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    Summary

    “And if he is mistaken for merchandise?” Dottie fired back, something alive enough in her bartered soul to take offense at Daeron’s bringing in a child, sweet boy that Egg was, into such an establishment.

    Daeron for his part let out a great sigh, tossing his hands vaguely, “Then that great kohl smudged gorgon yonder may tell them he’s not for sale?” he referenced the madame.

    Egg did not mind waiting in the entresol of a brothel, even one of subpar quality such as this one, with its decaying plaster and dank smelling odor. What he did mind was wasting precious time and yet more gold stags on Daeron’s perverse need to drain himself every five miles. They’d stopped on the previous days’ journey and the one before that, the one before that, too. The first one they entered was a far better abode of courtesans and there Daeron had paid handsomely for Egg to stay with the horses while he rode the whores. Yet their entire purpose for stopping at the pleasure houses remained unachieved.

    That is— remedying the atrocious, half finished removal of Egg’s silver hair.

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    Language:
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