Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 11: The Red Mare

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There is little I dare to dwell on of the next three years that became my life. Even now I can barely think of them. Even as the last traces of denner slip away and I can feel the edges of my weary mind stirring with remembering. These fickers of memory are so sharp. Raw lines burned straight into my heart. Oh, how they cut.

But there is always a cost.

And there's a cost to this denner-induced euphoria, which has colored in the outline of my perfect day and wrapped it in cotton so thick I felt like nothing could hurt me. The cost of remembering. And bearing this one, over and over again… bearing it, when the things you wish to forget are heavy as Tehlu's iron wheel and chains besides… I reckon I can understand how it would drive a man to sell everything he owns — even his own daughter — just to stay in the forgetting. Longer. As long as it takes. Until there's no time left for the remembering. Until even the mind that held those memories you fear is gone. And then you stay anyway. Because the taste of sugar is all you have. All you are. And all you were… is gone.

Of the long journey Derren took me on after we left home I remember little. There was the dark interior of a coach. Long hours on the road. A flash of a sign announcing we were leaving Renere, the heart of the kingdom. Miles rolling by on the King's road. Smaller roads. Endless hills. A new wagon. I can't say how many days it took. I know the name of the city where he brought me, nestled up against the southeastern mountains. Mirien. but I didn't learn it until much later.

I wish I could forget it all. How he brought me to The Red Mare, which some called a tavern, or a boarding house, or the house with the red doors. But I knew it for what it truly was: a brothel.

It was bad in ways that I didn't know things could be. I lost myself in those ways. Lost pieces of myself before I knew how tightly I should hold on to them. Every day there, I lost a little bit more. It is like wearing a dress. A favorite dress that you wear over and over again, until the fabric turns threadbare. Until it falters and rips along the seams, leaving holes that bare your skin. And then bits of that fabric find themselves drifting into cracks and crevices, hidden away like a trail of breadcrumbs that leads nowhere. In the same way, I wore myself thin and ragged, until my very skin, my mind, and my heart were full of holes. I left traces of myself there; tangled within the rich fabrics, brushed along the walls. My voice lost in the swell of music, laughs, and drunken shouts that made up the soul of that house.

Why did I stay? There are so many reasons. I was young, and carrying so much grief it left little room to plan an escape. I was afraid. I believed him when he said he would kill everyone I knew. But more so, I was afraid to come back home. I couldn't even begin to imagine the journey. And what if I did? Father had made it clear he didn't want me anymore. I was disposable. Just another thing he could sell for denner. He had picked it over me. And Grandmother and Grandfather… would they still want me? To live in their house? I was broken now. Used. Damaged goods. Like the girls on the corner who we had avoided as we passed by in the street, our eyes resolutely pointed away. Grandmother had never thought much of them. What would she think of me?

And perhaps I deserved it. For sending Mother into the dark with my cruel words. And wasn't it my fault that Father went after her? Perhaps this was my punishment, well earned and awarded. As it should be.

It was easier to stay. It wasn't even as bad as it could have been. At least not at first. I can almost say that it was Father who saved me.

I was young when they took me. Only twelve. And while the Mare catered to all sorts, not many sorts skewed that young. So while I spent a lot of time "training in the arts" — as they called it — with the other girls, I spent many of my evenings singing in the taproom. Performing for the clientele. It was much better than any of the alternatives offered. Better than being thrown to the men right then, or partaking in some wretched sham of begging on the street. My voice pleased them, and this in turn pleased Derren, who stopped by the Mare every so often. He would sit in the taproom and watch me for hours, making it a point to compliment me for my performance.

"A rare find," he called me. He would touch my cheek when he said it, smirking proprietarily. Like he owned me, all the way down to the marrow of my bones.

I learned a lot about Derren in my first year at the Mare. I learned that it was not the only such establishment he owned. There were many others, spread across all of Vintas. There were three such places in Renere alone, but he had taken me far away. Pulled me across days and miles, to a city where no one would think to find me. Aside from his pleasure houses, as he called them, he had other business ventures. I know denner was one of them. He traded in gold and favors both. And debts owed were his favorite. What he did with Father and me was as second-nature to him as breathing, and in the time I spent at the Mare, I saw many girls come on my heels, their faces tear-stained and their spirits broken. I was hardly the only one who knew what it felt to be sold.

So I stayed. We all stayed. There was never really a choice; not one worth making.

But I wasn't me anymore. I wasn't Mother's daughter. Denna's sister. From then on, they called me Dyra, because the name Mother had given me was too pedestrian. Not suitable for a girl of the Mare, the finest establishment of its sort in all of Mirien. Dyra wasn't some shabby apothecarist's daughter. She was beautiful. Pale, with thick black hair that had grown long with time, and eyes as dark as coffee. Exotic. Harder to trace if her grandparents came looking. But Dyra didn't have grandparents. She didn't have anybody.

I embraced Dyra. I wore her face like a mask. Wrapped myself in her skin. It was easier that way. Easier than remembering who I had been. What I lost. With Dyra, there was only music, and the things wrapped up in it. There was kissing, too. And pain that left scars on my skin. But I didn't have to think about that so much. Not as long as I could sing and forget who I was. And with my singing, it was a good year before I touched a man. But eventually even that small bit of grace ran out. Like most things do. And then there were other things to bear. Things that happened between twisted sheets above the taproom and left me in tears afterward. I don't wish to remember them, though they broke me and then rebuilt me into who I am now. But Dyra was strong. Strong enough to hold them all.

Until she couldn't anymore.

It was Caitelyn. Spring had crept upon us in moments over the last span, warming the house from the outside in. The sun had been shining brightly all day, casting harsh shadows across our doorways. It was Felling night; a busy time for us under normal circumstances, and more so in the spring, when the sun teased the masses out of the comfort of their homes. Love was in the air, they said. Not that anyone ever found love here. But still, they came.

So far that day, I had been with two men. The first wanted only to talk. He came in the afternoon and sought me out for my company. His name was Alender, and by then I knew him well. He sat at the bar and ordered several tumbles of whiskey. I counted three in the time I sat with him. The barman gave me water, though he and I called it Vintish Sagerose Wine, and Alender paid three pennies per glass. I spent two hours in his company as he droned on drunkenly about his woes. The same every time. His wife never listened. She had threatened to leave him again. Another man had been chosen as Stable Master in his place. His job didn't appreciate him. His job never appreciated him. It was dull. But not altogether unpleasant as these things go. As evening fell, he settled with the bar for both our drinks and my time and stumbled out into the falling dusk, too drunk for anything more that night. I would see none of the money.

The next man wanted more. He wanted a room with silken sheets and a girl between them. Any girl, so long as she was beautiful. I was free, so I would do. And once he had the things he'd asked for, he took everything I had to offer. He took it quickly. Roughly. It hurt, but mostly on the outside. I smiled and told him that he made me feel things I haven't ever felt before. When he left, he placed a silver bit in my hand.

Two days ago, I had turned fifteen.

I took as much time as I dared after he left, sneaking off to my small space under the eaves so I could squirrel away my coin. I kept my small sack of rainy day money stored under a loose floorboard beneath my bed. It hadn't been loose to begin with, but I had pried it up over time, relentlessly digging at it for brief moments when the attic was empty with a fork I had stolen from the kitchen.

I opened the sack and dropped the silver bit inside. It made a satisfying clink as it joined the rest of the coins. That made nine bits, one quarter bit, one true Cealdish jot, and a handful of pennies — all the coins I had managed to hide away. A positive fortune. I had no idea what to do with it.

At that moment I heard hurried footsteps approaching the attic door, and a second later it swung forward to admit Elin. I had time only to shove the sack of coins down the front of my dress and straighten up before she hurried into the room. Her eyes locked on mine and she offered me a small smile as she made for her bed.

"Are you hiding?"

"Completely," I said easily. "I'm contemplating a nap, even."

"Lord Derren's downstairs." She dug through her bedside table until she found several beaded bracelets and slipped them on her wrists. "He's in a mood."

"A shit mood?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Drunk."

"Ah." I sighed. Lord Derren drunk meant only one thing.

"He's asked for you."

"Damn," I cursed bitterly. "I've already done two today!"

"I know," she said quietly, her tone sympathetic. She brushed her fingers through her long wheat-colored hair, and the bracelets clicked lightly on her wrists. "But your first one only talked. And Herod saw the other one go. He's looking for you. I'm sure he'll send someone here in a minute…" She gave me a significant glance.

"Did you even need your bracelets?" I asked, stepping past her to reach the door.

She shook her head and shot me a shy smile. "They're terribly annoying, if you must know."

"Thanks, Elin."

I left her there and started down the narrow stairs, pushing the small sack of coins further into my corset. I would have to remove it myself, away from Derren's prying fingers. I cursed again. But there was nothing for it. As much as I trusted Elin, a secret only stayed one so long as nobody knew.

I ran into Herod at the foot of the stairs. He scowled at me, his displeasure readily apparent on his greedy face.

"Where have you been?"

"Cleaning up." I gave him a level stare. "Or don't you want me to look pretty?"

"Don't fuck with me," he snapped. "Your last appointment left over thirty minutes ago."

"Yeah?" I kept my face expressionless. "Well he made a mess of things. And I had some calls of nature to attend to—"

He slapped me hard across the face. "Don't get smart with me, girl." I backed away, my cheek stinging. He leaned closer. "One day, I'm going to shut that smart mouth of yours."

"Try it," I hissed. My cheek ached, and I longed to bring my hand to it, but I kept it still at my side. "What will Lord Derren say, if I can't sing anymore?"

"Little bitch." He glared at me. "Go on then. He's in the taproom, waiting for you."

"Great." I took a step forward but he held out an arm to stop me. "Just a second. Your tip?"

My heart skipped half a beat. "He didn't leave one."

"No?" Herod leaned closer, until his face was inches from mine. I could feel his hot breath on my face. When he spoke, his voice was a menacing hiss. "I don't believe you."

I held his gaze, my thoughts flashing to the bag of coins stuffed into my corset. Somewhere on the inside, I shuddered. On the outside, I remained cool. "Too bad," I said calmly. "It's true. I told you, he made a mess of things. And left me nothing for the trouble. You should ban him so he doesn't do it again."

He leaned closer, his sour breath overpowering. "If I find out you've been lying to me…"

"Then you'll feel free to search my things and beat me bloody," I said cooly with much more confidence than I felt. "Excuse me." And I pushed past him into the taproom. I didn't look back to see his plump face turn purple with rage. I had seen it enough that my mind could generate it for me.

I found Lord Derren at the bar, and the sight of his pinched face made me even angrier, if that were possible. As much as I hated Herod, he was nobody. Just the manager Derren had hired to oversee the Mare. To oversee us day-to-day. Derren was the one who owned the Mare. Who had stolen me away from my life, broken as it was, and shoved me into a new life here. A life where I was little more than a pinned bug on display, the case open for petting and prodding.

I hated Derren. When I went to bed, I lay awake for hours and hated Derren. When I looked at Herod's ugly face, I was busy hating Derren. And when I looked at Derren… I mostly imagined strangling him with his own long, silky hair. It gave me the ability to look halfway genuine when I smiled at him.

Derren turned around at the sound of my approaching footsteps and smirked in my direction. I gritted my teeth. I smiled.

"Ah, Dyra." He looked positively gleeful. He must have had at least four tumbles of whiskey. Either that, or he had kidnapped another girl for a pittance. "There you are. I've been waiting for nearly an hour."

"Good evening, Lord Derren," I said. I stared at his hair. He had pulled it back and tied it with a silver clasp. It really was very long. "My apologies, I've been entertaining. We've been ever so busy. If only I knew you were waiting…"

"I've heard," he said, his voice as silky as his hair. "An abundance of customers is much of a blessing. Tehlu smiles upon us."

The only way Tehlu would have smiled upon us would be if he were blind. And deaf too.

"Of course," I agreed graciously.

"I was hoping you could make a little time for me," Derren said, his polite words sounding very much like the question they weren't. He reached for the chain around his neck, twisting the familiar ring that hung upon it while he stared into my eyes. "It's been a terribly long time since I've heard you sing."

"Of course," I repeated, pointedly ignoring the jolt in my stomach at the sight of Mother's ring hanging so casually from his neck. I leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek as he rose from the bar. He tasted of willful deceit and children's tears.

I hated it.