Page 2 of The Faceless Queen

They flanked him, their stances protective, the muscles in their arms flexed and ready to fight. They were watching out for the man’s safety, a sign that his status outranked theirs, and yet I was sure neither of them were guards. Their cloaks and tunics were nearly equal in richness to his. Second, their alertness to their surroundings was lacking. Embarrassingly so.

Already three thieves in the tavern’s shadows had completed the same assessment Finlay and I had. But the nobleman and his friends were too busy watching the stage to notice. The nobleman, in particular, had his eyes on me, following my every move, as did his friend to his left, a burly man with hair so dark it appeared black in the tavern’s shadows. The man on his right, however, with red hair that shone beneath the torchlight, seemed to have no interest in me. His eyes were locked on Finlay, raking my friend from head to toe. The stage was where all three of their gazes remained focused, even as our song ended. They remained engaged even as we performed another, and finished two more.

As the last song started up, Geoffrey finally emerged from the kitchens. Smoke billowed behind him as his shrewd eyes honed in on our guests—right to the nobleman and his friends.

No. No.

But there was nothing I could do, nothing that would stop him from noticing them, from spotting their wealth. And there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop what he did next. He pulled on the end of his short black beard, his equally dark eyes narrowing to snake-like slits. Then he nodded, just once. That was it—all it took. He’d made his decision, made the nobleman into a mark for the night. Because of course he had.

Look another way, I pleaded, look at another girl. Pick someone else. Not me. Not me.

But Geoffrey turned my way without hesitation. His eyes bored into mine. One long finger pointed at the nobleman’s head.

Fuck. My stomach dropped, dread spreading through my limbs. All the energy I’d absorbed, all the lifeforce I’d just fed off the men and devoured, was gone.

Geoffrey hadn’t just picked a mark. He’d picked my mark.

I fucking hated when he did that to me. Hated it for the last seven years I’d been stuck dancing at his establishment.

I didn’t want this. Not tonight. Not again. Never again. I suddenly felt so fucking tired. I wanted to stop dancing. I wanted to go upstairs. Alone.

But I couldn’t. Not without losing everything I’d fought for, everything I’d painstakingly earned. It had taken me years to cobble together enough resources to create something that resembled a life. And it would take seconds for my work to be undone.

Finlay whooped at the end of the verse, cueing a change in the song. It was a sound I knew well—a sound that meant he'd also been given his silent orders from Geoffrey, which meant only one thing. It was time to wrap it up—to start the next performance. The one that was given in private, the one that happened upstairs.

The dancing and music, even the food we served on the ground floor, were just a facade. Geoffrey’s way of claiming legitimacy against King Tirian’s puritanical laws, honoring their version of their patron God, Kavrir. But it was all a farce. Everyone knew the truth, knew why they came here, knew what they truly wanted.

What they actually paid for.

Us.

And yet, for a moment, I’d forgotten what I was, forgotten what I had to do. I’d lost myself in the performance. In the music. I loved dancing. Loved moving my body to express myself. Loved letting the music of Eskalon’s musicians take me away.

But another part of me, the darker part, relished how the stage had become the easiest way for me to find prey. How it had become a way to feed without contact, without the men ever knowing I’d taken part of their lifeforce, stealing anywhere from a few minutes to several years of their lifespan, drinking it in for myself.

Finlay’s rhythm shifted away from our drum solo, a jaunty smile spreading across his face. The other musicians on stage with us had set their instruments down, whistling and clapping along with the audience. But now they were back, playing again in full force. The music swelled, and the crowd cheered. My hips shimmied and shook, moving in a frenzy to match the beat of Eskalon’s favorite song. And through every hip thrust and turn, the men sang, whooping, and cheering to each verse.

Lifting onto my toes, I spun around, the brown curls in my hair whipping across my face, the heavy gold coins on my belt jingling. My red skirts twirled, and the coins affixed to my bra chimed in concert. Applause thundered against the stone walls, the men’s raucous claps and laughter mixing with the roar of the tavern’s fires. With every beat, the song intensified, the music surged in volume, and the tempo increased.

Sweat beaded against my forehead and neck as I danced and spun, dancing until I was desperate to catch my breath. I was pushing myself harder than usual, desperate to forget what Geoffrey had just done, and what it would mean. But my actions cost me. I had spent my energy too quickly, and already my body was beginning to tire. If I wanted to maintain my glamour, I needed to slow down.

Quickly, I caught Finlay’s attention. All I needed was one look and he knew. He was always able to read me. At once, the beat changed, slowing into something more sensual, deeper, and darker.

“You okay?” he mouthed. “Sam?” His brows furrowed with concern.

I nodded, offering him a reassuring smile, and took a long inhale as my hips sinewed into circles, as smooth as a snake. My knees bent as I brought myself dangerously low to the stage floor before rolling my hips, my body undulating as I lifted up to stand. The move was a crowd favorite, one I’d perfected over the years. And exactly as I had intended it to, it reinvigorated their attention, as well as their desire for me.

Once more, my command of the room was complete, and the insatiable thing that lived inside of me was alert. I held everyone in the audience captive. Caught in a spell they’d never understand. They were all fantasizing about me now. Undressing me with their eyes. Imagining me on my knees. On my back. My skirts lifted. My body writhing beneath theirs. Their lust was so intense that some of their thoughts became palpable to me. Something that normally required touch. But it came through with a new burst of energy. Energy I sucked down hungrily. The predator inside me reveled and feasted, while the human part of me, as always, tried not to think about it.

I sent much-needed energy to my hair, using the magic to maintain its color. Some energy went to the hue and shape of my eyes, then to the corners of my face to keep my features just slightly different from the ones I’d been born with. The ones that could be recognized by the wrong people. By the witches I’d grown up with. The witches who’d always despised me.

Because in their eyes, I was no true witch. I was something else, something feared along with the men of Eskalon. I was a faceless one.

An Azete.

I drew power by tapping into others' emotions, and even more dangerously, from the touch of their bodies. I stole their lifeforce, their energy, their power, and I used it to feed, to shapeshift, and to hunt. All night long, I’d been feeding. Hunting without lifting a single weapon. Capturing my prey with a look, a smile, and a shake of my hips.

I caught a glimpse of my hair over my shoulder as I turned. The deep chestnut brown locks had begun to frizz as sweat dripped down my body on stage. But now the curls bounced back, the strands shining with a fresh luster.