grind, was precise and measured. Suddenly, the room's serenity was violently shattered by a haunting whistle, clear and persistent. My heart raced as I recognized the sound—it was Selene.
Leaving the herbs scattered on the scarred wooden table, I sprinted outside, the back door banging shut behind me. The usually quiet alleys of Lomewood were filled with the echo of my frantic footsteps. The Rose Petal Lounge wasn’t far, but each second felt agonizingly long.
Upon reaching the lounge, I barely acknowledged the heavy rosewood doors, pushing them aside with a burst of adrenaline. The sight that greeted me was a cacophony of colors, noises, and tension.
The Rose Petal Lounge was typically the embodiment of opulence and seduction. Deep burgundy velvet curtains draped the large windows, filtering the outside light to a soft, ambient glow that bathed the entire room. Crystal chandeliers dripping with garnets and amethysts hung from the ceilings, their soft illumination casting shimmering reflections that danced on the walls. The lounge's name was evident in its decor, with rose petals scattered on the marble floors and floating in ornate bowls of water placed strategically around the room.
Tall, carved wooden pillars painted in gold leaf supported the ceiling, their shadows creating intimate nooks and corners for would-be lovers to occupy. Along the walls, plush chaise lounges and settees upholstered in luxurious fabrics of deep purples and reds beckoned guests to sit and relax. Each seating area was separated by intricate gilded screens, offering a semblance of privacy even though dozens of eyes were watching.
Girls from the lounge, dressed in flowing silks and satins that accentuated their figures, moved gracefully among the Crimson Clan members. Their outfits were in varying shades of red, pink, and gold to complement the room's decor and add to its allure. Their laughter, flirtatious glances, and gentle touches were all part of the lounge's entertainment, expertly catering to the clan members' whims and fancies.
Everywhere one looked, the elements of the room were designed to entice the senses. The subtle scent of roses and jasmine wafted in the air, while the soft strains of a lute played from a hidden corner set a melodious background score. Exotic fruits and decanters of the finest wines adorned the tables, each bite and sip a testament to the Rose Petal Lounge's commitment to decadence.
Yet, amidst the allure and enchantment, there was unmistakable tension. The presence of the Crimson Clan members added a dangerous edge to the room's seductiveaura, an unmistakable reminder of their power and the unpredictability of the night.
The opulent interior of the Rose Petal Lounge was dominated by members of the Crimson Clan. Their signature long hair with tightly woven braids on the sides of their heads cascaded down to their behinds. Their skin was covered in crimson tattoos across their bodies. These tattoos were not mere adornments, but narrated the stories of their lineage, feats, and status within the clan. They were a symbol of their identity, pride, and unity. But the most unsettling part of their demeanor was their uniquely colored eyes. Their irises, ranging from a light rust color to a deep blood-red, reflected their namesake and were often associated with their reputed demon blood.
I scanned the room, searching for Selene amongst the sea of red. Every second counted, and I had to find her before it was too late.
