The Middle

I'm in the middle, knowing neither the end nor the beginning.

-The Serpent, Act I

-l-

Denna watched the bottom floor of the establishment she had worked to take over, mentally flagging regulars and pairing them with the women they would pay the most for. The blacksmith from two villages over was back again, and she suspected he did not have enough to pay. The D'Harans and resistance alike had stopped paying for weapons. They took what they wanted.

With a nod from the balcony on which she stood, Denna signaled her men to get the blacksmith's payment up front, or else escort him out.

Soft steps sounded on the plush carpet underfoot, a rustle of cloth and a scent of perfume telling Denna who it was.

"Madame," a quiet voice addressed her.

Without turning, Denna answered, "What is it, Lilith?"

One of the women that had turned to Denna to put food on her table and logs on her fire stood there, dressed for a night of work upstairs, a robe loosely belted around skimpy apparel.

"He's back, waiting outside," the small doe eyed creature said. Denna found her beautiful, though spineless.

"The man who claims to love you?"

Face hard and eyes fearful, the woman replied, "The one what got me with child and went off to war without so much as a letter to remember him by."

"It will be taken care of."

A grateful smile, much more appealing than the hard mask of fear, "Thank you, Madame. Spirits watch over you."

And then she was gone, leaving Denna once more in silent survey of her domain.

That was how she liked it.

-l-

"Are you going in there? Lad? Lad! Listen to me!"

Jennsen stopped, trembling with the fight or flight instinct that had kept her alive thus far. The man loitering in the yard of the inn thought her a boy. That was good. Boys were safer.

She ignored the man, walking slowly around him, keeping him in sight at all times. Her travels had taught her caution. Banelings could look like anyone.

And you didn't have to be a baneling to be bad.

The man was persistent, begging her to bring news of one of the women who worked inside. So the inn was one of those places. It didn't matter. The man was probably a stalker - a jilted client who couldn't understand that what he paid for wasn't real. Jennsen ignored him, entering the establishment.

It looked normal enough, the scrubbed pine tables and men sitting around drinking tankards of ale like any other tavern she'd ever been to. It was when she looked up that the nature of the place became apparent. Carpeted stairs led to a balcony overlooking the bottom floor. There Jennsen could see two well appointed women surveying the crowd. Moving to sit in a quiet corner, she ordered a meal and a barley water from the serving girl and looked up to study the women further. They were beautiful, in a bright, tawdry way.

She wondered what made women turn to that kind of work. Surely they had to be as desperate as she was. Jennsen wondered if she would consider the line of work if she didn't have her brother to hang her hopes on. Would she let men, drunk and stinking, paw their hands over her for a few coins?

Her stomach rumbled as the serving girl returned with her meal, and Jennsen dug in, glad she had decided to splurge on the food instead of subsisting on the meager rations she had left from the farm.

She thought that if she was hungry enough, maybe she would ask for a job upstairs. Life had been hard since her mother's death, and grown harder still in a violent slash of red. There was no room for pride in survival. She would do what it took to reach her brother, to help save the world.

Looking up again to watch the women on the balcony, Jennsen saw that one of them had left while she was contemplating her food. The remaining mistress looked out over the room. Jennsen wondered if she was in charge. She was quite elegant in her black dress with her curled blond hair. The woman turned toward Jennsen's corner of the room, and Jennsen's blood ran cold.

Denna.

Jennsen sat, frozen like a rabbit, unable to move for what felt like years. Her heart thudded in her chest. Was it possible to die of fright?

Had Denna seen her? Would she have to fight her? Could she possibly win if she did?

But why would Denna want her now?

Little by little, Jennsen felt her muscles unfreeze. Mechanically, she started eating again. Food was too expensive and coppers too scarce to let the plate before her go to waist. Strung tight as a thread in a loom, ready to break, Jennsen ate as fast as she could without making herself sick. She would calmly get up and leave. Denna hadn't seen her. Maybe Denna wouldn't even care if she did see her. She would finish her food, and go sleep in the woods, and everything would be fine.

Still, she watched Denna from the corner of her eye. Some how she felt that as long as she could see the Mord'Sith standing on the balcony, she was safe.

-l-

Denna watched as a young lad in a worn robe made his way to the door. She could tell by the way he moved that he was upset, tense about something. Most likely had been dared by his friends to come to a house of ill repute and bring back some sort of proof, and was too ashamed to go through with it. She had seen it before. There were those who felt that the profession of her and her ladies was immoral, shameful, something not to be spoken of. Denna was a pragmatist.

There were a lot of worse ways to make a living.

Her doormen noticed the lad's tension and looked to Denna. She shook her head. He was leaving peacefully. What he did outside the doors wasn't her problem.