The brothel was called "The Mermaid's Kiss". It stood by the king's road, a few miles from Eladir, where the forest of blue pines opened into a clearing covered with creeping grass and brambles. The building was low, of dark stone, with windows covered by red curtains and a door that creaked like a wounded animal.
Zirinos entered at dusk.
He had not intended to stop there. Derylini Academy was two days' walk to the southwest. Mira was waiting for him. Ander Féris, the baron, was also waiting. But his body was tired, and Enyo, on his shoulder, trembled with the cold that came from the forest. One night. Just one night. Then, he would continue to Decatry.
The smell of cheap perfume, sweat and alcohol mixed with the smell of rotten wood. The women, in torn dresses and empty eyes, sat on the benches against the walls. Some smoked pipes. Others drank. Most just waited.
He paid for two.
The first was called Lila. Faded blonde hair, brown eyes, a scar on her neck that she hid with a silk scarf. She did not ask his name. She did not ask anything. She only took him to the room and did what was asked of her.
Zirinos felt no pleasure. He felt emptiness. The same emptiness he had felt since leaving hell, since Enyo was born, since Mira had called him hero for the last time.
"You can go," he said, when he finished.
Lila left without looking back.
The second was called Mila. Dark hair, green eyes, younger than the first. She smelled of roses and fear.
"Don't hurt me," she asked, before unbuttoning her dress.
"I don't hurt those who give me pleasure," Zirinos replied. It was a lie.
It was faster than with the first. Drier. Emptier.
When he finished, Mila lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Zirinos dressed. He paid double. He did not thank her.
It was in the corridor, on the way out, that he heard the rumors.
Two men sat on a bench against the wall, cups in hand, their voices thick from drinking too much. One of them, a merchant from Eladir, with a graying beard and wine-stained clothes. The other, a passing peasant, with red eyes from exhaustion.
"The baron's girl," said the merchant. "The one who lived in Decatry. She died."
"How?" asked the peasant.
"Dogs. Stray dogs. They appeared out of nowhere, on the baron's property. They killed her. Devoured her."
"The dogs are going mad. The Blue-mind-Destroyer..."
"It's not just that. They say hell has opened. The animals feel it. They go mad."
The merchant drank another gulp.
"The girl was called Mira. Six years old. Her mother had died months ago, in a robbery. They say the baron went mad. That he killed the dogs with his own hands, but it was too late."
The peasant whistled.
"Poor thing. Poor baron."
"Indeed. And the academy closed. The portals opened. The students all went home, or to what remains of it. They say Duke Andy is going to gather the nobles in Lunos. One last tournament. The Endomyar tournament."
"Why?"
"To say goodbye. Or to choose who dies first. It's the same thing."
The two laughed. A dry laugh, without humor.
Zirinos stood still.
Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked softly. He did not hear her. He heard nothing. Only the words echoing in his head like stones falling into a deep well.
Mira. Six years old. Died. Devoured.
The academy closed. The portals opened.
Duke Andy is going to gather the nobles in Lunos. One last tournament.
Mira's mother had died months ago. A robbery, they said. Zirinos knew what had really happened. He knew it was him. He knew that Mira's mother, Lysara, had screamed beneath him while he raped her with a dagger at her throat. He knew he had cut her into small pieces, small enough to fit in a sack.
And the daughter called him hero.
And the daughter trusted him.
And the daughter was now dead.
The men continued talking. Zirinos did not hear the rest. He left the brothel. The air outside was cold, but no colder than the emptiness inside his chest.
The king's road divided there. One way north, to Lunos. Another northwest, to the City of the End. Another southwest, to Decatry and Derylini.
Zirinos looked southwest. The academy. Mira. There was no longer any reason to go.
He looked northwest. The City of the End. The Pope. The judgment.
He looked north. Lunos. The tournament. The nobles. Death.
"Let's go," he said to Enyo. "The City of the End awaits."
He began to walk northwest.
The road was narrow, flanked by blue pines whose leaves glowed with mana at their tips. The first sun, pale and sad, hid behind the low clouds. The cold wind brought the smell of wet earth and fear.
Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked.
"Be quiet," whispered Zirinos. His voice came out hoarse, strange, as if it were not his.
Enyo fell silent.
He walked in silence.
He thought of Mira. Her curly hair. Her drawings of stick figures with long legs. The way she laughed when he told her stories. The first time she called him hero.
The memory hurt. Not like a physical wound. Like an absence. A black hole where once there had been something warm.
Are you crying? – asked a voice inside his head. It was not his. It was the masked one's voice.
Zirinos touched his face. It was dry.
Monsters don't cry, he thought.
He remembered the contract. The signature. The promise to destroy Endomyar in exchange for the protection of his brothers. Zerane and Ziring, somewhere in Xérius, sold as slaves. And him here, in this miserable world, protecting a child who had just died.
What was the point?
Why continue?
The answer came cold, raw, like a punch in the stomach.
Because yes. Because there is nothing else.
The next day, Zirinos arrived at a small inn on the outskirts of the City of the End. The name did not matter. The people did not matter either. He sat in a corner, ordered wine, and began to plan.
Lindériu.
The holy warrior. The hero of Aryster. The man who had thrown him into hell. The one who now walked south, to the City of the End, to the succession tournament. The one who had renounced his land like his father.
Zirinos knew that Lindériu's dogs had not killed Mira. The dogs were strays, without owners, driven mad by the destruzzo-mente-anil. Everything the destruzzo-mente-anil touched became worse.
But Lindériu did not need to be guilty. He needed to appear guilty.
Zirinos drank the wine in one gulp. His tongue burned. His eyes, dry.
I will ask for a judgment, he thought. In the City of the End. Before the Pope. Before the nobles. Before everyone.
I will invent evidence. Fake letters. Bought witnesses. A story of trained dogs, of orders given from afar, of a plan to kill the baron Féris's daughter and thus weaken Decatry.
No one will investigate. No one will doubt. The people already hate the Aryster. The Pope is tired. The nobles are afraid.
Lindériu will lose his head.
And I will watch.
He stood up. He paid for the wine. He left the inn.
Enyo, on his shoulder, squeaked.
"Let's go," said Zirinos. "The City of the End awaits."
The road northwest was deserted. The first sun, pale and sad, illuminated the burnt fields. The cold wind brought the smell of smoke and blood.
Zirinos walked.
The monster that came out of hell did not cry. It only planned.
And the plan was simple: destroy Lindériu. Then, go to Lunos. Then, destroy the rest.
One lie at a time.