“Yes, Mother.”

Taran slipped out, stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets to keep them warm, and headed for the brothel. This was the biggest Morrison house in town, and one block outside the boundary of upper South Market. Why couldn’t Nic tumble with daros? Or be on a Favored list somewhere? Getting in and out of daro houses didn’t require facing memories Taran wanted to forget. Didn’t keep him scanning every face looking for his brother.

He slipped into the brothel and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. This one tried to emulate a daro house, but he wasn’t fooled. He’d been in real ones. Everything about this building was a cheap imitation. Daros created true intimacy, and cared about their clients as people.

“Can I help you?” A hulking human male crossed his arms, probably to make his muscles bulge. Which they did, straining at the sleeves of his shirt.

“I’m here to investigate the claim one of the women had a child by Prince Nicco.”

The human cocked his head, staring at him. “And you are?”

Taran lifted his chin and stepped into the circle of light from the fixture above. Green and gold threads, the Faroukh royal colors, were woven into his hair above his left temple. His collar bore an etching of a lotus blossom””the Faroukh family crest. His clothes were tailored and of the highest quality fabrics available, just like Nic’s. “Taran, the prince’s steward.”

“Follow me.”

The human led him into a small sitting room, indicated he should sit, and left. Taran didn’t sit. He stood in the middle of the room, unzipped his jacket, and studied the furnishings. Everything looked expensive, and most were probably fooled by it. But to someone who lived in true luxury, surrounded by marble and precious metals, he knew it was a front. One hiding Loks men and women who wished for death.

Heels clicked in the hall, and a woman’s voice drifted through the closed door. At least he didn’t have to deal with Morrison.

The knob turned, and the door creaked open. Taran almost stopped breathing at the vision making eye contact with him. Luscious honey-blonde hair a man’s fingers could get lost in. Legs stretching for miles. Delicate hands.

She closed the door, and the sound made him jerk in a breath. “Lights on. I’m sorry you were left in the dark.”

Sweet Isis! The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood ten feet from him. Her eyes were darkest blue, with a ring of lighter blue around her pupils. A full mouth begged to be kissed.

“I’m Da’Renna. You must be Taran.”

“Yes.” It came out more like a croak, which made her lips twitch.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing’s wrong. Uhm”¦ I’m here about the girl”¦”

Da’Renna pressed her lips together. “Are you always so tongue-tied in front of women?” Amusement filled her tone.

Another shake of his head. Geez, he was going to give her the impression he was a blithering idiot if he didn’t get it together.

She came closer, and her perfume””jasmine and violets””filled his head. “It’s kind of nice to meet someone who’s dumbstruck by me, instead of trying to rip my clothes off.”

He scanned her body, hugged by skin-tight leather pants with red lacing up the sides showing bare skin underneath, and a matching top with more red lacing holding her breasts in. Which were a little too big, in his opinion, and detracted from her beauty. “I’m usually more suave than this. I do belong to the biggest womanizer in town, after all.”