Page 55 of The Shadow of Breninsol
His attention flickered to her side, making her aware that someone was joining them.
“It’s been nice playing with you. Next time, know your opponent better,” he said in a smooth voice, while his lip curled in that self-satisfied way of his.
She bristled at his drawling courtly tone. “You know you’ll still have to pay…” She started to say that Madam Grace was not giving her over for free, but her words trailed off as a reddish-brown cane came into view. The mahogany hue matched the lord’s swirling gold embroidered long-coat.
She recognised the striking blue-eyed courtier from her first night in the party palace’s ballroom, and from when he’d been standing next to her as the court had bid on her the other night.
“Ah, there you are. Your Lordship,” the man said, interrupting them in a drawling voice as he gave a flourishing bow. Eleanor felt her eyes widen as that niggling feeling from earlier crashedinto her in the realisation of justwhoshe was sitting opposite. The court addressed only one person asLordship.
The Marquis of Laerus.
Fuck.
The marquis’s eyes moved to Eleanor with an expression she couldn’t read, and her stomach dropped, realising that she’d agreed to give her time to him and only him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He shifted his eyes to the lord and greeted him. “Duke Aillard—” he started to say, but she didn’t hear the rest as she slid away from the table, hopefully unnoticed.
Tonight, she was picking the quietest and drunkest courtier she could find, so she could quickly and quietly leave the party palace.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Three Bells
Eleanor threw her sheer plum gown into the hallway basket for Julia to collect in the morning and walked naked into her room. She counted the others shutting their doors behind her, knowing they’d be heavy sleepers. Despite the late hour, the furniture creaked and squeaked, intermingled with sounds of pleasure coming from the client rooms below, although the courtesans and most ladies had finished working for the night.
Dawn was still a while away, and few people stalked the streets when the night was at its darkest. This suited her perfectly, as she was heading to a place in Breninsol that not many knewof, nor would many dare to tread. She removed the back panel of the lone wardrobe, along with the loosely fitted stone, and retrieved the bundle of her old fighting gear.
As she systematically pulled on and attached each item to her body, she grew a sense of safety and remorse. It was a simple set of leathers, and time had given it a beating. She had focused her repairs on the leathers and boots rather than the ragged tunic, which she was sure wouldn’t last many more wears.
Like a lot of things these days, Eleanor shoved back the awareness of her once form-fitting dark brown leathers, now needing her to pull the strings and buckles an extra few holes tighter. She also didn’t want to examine that she only felt herself relax when all her blades were covering her body. Although, there was room for more weapons, as her vambraces and leg braces felt empty. The decorative and shortest daggers sheathed at her hips would have to do, along with those on her thighs, the dagger concealed against her lower back, and the long knife tucked into her worn boots. Once again, the boot’s sole was separating, and she knew the cobbler wouldn’t be able to repair it anymore. Finally, she ran her fingers over the thin strips of metal concealed in the seam of her chest plate.
Eleanor couldn’t dwell on her bargain with the marquis, of all people. He wouldn’t follow through with his winnings. She was so far down his pecking order that he wouldn’t have thought of her since their brief card game.
She grimly hoped tonight proved to be useful in her search for the necklace’s origin and settle the sense of restlessness in finding some answers.
Before sliding out the window, she tucked her auburn braid under her dark cloak and pulled her cowl up to cover her mouth and nose, and then she silently dropped onto the backstreet behind The Ladies Grace.
The Three Bells was the most nefarious pub in Breninsol. Nestled between Robert & Son’s Pawn Shop and A. Hughes & Co. was an unmarked stone archway. It appeared merely a back entrance to the neighbouring shops and nothing more. However, those entrenched in the criminality of Breninsol knew that by going through the shadowed gateway they were entering the heart of Valen’s territory, the city’s vicious gang leader.
Eleanor ducked through the stone archway off the main street and followed the narrow alleyway’s twists and turns. She never felt quite right in this passage, and she doubted many of the skilled criminals liked this path either. It was as if the gang boss had specifically designed this alleyway to resemble some sort of twisted maze. The brickwork pressed in from both sides. Anyone who wished to pay homage to their underworld king had to run a test of wills to get to their ruler.
Eleanor lowered her head, moving under a low section of the building that crossed the alley. She knew neither the building’s purpose nor where it connected, but a small, foggy window existed.
As she delved deeper into the crime lord’s lair, she kept a keen eye on the masonry. The sheer, high walls were too high to jump over. There weren’t many sections allowing her to scale quickly. If needed, she could embed a dagger or two into certain points of the mortar. She’d lose a blade in the process, but it’d meanshe would reach the tops of the walls. That, as a route out of this dreadful maze, remained unused. And she hoped it stayed that way. Her arms had only stopped feeling sore from when she’d done some heavy lifting of the dead body.
Weakness.
When Eleanor was certain she’d moved a few streets over from where she’d entered, the alleyway threw her out onto a small courtyard. Darkened windows overlooked the small space from the surrounding buildings and a few overhanging lanterns gave her enough light to see the space was empty, only to throw shadows around the small space. Having navigated that suffocating maze, Eleanor was now exposed, like prey being stalked from above by its predator, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
She moved quickly enough to avoid lingering in the courtyard, but not so fast as to appear cowed. This was not the place to show weakness, especially considering her reason to be here.
The tiny courtyard contained a pub’s entrance, only identifiable by the rickety sign hanging above the door depicting three silver bells.
Not only was the location ideal for the city’s criminal headquarters, but the pub’s features made it the perfect bolthole. A narrow facade featured two wooden doors flanking a front window, and each doorway was close to the alley’s sides. The window consisted of wooden panels with glass above them. Windows that were so high no passing peeping-tom could peer in, and even if someone could reach, the glass windows bubbled to a distorted point in the centre of each square pane, their grimy state obscuring any remaining visibility.
