Page 19 of Song of the Heart Scale
She blinked and met my eyes with a faint grimace. “That is not comforting, my lady.”
I smirked. “It wasn’t intended to be.”
The carriage hit a rut and jolted violently. I gripped the window frame and leaned out, my eyes narrowing as the familiar golden serpent coiled artfully around a velvet-painted pole came into view. It hung above an arched entry of dark polished wood and gold-trimmed double doors. The building rose three stories, its pale stone exterior elegantly detailed with sparkling windows. The curtains were heavy crimson velvet trimmed with braided gold. Classy. Opulent, even.
“We’re here.”
Maeve sighed with audible reluctance. “Of course we are.”
As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, I pushed the door open and climbed down before the driver could assist. The stone walkway that led to the brothel was cleaner than most places in the Southern District. The Gilded Serpent might’ve been located in the wrong part of town, but it didn’t stoop to its surroundings. This was luxury—lush, expensive, and guarded like a treasure hoard.
After a moment of hesitation, Maeve descended after me, glancing up at the golden serpent sign as it gleamed in the midday light.
“No one’s stupid enough to start something here,” I assured her. “You were the one who told me that.”
“I know, I know,” she mumbled.
“It’s well respected. Maybe feared. Though that depends who you ask, I guess.”
Damien once told me it wasn’t safe for noble women like me to come here. But Garrick had guaranteed our safety.
I stepped forward and pushed open the double doors. The sultry aroma of spicy incense and perfume greeted us immediately. Inside, the lighting was low and romantic, with soft golden hues that sparkled across polished marble floors and dark velvet lounges. Silk drapes in jewel tones cascaded down from the high ceilings, and chandeliers glittered like lofty constellations overhead. Despite the early hour, the air felt hushed and intimate—as if the walls had absorbed decades of secrets and knew better than to whisper them back.
At this hour, the place was quiet. No music, no laughter, no glimmering clientele. Just one man.
The warlock, Garrick.
He sat at a table near the center of the room, slouched in a plush velvet chair as if he owned it—or owed it something. His hair was a tangled mess beneath a dark hood, and the patch covering his left eye—brown leather, frayed at the edges—stood out against his dusty green tunic. Nothing he wore matched. His coat was a patched mess of indigo and rust-colored suede, one sleeve longer than the other. His scarf dragged on the floor.
He saw me and grinned. “Well, well! If it isn’t Her Royal Highness.”
I strode toward him, waving Maeve toward the side wall so she could keep watch in case any of the girls came out to listen. “You’re just jealous that I clean up better than you do.”
“You do polish up nicely.” He stood and offered a dramatic bow. “But I’d argue my outfit has more... character.”
“Your outfit has more fleas.”
His eye twinkled. “Fair point.”
I dropped into the seat across from him and crossed my arms on the table. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“You say that like I had a choice. You sent me a note with that surly old raven—What’s his name? Scowls like he hasn’t had a bowel movement since winter solstice.”
“Birch.”
“Right. Tell him he terrifies the children.”
“He terrifiesme,and I like him.”
Garrick chuckled and took a sip from his mug. “So what’s the occasion, my lady? You looking to gamble, buy a hex, or just here for the ambiance?” He waved his hand around the fancy brothel.
“None of the above.” I hesitated for just a moment before leaning in. “I need information.”
He raised a brow. “Ominous. Shouldn’t you be worrying about the wedding? I’m sure the seer will be picking an auspicious day very soon.” He tilted his head expectantly.
I rolled my eyes. “The wedding’s been put on hold.”
Garrick blinked. “Seriously?”
