The thick burgundy curtains slid open as easily as a sail catching the wind. Nessa squinted against the cloud-muted light that spilled into her room through the floor-to-ceiling bay windows. She stretched with a groan, brushing her hands through sleepy hair to work out the tangles.

  It was a fabulous day—wednesdays always were. No callers, no looking her best, no studying some obscure factoid about how the aristocratic class functioned a hundred years ago. Today, she did nothing she didn’t want to do.

  A small slice of Novo Cicaado edged into focus. It was a birds-eye view from the fifth and highest story of The Turquoise Maiden, providing an excellent view of the late afternoon hustle. Foot traffic, thick as swarming fish, pooled in the wide street, with rivers splitting off and out of the whole into adjacent alleys or frontage buildings.

  Who were they? What were their hopes, their dreams, and their fears? From her perch, she picked out her usual favorites.

  A baker in blue worker overalls sweated over a stone oven, pulling out fresh loaves. Nessa imagined they’d be friends if they ever met. The rotund Mestarian woman seemed pleasant, always with a ready smile and plenty of bread. Who didn’t love a fresh loaf of bread?

  Nessa reckoned that the baby-faced crier across the street, their high-pitched voice promising “The best investment ever! Don’t miss out!”, would be like an annoying younger brother, always getting on her nerves with increasingly elaborate pranks. Nessa had seen that boy grow five inches and some scruff these past months. He would age out, and, in all likelihood, she would never see him again.

  The ten o’clock bell had woken her, so it was already an hour past curfew. Unfortunately, the people Outward didn’t have the luxury of curfew. Unlike Central, they worked when there was work. It never really stopped.

  “But not me, not today. I’m not seeing anyone. Nobody.”

  A wind tram whistled distantly.

  “Not for all the stones in the country,” Nessa said matter-of-factly.

  A few rickety wagons in the street below her screeched forward on rusted wheels, pulled by a giant lumbering halora. They’d become more common Outward now that steam engines took over leeward transportation.

  There was a fascinating book on that subject she had meant to read thoroughly but that edged too close to work. And Nessa was, decidedly, not working today—not for anything.

  “Well,” Nessa pondered out loud, “maybe for all the stones in the country. But not a white fewer!”

  Pulling away, she danced to each adjacent window and threw their curtains wide. Light filled the room, exposing her collection to the rosol. She had nearly filled the modest space with rows of shelves full of books, scrolls, parchments, and the like. Only a corner section for her bed and wardrobe had been left illiterate.

  Rubbing her hands together, she eyed the back row like a predator might. Nessa had put all the unproductive books there to weaken their temptation. That wouldn’t save them today.

  Wheeling over, she scanned the disorganized chaos, hoping one would call her. There were so many good options that it was paralyzing.

  There was Tayne’s Last by Tayne Calimbre. A Mestarian aristocrat wrote the once-banned book calling for the Leshar’s emancipation. If it weren’t so dry, she’d have finished it already.

  Size Matters, author unknown. The banned book was one of her favorites, and the well-worn copy was aching for a break.

  Finally, she selected a tome-like book purchased last week, free of name and author. The Zeerashee merchant had claimed it came from the Solek. As laughable as that was, it was undeniably unique.

  The pages were thin enough to see through, bone-white, and flexible but strong—unlike anything she’d seen in any other paper. The words were indistinct, somehow embossed into the paper’s surface.

  The merchant had demonstrated how to read it by rubbing charcoal over a spare, clean page, and the words darkened onto it. That novelty alone was reason enough to buy it, but the contents sold her twice over. Nessa tugged free the scrap sheet that peaked out like a bookmark. Words were etched there, outlined by charcoal black frottage.

  “From on high to the depths we have fallen. To return to what once was, what should be, is to ignore what we are. Brave, yet faltering. Wise, yet blind. Strong, yet vulnerable. Only One might find their way. Yet, to be One is to be against nature.”

  The prose was wordy, archaic, cryptic, and sadly poetic. It was written similarly to the Col but with ten times the soul. Instead of “strength this” and “strength that,” it seemed to have more to say.

  Nessa tried to talk the merchant down, but the blasted man was firm. He took a week's worth of her wages. Let’s see if it was worth it.

  She snatched a fur shawl from the shelf corner and slipped it over her silk nightgown—it wasn’t entirely “decent,” but Nessa didn’t mind. Next, she tucked the unwieldy leather tome beneath her armpit before scooping up a piece of charcoal, a lump of wax, and practically an entire ream of papers, haphazardly stuffing them in the other pit.

  Looking ridiculous, she hobbled to the sliding door, arms and hands full. With her foot, Nessa slid the door wide on whirring bearings. Slipping on her shoes at the threshold, she waddled out onto the balcony hallway. A handmaid with a cleaning cart, tailed by another carrying a silver tray of food and pitchers, deftly evaded Nessa as she stepped out into the atrium hall.

  “Sorry!” Nessa called out as they bustled down the hallway. She collapsed onto the plush black loveseat outside her door, kicking off her slippers before curling her feet beneath her.

  The Turquoise Maiden was in full swing of the night rush, and the busyness soothed her as she set up her papers, charcoal, wax, and book before snuggling comfortably into a Nessa-shaped impression within the cushions of the old red velvet couch. She relaxed into that familiar shape and took a moment to take in the night.

  The curtains covering the angled skylights above were pulled wide for the night, letting in the rosol’s light. While the overcast muted the light, it brightened the atrium-style interior and allowed Nessa to see all four stories below her.

  The railed balconied hallways wrapped around each floor’s interior perimeter. The headmistress had recently furnished the vast space with cheap carpets, discount furniture, various house plants that kept blooming bugs, and rosol-bleached tapestries hanging from the topmost balcony. All said, it could certainly use a glow-up. And no, the stapled cords running along the brick to recently installed electric lamps didn’t count.

  The atrium purred as handmaids scuttled about, bathmaids mingling with bathing clients below. The base floor hosted steaming public baths, where the bathmaids did their best to market. Her eye caught one woman she recognized, Jase, in sheer, soaked whites, saddled onto one client’s lap. Her laughs were too loud to be honest.

  Nessa didn’t miss that part of the job—the doting attention, scrubbing scum off scum while feigning interest and pretending not to be revolted. Nessa’s current patrons were hand-selected. She decided who would and would not be a client, the latter being notably lengthier than the former.

  With the pleasant droning buzz in the background, Nessa returned to her book. She placed clean paper over the bone-white engraved sheets and worked them with charcoal. A page of words burst alive in anticipation.

  “That is so satisfying,” she said excitedly. Another passing handmaid eyed her with a quirked brow but moved on without a word.

  She skimmed through, but the ideas were abstract, indirect, and unfamiliar. They demanded a deeper study. So, she leafed to the next.

  Page by page, Nessa worked. After charcoaling, she sealed the surface by working it over with cold wax before setting it to the side. That stack grew as the night stretched on. Three bells later, Nessa had a respectable pile and a severely cramped hand.

  “That is enough for today,” she said, slumping back. Collecting the cultivated stack and shuffling them straight, Nessa counted. Fifty pages. In three hours, she had fifty pages. There were ten times more in the damned book. “This is going to take forever,” she rubbed her eyes and sighed. It did not feel like she wasn’t working.

  Nessa jumped as a frightened scream echoed from down in the lobby.

  “You should soundproof your room if you’re going to scream like that,” she sighed. Some clients had eclectic tastes. It didn’t necessarily mean there was a problem. If it were a problem, Jako or Oriana should deal with it. Nessa set down the pile except the first and started reading.

  "I am called Yukiena Bendo. The year was 1E037E, five decades following The Fall.”

  Nessa read through that first again. And again. The woman’s name and what she could only assume was a date were unfamiliar. Was this an elaborate work of fiction? That would be a disappointing conclusion, but she continued.

  "Fifty years, the span for which oneness blighted to the winds. From a place of stone, I scribe our—”

  Another scream, shriller than before, sent a jolt up her spine. Sighing and shimmying her feet out from under her, Nessa slipped back on her house slippers at the foot of the sofa and set the sheet aside.

  Walking and leaning over the railing, Nessa yelled towards the closed sitting room door at the end of the lobby.

  “Jako! Could you please check on this?”

  The lobby had largely cleared from before, but those that remained craned to look up at her. Nessa waited, but there was no response. Nessa stopped a handmaid walking by.

  “Your name?” Nessa asked.

  “Tally, Miss Nessa,” Tally said, blushing. She glanced down at Nessa’s sheer silk nightgown that peaked from her robe. The girl was plain but a cute sort of plain. Funny, she considered this young woman a girl when she looked about a year younger than Nessa. Nessa didn’t bother pulling the robe tight. At the very least, Tally would need to get used to this much skin.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Nice to meet you, Tally. Where is Oriana?” she asked nicely, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

  “The Mistress is out for the night, but the Master is in his room,” the young Mestarian woman replied quickly. Though she stood a head taller than Nessa, she seemed intimidated. Nessa rubbed her temple.

  “Could you please fetch Jaad then? We may have a situation.”

  “We were instructed not to—”

  “I’m aware he wants nothing to do with anything. Tell him I sent you; he won't complain.”

  The girl nodded curtly and scurried away—you would think Nessa was a sea monster. She kept to herself, but she wasn’t scary—just private.

  Another scream.

  “Damnit! Fucking bastard bitches!” she screamed in frustration. A handmaid shot past her, eyes glued to the floor. Nessa centered herself with a deep, calming breath.

  With her mind made up, she snatched up her things and placed them inside. Nabbing a slender, dual-pronged hairpin, she secured her hair into a loose bun while heading out the door, shutting it behind her. She walked briskly across the carpeted hallway and skipped down three flights of stairs, dodging handmaids and clients coming and going to reach the baths.

  The air was as thick as cold syrup and grossly warm. Nessa followed the screams along the bath’s edge. as fast as she could

  A man whistled as she passed. “I could get used to that view,” he said as he stared up Nessa’s gown. She gritted her teeth and smiled at the man but continued toward a side hallway.

  A small crowd of worried courtesans gathered around a door, whispering to each other but doing nothing. Nessa roughly pushed through to the front and read the tag on the wall: “Faola Kieran.”

  “Ah. Her,” Nessa whispered.

  Faola was one of two Mestarian courtesans at the Turquoise Maiden. Of the two, she was by far the most outspoken. “Why is Nessa given special treatment? Shouldn’t she be down here with the rest of us?” Faola constantly complained that Nessa had been gifted her place, not clawed it out through years of pain.

  As she reached for the notched handle, she hesitated. It wasn’t her responsibility. Someone else should be here. After all, it could be a game or a kink, and she wouldn’t want to ruin someone else's business—she’d never hear the end of it from Faola then. Nessa pressed her ear to the doorway. Faintly but clearly, she heard muffled screams, a struggle.

  Nessa slammed the door wide to expose silhouettes in the smoke-filled interior. A nauseating, pungent scent assaulted her. It was a foul combination of incense, sweat, and sex that had her face squinting.

  Strength, don’t fail me.

  As the smoke cleared, Nessa made out dark-haired Faola struggling against an enormous Mestarian man mounting her. He was a hulking brute with powerful muscles that undulated as his hands wrapped around Faola’s throat.

  Both were nude. Faola struggled against the man, unsuccessfully, with one arm—the other hanging off the side of the bed uselessly, unnaturally bent at the elbow. Her face was bruised and bleeding from a cut across the eye as she turned to Nessa with pleading eyes. Those eyes turned from fearful to panicked.

  Nessa felt that herself, each breath growing sharp. She didn’t strike an imposing figure at her meager five-foot-four height and petite frame. She forced herself to breathe deep the rancid air. It both distracted and clarified her focus.

  “Get off her,” Nessa projected authority. The man relaxed his choke as he looked at her, allowing Faola to take some shuttered, rasping breaths. His voice dripped with grease.

  “Now, this is a surprise. And in all places. Quality, quality indeed,” the man said with a booming, bassy timbre, followed by a wide-mouth smile containing far too many teeth. He spoke with elongated vowels that occasionally slurred together, a distinctly Zeerashee accent. “This one,” he gestured towards Faola, “has a halora’s ass for a face, though she struggled well enough.”

  Nessa sauntered deeper into the den, face a mask of calm.

  “You’re a strong man,” she said, trying to mask her revulsion. “Do you think you could handle me?”

  He eyed Nessa hungrily, her flesh prickling wherever his eyes touched. He was feral, all impulse and no control. She forced herself to relax, letting her robe fall to the floor to expose her sheer nightgown.

  “A true Leshar beauty,” he slurred. “I’ll handle you well. Don’t worry, I will be gentle—if you obey. Come closer, girl.”

  Nessa stepped forward, removing her hairpin to let her long, straight hair spill down her back. She casually obscured the fist that gripped the metal pin tightly. They locked eyes. His dark brown irises were pushed to the edge by dilated pupils—probably from a sap high.

  “Magnificent creature. The curves, the size,” the man growled. “You want to be used, don’t you? I can tell. I know what your kind likes.”

  Nessa forced her budding rage deep, masking it with a slight smile that she hoped passed for lust. It wasn’t like the idiot would notice the difference.

  Finally, he took the bait, pushing off Faola to stand. Faola coughed while sitting up to her feet before hobbling past Nessa and out the door. The man let Faola go, his eyes trained on Nessa. He towered over her more than three heads, probably five times her weight.

  “Let’s put on a show for these nice people, eh?” he said, glancing at the crowd behind her. Nessa tensed. Fingers as rough as ropes, he reached out and tore one of her straps free. She had to move now. He reached for the other.

  In one quick motion, Nessa burst forward to grab the man’s stones, dangling defenselessly between his legs. As he screamed out in pain, he gripped her throat while she held her long, metal hairpin to his stomach with prongs forward. She pushed hard enough to draw two thin lines of blood that streamed down his belly as a promise. He let go of her neck and held his hands to the side.

  “You think you’re strong? Well, you appear pretty weak now, don’t you?” Nessa said coldly, gripping tighter and causing him to yelp in pain. “Bested by a woman—a Leshar. I hope you never live it down. One quick movement, and I’ll spill your guts,” Nessa looked up into his eyes with a snarl. “Just give me a reason.”

  The man nodded curtly, glaring down at her with mixed pain and rage. If she gave him a chance, he would kill her for this. Nessa wouldn’t give him that chance.

  Using the hairpin and his stones as leverage, she slowly maneuvered the man outside the room into the lobby. By then, the crowd had doubled. Of course, they just watched and whispered, and a few patrons laughed. It was like this was a show to them, something to talk about after returning home to their wives. True Mestarian strength, indeed.

  “Jako!” she yelled, not breaking her glare.

  “Get the fuck off her!” A bystander wrapped their arms around the abuser and roughly wrestled him to the ground. The newcomer wore a sandy duster cloak with the hood pulled up.

  “Get off me, you have no right to—”

  The newcomer had grabbed the abuser’s arm and forced it behind him, torquing it up painfully. The abuser yelped but kept wriggling like a fish out of water.

  “Sew it,” the newcomer man said, a familiar voice, though Nessa couldn’t quite place it in the heat of the moment.

  Nessa relaxed a little with the worst of it over, clasping her hands together to stop them from shaking. She heard Jako before seeing him, his wheezing audible long before he sloshed through the crowd.

  “What in the—” he gasped “—blasted flats is—” another gasp “—going on here.” Jako looked to Nessa, then to the naked man sprawled out on the floor, then back to Nessa. Jako gathered himself before speaking. “Hot damn, Ness. You should be at the front knocking heads instead of me,” he shook his head. “Bastard is bigger than I am.”

  “Any help here? He’s working loose,” the helpful man said with an annoyed grunt as the bottom man squirmed. “He’s sweaty. It’s hard to get a good grip.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course. Alright, man, it's time to leave,” Jako saddled beside the naked man and took his free arm. “Let’s get you dressed and on your way. You won’t be coming back here either, mind.” Jako and the stranger heaved the bastard to his feet roughly. “I have him, Kai. You go on.”

  “You sure?”

  “I gotta make myself useful somehow.” Jako swung a meaty fist into the assailant’s bread basket to bring him to his knees. “That’s for making me run.” Then he push-kicked him hard in the face, sending him to the floor. “For my girls.” Lastly, Jako slammed his leg it into the man’s ribs with a crack. “That’s for Faola’s arm, you bastard.”

  The man deserved worse than he got. Yet, she couldn’t force herself to feel better about what happened. Faola had a broken arm, while Nessa shook like a leaf in the wind. Justice didn’t undo the hurt. It never did.

  Kailehr Sultiva turned to her when the beating finished.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry. I look pretty rough. I wasn’t planning to take anyone today, so,” Nessa motioned to the nightgown. She noticed that the ripped strap exposed half her chest to the night. “That’s awkward.”

  Kailehr unbuttoned his duster without hesitation and wrapped it around her shoulders to cover her. It was warm, smelling of rain and lightly of sweat.

  “You know you can just pay her,” a man from the baths jeered.

  Kailehr’s face reddened.

  “This is improper, but watching a woman get assaulted is okay? Damn you all to the hells.”

  “Don’t make this more of a scene,” Nessa said, touching his chest. He calmed, nodding.

  Instead, he examined her critically. He touched her neck gently, and she winced. So it had bruised already.

  “I should have gotten a few swings in myself,” he said icily.

  “I think I’ll live,” she said. “How was your match?”

  “Can I walk you to your room?” His golden eyes softened as he offered an arm. Nessa reached up and took it. Kailehr led them away from the whispers and towards the stairwell.

  “I know it doesn’t matter, not really. But I won.”

  Nessa punched him in the arm. “Of course, it matters! Well done. Was he quite large?”

  “Huge. Even bigger than that ball of grease,” he nodded to the groaning man Jako was dragging towards the exit. “Is it okay if I come by another day? I’ll leave the deposit with Jako.”

  “You can,” she said, hesitant. “I can make time now if you’d like. It’s only fair.”

  Kailehr smiled.

  “I’m not sure this is a great time for what I had in mind. And you don’t owe me anything. I did what anyone real man would have.”

  They reached the stairs and walked up a flight before she spoke.

  “I’m okay. Really,” Nessa said. “It was rattling at the moment, but I’ve been through worse, believe it or not.”

  Another flight.

  “Are you saying other gargantuan nudists have assaulted you?”

  “Thousands,” she replied without hesitation.

  Kailehr laughed hard enough that he needed to stop for a breather. “I suppose you have.”

  Nessa laughed with him long enough that leaks sprung in her eyes. Those leaks broke the damn, and she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It was embarrassing.

  “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying. Why am I crying?” Nessa said, trying to laugh it off.

  Kailehr reached out to pull her close into an embrace. She let herself sob softly into his chest as she gathered herself. After a minute, she gently pushed away, wiping her tears on his coat’s sleeve she still wore.

  “Thank you for that,” Nessa smiled. “It’s been a while since my last good cry. Sorry you had to see it.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  The storm picked up overhead, weeping fat drops that plunked against the skylights. The darkening sky dimmed the atrium until the electric lights sputtered to life, casting the space in a yellow hue.

  He offered his arm again. “Ready?”

  They reached the fourth floor, her floor, and, with a quick walk, they were at her door. Nessa spoke first.

  “I am feeling a lot better. If not love-making, would you want to stay for a while? I can have them draw up a bath sleep. It’s late; I’m sure you’re tired after your fight.”

  He hesitated, sighing.

  “As long as there is no sex. And you let me pay your full rate.”

  Nessa huffed a laugh while sliding open the door, leading him inside.

  “You drive a hard bargain, but it’s a deal! Besides, I have something even better.”

  “A book?” he said wryly, closing the door after him. “I still haven’t finished your last recommendation.”

  “Not just a book. It is an ancient mystical tome from the other side of the world,” Nessa wiggled her fingers as if sprinkling extra mystery into the air. She hopped to her dresser, snatched the finished stack, and offered it to Kailehr. “Or you could freshen up and sleep if you want to be boring.”

  Kailehr took the sheets and looked them over with pursed lips.

  “Alright, I’ll bite.”