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Since he didn’t seem to be upset by her rebuff, she led by instinct. “I want you to get away from me. Now. Stand in the corner, while I search you.”
He almost fell over himself hurrying to the corner of the room, where he stood with his head bowed and his arms at his side. Riella could sense his whole body quivering. What in all the seven seas was going on?
He seemed to enjoy being pushed around by her. Would it truly be as simple as barking orders at him to get what she wanted? It couldn’t be that easy—she had to be missing something.
Of course, he could yell for help at any moment and she’d be set upon by his bodyguards, and possibly Gerret. Despite the Count’s apparent harmlessness, she was still in a precarious situation.
Keeping a wary eye on him, she moved to the wooden box on the vanity, dragging her fingertips across the top of the lid. The Count whimpered pathetically.
The box held an array of polished silver weapons, and coils of black rope. She snorted. It was like Zemora and Quaan were daring her to rob him.
“I know,” he said with a moan, catching the expression on her face. “I am disgusting. You would be right to deride me. I deserve it.”
She exhaled, making up her mind. If she was to save Seraphine, she needed coin. Despite the risk of robbing a Count, the opportunity was too good to pass up. So, in the end, she withdrew the coils of rope.
“Stand by the post of the bed.” She spoke as evenly as possible, because every time she injected feeling into her voice, he enjoyed it. “Put your arms around it.”
He obeyed. She tied his wrists around the wooden post, binding them tightly, followed by his ankles. The whole time, he gave little yelps and sighs.
“Ah!” He grimaced. “That’s tight. I can not escape you, siren.”
“That’s the idea.”
The last thing she did was gag him, using rope. It wasn’t until she started methodically rifling through his pockets that she sensed some reservation in him. He frowned, trying to speak in muffled grunts.
“Too late,” she said as her fingers closed around a small yet pleasingly heavy velvet pouch. “Found what I wanted.”
The pouch was filled with dozens of gold coins. She smiled in relief. Next, she removed all of his rings. The Count curled his fingers in protest, trying to stop her, but her strength far outstripped his own.
Soon, she’d liberated all of his weighty rings and bracelets, adding them to the velvet pouch with satisfaction.
On impulse, she tore off one of his shirt ruffles and blindfolded him, too. The less aware he was of his surroundings, the longer she’d have to escape. As she put her ear to the door to listen, she stuffed the pouch down the front of her dress alongside the parchment.
“You’ll be pleased to know this coin is going to an excellent cause,” she said to the Count. “I’m going to rescue an elf.”
The Count struggled harder, his face turning red.
Steeling herself with a deep breath, Riella opened the door and slipped into the hallway. Before she could close it again, the bodyguards sprang to attention. One threw his arm across her path and the other stuck his foot out to prevent the door from shutting.
“And where do you think you’re going?” asked the guard who’d thrust out his arm, which she was trying very hard to not break in half.
For the second time in one day, she found herself in a serious enough situation to deploy her siren charm.
Riella gazed deeply into the guard’s eyes, lowering her voice and smiling impishly. His eyes hazed over and his jaw dropped open. As much as she liked fighting, she had to admit that crippling men with a mere smile was satisfying, too.
Women had the same skill, of course, although they often didn’t use these powers to their full extent. Probably because women had to live among their male counterparts. Sirens, on the other hand, could escape to the ocean after provoking men.
“The Count requested another girl to help me entertain him,” she whispered, so that he had to lean closer. “I’ll be right back.”
The other guard, who wasn’t under her spell, squinted through the cracked door before she could leave. Riella tensed. The moment he saw his boss trussed up like a trout, the fight would be on.
And he definitely saw. But apparently Zemora being tied to a post was a routine occurrence, because the guard simply gave a quick, embarrassed nod of comprehension. He closed the door and waved his hand at Riella to go about her business.
Flushed with success, she hurried down the crowded hallway toward the stairs leading to Madame Quaan’s study.
Halfway there, she realized she was being followed. The guard she’d hypnotized was trailing her like a suckerfish, slack-jawed and cloudy-eyed. His colleague frowned after him in bewilderment.
She clapped her hands in front of the guard’s face. “Go back to the door.”
