Chapter 5: Plan of Attack

Scene 21

The carriage had taken them to the always-colourful Blackwood Street. From there, Lizabet led them into an alley, down a set of stone steps, and into a small antechamber lined with lockers.

The bouncer was a squat man with thick arms. He looked over each of the group in turn. Valerie had already started unbelting and handing over each of her knives — how many did she have? — before the guard turned to Zofia. After one quick glance, he said, “Cloak on. Sword stays here.”

She bristled immediately, but Valerie put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, Zee.” She nodded to the lockers. “They’ll look after it.”

Valerie’s confidence — and demonstration — would have to be enough. Zofia undid the swordbelt from her waist and handed it in. She didn’t say anything, but she did try to glare at the bouncer without revealing her eyes. She wasn’t sure how well it worked.

Beyond the next door was a hookah lounge. Thin curtains hung between the tables; the sheer fabric and haze of smoke obscured the space, but didn’t fully hide anything. Those curtains were silk, the furniture richly-made. While the bodyguards kept their cloaks like Zofia did, the patrons were dressed in finery.

“I was expecting something seedier,” she whispered to her companions. “I can’t even see a smoke stain.”

Valerie nodded. “More crime happens in decadent lounges than in the deepest dive or darkest alleyway.”

“She’s rehearsed that line a hundred times,” Lizabet whispered, “But it’s true.” By then, they’d reached the table they’d been seeking, and she smiled at her contact. “Sigmund, it’s good to see you.”

Sigmund was a tall, thin man with silver hair. He rose to his feet with a smile that his guard didn’t match. “Liz, a pleasure.” They greeted each other with kisses on the cheek. “You look amazing as always.”

“Beauty is one of my businesses,” she said as she flowed into a seat opposite him. “As is pleasure. But I’m here about my other business tonight.”

Zofia watched her. How could she already be so flirtatious, so comfortable in her own skin, only one night after what had happened? While Valerie sat at Lizabet’s side, Zofia stood behind them both with her arms folded, unarmed but at the ready.

Sigmund laughed as he settled in again. “Of course. What’ll it be tonight? A key for me to copy? An invitation to Lady Astor’s moon-viewing party? I know you love how they have their eyes more on the moon than their purse strings. If you’re here about the young Miss Cynthia Exeter’s debut, I’m afraid they’ve delayed again.”

“No game so small,” Lizabet said. There was fire in her eyes and a wicked twist to her smile. “I’m after the Owls.”

Sigmund grinned back at her. “I knew you couldn’t stay away. They’re just such a lucrative opportunity, aren’t they?”

Zofia bristled at his being so flippant, nails clutching at her upper arms. But she reminded herself that he couldn’t have known what the Owls had so recently put Lizabet through.

He continued, “Just this new face, or are you sending this new cutter, too?” He glanced at Zofia, but soon turned back to Lizabet. “I can start greasing wheels and palms, and you’ll be all set to attend their next ‘play party’ next week. All for my usual cut, of course.”

Zofia frowned. “That’s not the next party,” she said. “What about Darlinalia?”

Sigmund frowned up at her. He narrowed his eyes, trying to peer into the shadows of her hood, until she turned her face away. “Who is this new cutter, Liz?”

“Someone who asks a good question,” Lizabet said “We know Darlinalia starts soon, and we know the Owls have the kind of plans that the biggest wigs won’t miss.”

Sigmund sighed. He folded his hands on the table as he watched Lizabet. “Next week is the next party that I can get you into. Darlinalia is too short notice. They’d look at any last-minute invites under a microscope.”

Lizabet pursed her lips. “So it’d raise suspicion. How much would it cost to get palms greasy enough to drop suspicion?”

Sigmund shook his head. “Not for gold. You won’t like it, I assure you.”

“Out with it.”

Sigmund sighed. “You’d have to bring a slave of your own. Collar, barely-dressed, treat her like a plaything, the works.”

Zofia’s blood ran cold while Lizabet stiffened and spoke through gritted teeth. “Excuse me?”

“Exactly,” Sigmund said “Look, it’s two things. One, mutual threat. If you’re enslaving someone too, they wouldn’t expect you to go to the crown raising alarms about slavers. Two...” His voice trailed off.

All three women stared at him, demanding he finish the sentence.

He sighed again. “Two, bringing the right ‘entertainment’ opens a lot of doors.” He threw up his hands. “Their words, not mine!”

Zofia missed her sword. She wouldn’t have drawn it, but she would have felt a lot better if she could have just gripped the hilt. Instead, she settled for clawing into her own upper arms.

Lizabet cleared her throat. “Next week will be fine.”

“I thought as much,” Sigmund said. “Now, what name should I put on these invites?”

Valerie cut in. “Damascus.”

Lizabet wrinkled her nose “Oh, I hate Damascus.”

“It’s the best plan for the situation and you know it.” Valerie said it with a smile and a tone that reminded Zofia of their governess reminding her brother to eat his vegetables.

Lizabet huffed a sigh, blowing a stray lock of blonde hair. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” But she nodded to Sigmund. “Damascus. You know the one. As for you...” She looked up at Zofia. “Sig, I’m guessing you can’t put a ‘plus one’ on these?”

“Not a virgin’s chance in a nunnery.”

The idiom raised Zofia’s eyebrow, but the tone made his meaning clear. Valerie, in disguise as this ‘Damascus’, would enter the Owls’ territory ... and Zofia would not.

Lizabet nodded, lightly squeezing Zofia’s forearm. “We’ll talk later.”

The pair took a few minutes to finalise other details. The meeting ended with Lizabet giving him a down payment and another kiss on the cheek, then they were off.

Scene 22 (discussion of trauma)

The carriage rumbled soothingly under them. Liz was a little tempted to close her eyes and let it lull her off to a nap, but there was more to be done.

She met Zofia’s eyes. “It’s ‘later’. So ... I understand this isn’t quite the plan you were intending.”

The princess shook her head, turning to look out the window. “I understand. You’re not planning to kick in the Owls’ door and arrest them all at once.” She nodded to Val. “You’re going to infiltrate them. Get them to let you in, and from there, gather the information we need to stop them fully.”

Liz blinked. Well, that skipped the conversation ahead.

“And I...” Zofia sighed and pulled her hood back. One shake of her head straightened her lustrous, pink hair. “ ... I am not exactly suited to such subtlety.”

“You’ll have a different role to play,” Liz said. “We’re not just getting information. We’re gathering evidence of who the Owls’ leaders actually are and where they keep their victims. You’re the one with the authority to do something with that.”

Zofia pursed her lips, touching her tiara. “Though I’ll admit this plan is ... slower than I’d been hoping for. It raises the question of what I’m to do until then.”

“Keep safe,” Val said. “The Owls aren’t going to just stop looking for you, so that suite is yours for as long as you need it. And reach out to your contacts. Anyone you’d trust with the arrest.”

“That is a ... good question,” Zofia said. “Lord Exeter, perhaps.” She looked out the window again, thoughtful.

There was something else going loudly unsaid. It was in how Zofia met Liz’s eyes just enough, then otherwise avoided them. It was in how she focused on talking about future plans, not letting herself dwell on past events. Maybe it was masked enough to hide it from other people, but to Liz, she may as well have been shouting her guilt from the rooftops.

She tapped Val’s arm. “Give us a few minutes?”

That made Zofia stiffen, but Val just nodded and pecked her cheek. “I’ll be a shout away.” She slid out the window and pulled herself up onto the carriage’s roof.

Zofia still sat stiffly upright, though her eyes were cast down. She thought she knew what Liz intended. “I’m sorr—”

“Don’t.”

The coldness in Liz’s tone stopped the princess short. Honestly, she’d surprised herself.

But she kept going. “Don’t apologise. Not just because you didn’t do anything. It’s important you understand.” She leaned in closer. “I. Was. Never. Raped.”

More than any other response, that just seemed to confuse Zofia. “I saw you. I saw the state you were in.”

“You saw what I’d wanted them to see. A vulnerable victim with a hot body that could distract them for a few hours. I chose what happened.” Liz found herself watching her own ferocity with a strange sense of half-disconnect. Was she trying to convince herself, too? She was fine with that.

Zofia’s fair, smooth cheeks were flushed red, for several reasons. “And what exactly do you think they would have done if you’d chosen differently? Do you really think they would have victimised you any less?”

Liz took deep, fast breaths, trying and failing to calm her racing heart. “If I hadn’t manipulated them into delaying, they would have just handed me over to the Owls right away and you might have never caught up.” Tears stung at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Zofia blinked. That possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. She’d thought that what had happened was the only thing that possibly could. That was the sign of a skilled deception, though Liz hadn’t meant to catch her in it too.

“I chose what happened,” Liz repeated. She wiped her eyes. “They chose what they did, and they deserved every drop of blood that you and Val shed. But with me, they did it because I tricked them into doing it. So, princess, don’t apologise. Don’t take away my agency like that.”

Zofia stared at her. Though she was speechless, Liz could read her emotions like they were written in a book. Shock first, in the parting ‘O’ of her soft, pale lips. Then understanding and empathy, glittering in her gemstone eyes. She didn’t know what to do with that empathy, but she nodded her acknowledgement to Liz.

Then one she hadn’t expected. Resolve.

She sat up straighter, her shoulders set, and knocked on the carriage’s front. “Turn around,” she told the driver.

Liz blinked at her. “What are you doing?”

“If you can make a choice like that, how can I wear this crown and do any less?” Zofia looked intensely into her eyes. “I’ll do it. I’ll play the slave.”

Liz choked. “That’s ... insane.” It was such a sledgehammer of illogic that she couldn’t even articulate why. So she leaned out the window for backup. “Val, tell her it’s insane!”

Val swung back in through the window, coming to rest beside Liz. “What’s insane? Why are we going back?”

Scene 23

Anxiety thundered through Zofia’s veins, but purpose drove her from a deeper place. This was something she could do. She found herself sitting up straighter, prouder. “We’re going to Darlinalia after all,” she told Valerie. “Both of us. I’ll play the role of the ‘slave’ you need.”

Valerie stared at her. She didn’t respond as viscerally as Lizabet, but in a cool, calm tone. “Princess, think about what you’d get yourself into. I couldn’t just point at you, say ‘she’s mine’, and leave it at that.”

“Yes, I know. You’d have to collar me, command me, treat me like property.” The thought made Zofia’s heart accelerate until she was dizzy, but she didn’t let her voice shake. “But it would be you doing so, not one of them.” If it was Valerie, all would be right.

“Yes, we’d have to collar you,” Lizabet stressed. “We’re not just talking about putting a symbol around your neck, princess.”

“I know.” Zofia clasped her hands. Could they see them shaking, even with her gloves on, even clasped together? “It would force me to follow commands. Her commands.” If it was Valerie ... all would be right.

Valerie was still staring at her. There was a moment of hesitation, of conflict in her eyes. But when she spoke, her tone was firm. “And my commands would fit the cover.” She swooped in, suddenly close. Boldly breaking into Zofia’s personal space, so close their bodies almost touched, so close she could feel her breath, so close those grey eyes filled her vision.

Zofia froze. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t look away. So close.

Valerie’s voice was a soft, silken whisper. “If ‘Damascus’ brings a beautiful plaything like you, they’ll expect him to show you off. I’d command you to strip naked, to display how lovely you are. I’d touch you, play with your body like a toy.”

Zofia hadn’t known her heart could beat so fast, not without exploding. She didn’t trust herself to breathe without hyperventilating. And all the while she was still swept up in those steely eyes.

The carriage came to a halt. They’d arrived.

That slight jolt brought Zofia back to the present. Those images still plagued her mind, but she managed to slip away from Valerie and out the door. As she moved, she pulled up her hood, hiding her hair, tiara, and hotly blushing face. Best not to try thinking about that just yet.

She had her swordbelt off and offered before the bouncer finished greeting her. Valerie was delayed handing over all her knives, but Lizabet just walked in right behind her. “Think about what you’re suggesting here. Think about how it could go wrong!”

Oh, if she only knew how intimately Zofia knew that concept. But she didn’t stop to enlighten her; she just kept walking.

The situation, if reversed, was recently familiar.

She found him. Sigmund hadn’t even left the table yet. His guard eyed her warily, but she kept a safe distance.

She leaned over the table, one hand on its surface. “If we had a slave to bring, then you could get us into Darlinalia?”

He blinked up at her, confused by her intrusion. “It would depend on the slave,” he hedged. “This late, it’d have to be someone they’d really want in the ... festivities.”

“What if she looked like this?” She threw her hood back.

Recognising her now as Princess Zofia Tourmaline, Sigmund choked on his hookah, smoke puffing between his lips. “Are you crazy? Put that away! Do you have any idea what kind of bounty is on you right now?” He realised he was still talking to her like she was some unproven ‘cutter’. “Er, Your Highness, ma’am?”

Satisfied, Zofia hid her hair and tiara again. “I suppose that means they must really want me.”

Lizabet caught up. “Zee, please. Would you just stop and think about this?”

They really thought she hadn’t. Very well.

Zofia took a deep breath. “The worst-case scenario is that we are found out and the Owls kill us or enslave us in truth. That’s the same danger that Valerie will face with or without me, and we will do all in our power to prevent it.”

That stopped them short. Had they really thought she hadn’t considered it? She’d managed that much overthinking in about two seconds.

She continued. “That risk aside, this choice of cover guarantees that I will experience certain indignities. I will be leered at. My body will be touched. I may be...” She struggled with the words. “ ... used. These are the same indignities being experienced by many of my subjects right now. To facilitate saving them, submitting to some fraction of their experience is a worthy sacrifice.” She met Lizabet’s yellow eyes, feeling the admiration warming through her. “I would make that choice.”

“Save...?” Sigmund slumped forward, head in his hands, and groaned. “You’re not just robbing them this time, are you?”

Lizabet grabbed a chair, sighing. “We’ll do that too. No sense leaving money on the table.” Sigmund would still get his cut. “But...” She touched her own neck. “They’ve made it so I need to dismantle them, and Zee here is with me.” Her eyes flicked to Zofia. “Though this isn’t what I had in mind. We could do the same next week with more time to prepare and less risk.”

“Could we do the same?” she asked, then turned to Sigmund. “What you could ‘safely’ get Damascus into next week. You called it a ... play party. Would she be there?”

It took Sigmund a frowning moment. When it dawned on him, he paled. The Queen of the Owls wasn’t a name you dropped lightly, but he knew what she meant. “No. Not for a basic party like that. But...” He could see where she was going, and he didn’t like it. “She wouldn’t miss Darlinalia.”

“We’ll need more from you, if possible,” Zofia said. “A collar like the Owls use.” They couldn’t risk the Owls recognising the one that they’d used on Lizabet, if there was something distinct about them. “Everything you know about how they work. And any expectations for Darlinalia. Dress code, behaviour, and so forth.” She pulled up a chair.

Sigmund rubbed his face. “It’s not like I’ve ever been to it,” he said. “I only know what I’ve been told.”

Lizabet hovered for a moment, soft red lips pursed as she watched Zofia. But eventually, she sighed and nodded to Sigmund. She was on board. “Then tell us what you’ve been told. We’re going to need to get Zee up to speed fast.”

Valerie finally caught up with them, to find them both at the table and picking Sigmund’s brain. Seeing those eyes again sent a new flutter through Zofia’s chest, especially when they narrowed in her direction.

But Valerie saw the writing on the wall. The plan had officially changed. With a sigh, she joined them.

Scene 24 (discussion of trauma)

Hours later, they returned to the bordello. Liz’s mind was abuzz with the unique feeling of planning: the fatigue and fullness of taking in all the information Sigmund could give them, combined with the electric excitement of putting them together into what to do.

She was first through the door — giving Val’s cheek a kiss in passing as thanks for holding it — and led the way up the stairs, but split off toward the security balcony. “Here’s where I love you and leave you, darlings. Letters to write and messengers to send, if we’re to have everything ready by tomorrow.” They couldn’t just show up to Darlinalia; Sigmund’s contact would vet them first, and if all went well, then Val and Zofia could attend the Owls’ bastardisation of the festival.

Zofia lingered in the landing, drawing off her cloak to leave it draped over her forearm. “Will you be safe here?”

“Safer here than anywhere else.” Liz gestured to the curtain. “Up here, all the guards have eyes on me. I’m not going to bed with any strangers until after this is all done.” She could take a little while off that job without missing it too much.

Zofia’s cheeks turned a colour that looked quite fetching against her hair and eyes. “Very well. If you need me for anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Liz pulled up a chair at one table overlooking the club. “There is one thing.” She drew a stack of papers close and inked her pen. “I’ll need your measurements. Val knows how to handle a tape—”

Zofia listed off the numbers without a second’s hesitation.

Liz blinked with surprise, but jotted them down. The ink faded from view as soon as it was written. “You just had that memorised?”

Zofia shrugged. “Those were the numbers when this was made.” She held her cloak aside, enabling a better look at her red dress. “It’s a good fit.”

Liz allowed herself a peek. The vibrant, cherry-red material was a vivid contrast with Zofia’s porcelain skin, and the tailored tightness closely followed her body, outlining her full breasts and tight, athletic curves. “Yeah.” She brought her eyes back to the page. “Fit, all right.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get those to a tailor friend of mine, and we’ll get that slave dress made for you.”

A sour look passed over Val’s face. There and gone in a second, anyone else would probably have missed it.