The words rang in his ears, stopping him dead in his tracks. There was something about them—the way they flowed deep into his awareness, the way they stilled his body, his mind, everything. It reminded him of another moment. A time during the mines when things 'spoke' to him.
Merrin turned, wide-eyed, breath fuming out in white steams. He was expectant, waiting for what had called that word. Mugen. What was it? Instead, he met the face of the depravity that was the Highstorm Inn. The women ever-present in their acts, the men—people who would no sooner curse with the aspects of the Almighty—all of them had drowned in a sea of desire.
He closed his eyes. What can I expect from the Lowlander ways?
Hozier cropped up to his side, a questioning gaze worn across his features. "Anything?"
"Nothing," Merrin said, lumbering toward a desk at the side of the room. One that was, fortunately, bereft of any persons. For how long that would stay the same, he was unsure. Hozier, on the other hand, had quickly deserted him. Odd that a person who insisted on his presence cared so little for it.
This works fine, nonetheless, Merrin thought, his seat settling down on the hardwood. And on it, a faint moisture grew below him. He realized next that the chair was wet with whatever fluid was prevalent in this place.
A pink serv drifted past him, circling his head for a moment before shifting into a light, darkish color. Then it was off, floating toward yet another male locked in questionable activities. And like that, the hue returned to its original pinkness.
Merrin shielded his eyes, both hands cupped against his face. He hated this place. Hated what it represented about him. No Ashman—not even the one that served that bald man—would come here. They would rather perform the final dance, returning their ash to the earth.
But yet... here he was.
Maybe, just maybe, they were right. Perhaps the Ashman that once climbed toward Saiten was no more. The Eidan was gone now, replaced by whatever this was. By whatever he was.
His heart pounded. What am I even doing here?
He knew the answer, as much as he hated what it said about him. He was curious. That voice. Perhaps it was just some man or woman in the deep throes of passion. And maybe it was not.
Questions within questions.
He slicked back his hair. I can't allow myself to be caught so suddenly again! he swore. The more that happened, the more people discovered data about him that even he was unaware of; it only ever seemed to result in the acquisition of control. Control over him.
Take the Black Eyes. Take Hozier. Take Yoid. All of them shared one commonality. They knew something.
I need to know things. I need to keep them safe, and that cannot happen if anyone can discover something about me. He clenched his fist. At least if I knew them first... I could become more careful.
He smiled scornfully. Not that I have done anything with the ones I already know.
Mist it!
He laughed now. Standing with his people was a death sentence, and staying away, it appeared, was just as bad. The only difference was that the death that would come would be unknown to him.
Wasn't that worse? He wondered. What would I do if they died even now because of me? Because of something that I am?
He grinned, head snapping back on the chair. "I'm losing it."
A presence snapped into his awareness, a hand tapping softly atop his chest. Ah! His eyes drifted down, catching the image of a woman. Pale-skinned, eyes like the deepest blacks of metal. And on her lips was a dark paint—a coloring of sorts. And her body?
His eyes lowered more...
A warmth filled his body.
There was nothing but a black cloth around her bosom, dark hair scattering down her neck. Rather…invoking. "What exactly are you losing?" she asked, her voice fitted with a certain rasp. "I'm not going anywhere."
This one is a caster! Merrin realized, staring at that glint in her eyes. That sense of absolute and utter rationality. Odd that this trait was so rare in the camps, especially since every single one of them possessed that deep awareness as casters.
Perhaps it was the difference between DarkCrowns and BrightCrowns. He paused, or maybe... A side glance expanded his vision across the room, and in that moment, he saw a certain truth.
These people were not in the throes of passion he thought. No, the men were—from their weird grins, the deep perspiration across their bodies, the frenzy by which they moved. Every one of them was true to it.
Except the women.
His mouth widened a bit. This was a game... No, it was more or less a play. The women could easily play the role of the fool, smiling and whispering words to the men, but they remained who they were.
I wonder if that's what the Black Eyes want me to become?
"Not paying attention to me?" The lady breathed close to his neck. "Come on, I'm right here." She slid her hands into his shirt, fingering through his skin. "Am I not eno—" She froze, her fingers hovering over the surface of his flesh.
The dead one. Born from the countless scars from countless battles. From the flames of the Talemir to the self-harming, the lightning that shattered the mines, or even the ones dealt by his own people. A stab to the stomach.
She had felt them all. Her eyes were stunned. "You?"
Merrin smiled. "Don't ask." I'm saving you.
She bit down on her lip and stood up. "I don't think I'm enough for... that." The deep rationality produced those words, not the false face worn for meaningless men. She bowed a bit, walking toward whatever man was more subject to her prowess. Maybe that Hozier fellow would fall into that same category.
Speaking of which.
Merrin scanned the room, finding little markings of the bard. Where was he?
Another presence made itself right beside him.
Not a moment of peace, it appears.
"What a shame that my establishment couldn't entrap an Ashman."
Glancing at the woman, a brief flash of recollection surged in his mind. Sibel was the name, yet another member of the Black Eyes. Who, as before, was dressed in a complicated purplish dress, her eyes seeming on the edge of black and gray. Similar to Moeash's.
"Why hope for the impossible?" he countered, watching the instant smile on the woman's face. Nothing like the somewhat frightened nature he had seen back then. Although thinking about it now, perhaps even that was a facade. Given the place, she was sure to be a master of that craft.
She tapped her finger on the desk. "Why did you come here?" she questioned. "Last I checked, the lords of the camps are still very much searching for the light in the sea."
So even she knows that? He sighed internally. More people were learning his secrets. "Hozier brought me."
She gave a knowing look. "I suspect he used you to get a break from Stannis. This should be the eleventh time he has attempted to bed my jewel."
"The Red Thing?" That much was easily deduced. "She beds few... men, I heard"
A small smile passed on her face. "You think I could have allowed him since we belong to the same group?"
"No."
"Good," she said. "I do not own these women, you see. I did not force them or threaten them into this life. But there is a way to these things. The camps could become quite lawless without certain things. This is one of them. There is Madam Bun and her liquor, and that other place—although that one is rather distasteful to me."
"Distasteful," he repeated.
She scoffed. "And you still don't understand?" She palmed the desk. "You Ashmen stay up in your mountains, bathing yourself in ash all day long and dancing."
"We don't dance."
"Please." She leaned in. "Even with the Church's ban on such things, you people still find ways for it. Especially the one that only Aspirants were allowed to read."
"You know a lot of things."
"Naturally," she said. "Unlike Stannis, Shae didn't exactly tell me who it was they were bringing in, so I had to do some digging for myself."
"And?"
"Tell me," she asked. "How does an Ashman sell himself to slavery?"
Merrin froze.
"Surprised?"
He was.
"It was quite a thing to find... Sometime, perhaps two weeks ago, I suppose, a certain man from Nightfell sold an Ashman to the House of Noctis. Odd, given that Valor often handles these things. Well, maybe that person was of some sufficiently high rank, or the Ashman pleaded with them. Anyhow, after that Ashman was sold, the tithe to be paid to the Valors was completed."
Merrin trembled.
"Putting two and two together is hardly anything."
Thus was the might of the caster! And right now, perhaps for the first time, he hated it so very much.