If he did not harbor so much hope that she was the path to a valuable prize, he would have paused for her beauty. Striking red hair, the color of fire. Smooth, creamy skin. Piercing eyes, inquisitive in the way that they searched his face. He found one corner of his lip tugging upward despite himself, but it was best not to get too excited. Not yet. He still needed to find out who she was. “Your home is stunning,” he said, traipsing around the compact room.
Foxfire glowed in all corners. The room held a heat to it, though he spotted no fire. A strange environment, to be sure. Before he parted his lips to investigate further, Balvonak found himself interrupted by the young woman.
“What is it you wish to learn about living in the forest?” she muttered, trying to feign enthusiasm.
“Hm?” Already forgetting the lie that had gained him entry into the home, Balvonak arched a brow. When the memory came flooding back, he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, right. Well… for starters, I’d love to know how you heat a room with no fire.”
Esven became quiet. Her eyes darted to the tree roots growing in her hearth. She cleared her throat and slid over to a nearby stool. “It’s… nothing, really. Just… still heated from the sun above. Good insulation.”
A lie. He knew it the moment it spilled off of her lips. Balvonak spun around, soaking the sight of everything in. It took several scrutinizing stares, but each new piece of evidence pointed to his greatest hopes. The light of the foxfire: a substance that barely illuminated enough to cast the weakest of glows, pulsed so brightly that it lit the room.
The heat. He knew not where it came from, and that in and of itself pointed to another supernatural source.
The cat. The way that she seemed to interpret its glances and sounds. She granted it an almost human attention, just as he had suspected outside.
Her face. Balvonak had never met Amadeia in person… he had earned his freedom from the Netherworld shortly before she became an asset to Marumon. But he knew, from those unfortunate return visits to keep Marumon abreast of his progress, that the demons revered her. Sang praises of her. Sketched her, captured her likeness in countless artistic forms, as if she was a goddess to them. And this woman before him—Esven—she sported Amadeia’s facial structure. The high cheekbones. The full lips. But it was her eyes that sold him. Those intense, calculating eyes.
It took Balvonak all of thirty seconds to come to the conclusion that Esven was precisely the individual he was searching for.
It was that chaotic buzz which temporarily disbanded his poise. With the hair on his arms standing on end, his excitement prodded him to ask, “Do you live alone?”
“Excuse me?” Esven wrinkled her nose and took a step back.
Balvonak saw the fear then. It was a small spark, but enough for him to spy it. Returning to formalities, he set his hat down on a nearby table. “I’m sorry, my darling. My only fear of living off the fat of the land is that, after a while, loneliness must invade the walls of the home. I should have restructured my sentence.”
Esven relaxed a little after his explanation. She slid her hand over the short counter space she had, moving to stand behind it. “You get used to it after a while.”
The demon smirked. “I’m sure you do. Solitude is worth its weight in gold. Yet, I am sure you still entertain visitors on at least some occasions. Siblings? Parents?”
His statement caused an internal flinch, but Esven did not show it outside her body. “Truth be told,” she replied firmly, “I prefer not to entertain any visitors.”
Saucy. Balvo pinched his mouth shut to keep from grinning too broadly. She was tight-lipped. Clever with her answers. He’d break her, though. The pieces to his puzzle were falling into place.
Now, he only needed to discover if she was a full-blooded human.
“Not close with your family, then?” he asked, tilting his head. “If that is the case, you and I are two peas in a very small pod.”
“Oh?” Esven crossed her arms over her chest, maintaining her distance. “Then living alone in the forest makes perfect sense for you.”
“Yes.” Balvo pulled up a nearby chair made entirely of wood and sat, sliding his palms on his legs until they stopped at his knees. Though the majority of his approach thus far had been wrapped in falsehood, he needn’t conjure any sentiment to fill the words that followed with conviction. He believed them with his whole heart. “People,” he said, shrugging, “they have too great a tendency to let you down.”
It was the first moment since Balvonak had arrived that Esven felt any small connection with him at all. “You’ve got that right,” she mumbled, glancing to the cauldron that contained the contents of her dinner. She sighed, already irritated with herself for the offer she was about to propose. But, he seemed… okay. “Look, I typically only cook for one, but, if you’re hungry…”
The offer was appealing. Though driven by desire to identify who she was, Balvo could not deny the way the food’s aroma prodded his mouth to fill with saliva. “To dine in the presence of such a lovely woman,” he said, standing to his feet, “would be a great honor.”
Esven flinched, her nose wrinkling. “In the future, a simple ‘yes’ will suffice,” she said, turning to find two empty bowls.
Balvonak approached, easing himself slowly toward her. He had to admit, a certain joy stemmed from her ability to swat his charm away like a bothersome fly. It was… fresh. Delightful. It gave the game a bit more thrill than it would have had, had she rolled over and eaten out of his hand like the humans he’d met before her. “Message received,” he uttered, standing on the opposite side of her small counter.
It did not take long to devour the small meal after she had set it before him. Balvo was hungrier than he had first thought. But it was not just for food that the demon hungered. As the evening progressed, he found his appetite to discover who this woman was growing harder to ignore.
She remained too clever to give him any solid answers. Their exchange of small talk offered him little in the way of insight.
He’d have to turn up the heat.
Dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a finger, Balvonak stood from his chair. He reached over to grab Esven’s empty bowl, and along with his, he searched for her sand and water: the elements any peasant would need to cleanse their dishes after they had been used. As he scanned the room, he found no evidence of them. “How would you like me to clean these, my darling?”
Esven sat up, her eyes growing a hair wider. She did not employ the traditional methods for cleaning. She had magic for such mundane tasks. “Just… set them on the counter. I will tend to them later. Thank you.”
Balvonak grinned, as if he knew why she redirected him. Sweeping back over across from her, he settled into his seat once again. He needed to reroute the conversation back to her lineage. The demon legitimately enjoyed her company, as surprising as that was, but she was not a long-term investment in his happiness. It was imperative that he discover whether or not she was full-blooded human, before he wasted any more of his time. “So… a competent little recluse like yourself… do tell, did you come by your skills naturally? Or are your talents in the forest… inherited?” He rubbed his palms together. “Let me guess, I’m usually quite good at this.” Balvo snapped his fingers and pointed to her. “Your father was a carpenter, and your mother… she was a weaver, no doubt.”
An unexpected sweep of amusement tackled Esven as she chuckled at his ridiculous guess. Much to her surprise, Balvonak had proved to be acceptable company through the evening. “A weaver?”
Balvo flashed a grin. “As I said, no doubt.”
Shaking her head, the witch stood from her chair, grabbing a rag to give the countertop a quick clean. “I hate to be the one to tell you that your guesses are far from ‘quite good’. My mother was nothing close to a weaver.”
“Was.” Balvonak latched onto the word, forcing a small amount of pity to rise in his voice. “I’m sorry to hear that. You have my deepest sympathy.”
<
br /> Esven’s gaze flew toward him, and her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t realized how much she’d given away, simply by referring to her mother in past tense. “Thank you,” she uttered, her voice muffled as she scrubbed harder against the already clean surface.
The demon watched her attack the spotless counter, tilting his head. “And your father?”
Esven halted altogether. The question annoyed her and left irritation behind it. Without skipping a beat, she regained any lost composure and set the rag aside. “Your guess is as good as mine. What about yours? Is he the one who taught you to ask strangers pressing questions?”
The inquiry made him laugh. Balvonak’s eyes twinkled as he shrugged, twisting around on his stool. “My father. He taught me nothing.”
Esven studied him closer, analyzing his face before she muttered, “Then it seems we have more in common than just misanthropy.”
Whatever precious little trust he had earned from her in the last few hours seemed to dry up. Never one to be deterred, Balvonak stood to his feet, sliding his chair back toward the tabletop where they had shared their meal. If she did not know her lineage, he’d have to find out another way.
Glancing out the window, Balvo saw that night had taken over. He wondered in that moment where Vahldod was. How close the demon grew to discovering the treasure that hid in the Pinesguard woods. He turned back to Esven, evaluating her. She was a tough nut to crack. If the woman wasn’t going to fall for his old-fashioned charms, perhaps it was time to employ other tactics. Tactics that cut straight to the chase.
“Tell me,” Balvonak stared, delighting in the caution that danced in her eyes when he broke the silence, “if I were to cut you… what color would you bleed?”
In that single moment, any small magnetism that Esven Greenbriar felt toward Balvonak drained out of her feet. She knew, then, in that single inquiry, that she had let no ordinary man into her home. The witch cast a stern eye toward Maritimus, wondering why the cat failed to alert her to this man’s alarming nature. “I shall leave you wondering,” she muttered, her body growing rigid. “Know that you wouldn’t get within an inch of me before I brought you to your knees.”
A raspy sound of amusement left Balvonak’s mouth. He held up his hands in a feigned act of surrender. “Oh, you’ve misunderstood me, my darling. Twice in one evening; my silver tongue must have abandoned me. I didn’t mean to appear threatening in any way,” he explained, chuckling. “What I meant was, are you human? Fully?”
Esven’s heart rate increased. What would prompt him to ask such a thing? There were only few who had a vested interest in a person’s lineage, and members of the Brotherhood ranked high among them. In this instance, however, if her guest was hunting the mixed-blooded enchanters of Brigovia, she had nothing to fear. Her blood flowed a true scarlet hue; a trait only possessed by full-blooded humans. He would find no half-breeds here. “I am,” she said confidently.
A shimmer of optimism overtook him. A full-blooded human. “Are you now?” he asked, feeling closer than ever to securing his freedom from the Demon Lord.
Skepticism filled her gaze after she had answered. Esven looked him up and down. He was smug. Assertive. He walked with a buoyancy not often found in the people of Brigovia. There was a light in his eyes. A fire.
How had she not noticed it before?
Esven wondered, then, not who she had let into her home… but what. “Are you?”
Her question made Balvonak’s adrenaline spike. For her to ask such a thing… to even consider that he could be anything other than human…
It was her. It had to be. He batted around the inkling one too many times throughout the evening, but now he was certain. The fabled Greenbriar child. There weren’t many other young women, with dead mothers, living in enchanted houses in the woods outside of the town where Amadeia was put to death. The excitement flooded him in an unexpected way, and a permanent grin found its way to his face. “I can tell by the way you’re looking at me that you already know the answer to that.”
Did she? She needed to be sure. Without taking her eyes off of him, Esven’s hands crawled across the small table top beside her. She found the edge of the deep copper pot where she stored her drinking water and grabbed the handle. Without hesitation, she hurled the liquid toward her new acquaintance.
The water sizzled as soon as it hit his flesh. Her suspicions were correct. Whispers of steam rose up from where the water evaporated. Esven stepped back, digging her heels into the ground. Whatever little room was left in her eyes for distrust filled immediately upon the realization. “You’re a fire demon,” she announced, her accusation vulgar.
Balvonak tightened his lips. Both eyes closed as soon as the water hit them. He slicked a hand through his hair to drain the liquid from it, while a middle finger wiped the water away from his eyes. Unamused, he grumbled, “You’ve quite the aim.”
All the warnings that Amadeia had uttered unto her about demons filtered through Esven’s thoughts. Never fear the man—only the demon. Esven spread her arms out at her sides. All thoughts of hiding her identity collapsed under the weight of the desire to stay alive.
Sucking the hydration from her own body, she pulled it out and up into her palms, where swirling orbs of liquid bubbled in her hands. It sloshed back and forth as she took a step forward, bracing herself. “I do not wish to harm you,” she spat, her fingers clawing around the unstable spheres of water, “but if you come near me, I will douse you.”
“You needn’t,” Balvonak muttered calmly, scratching the side of his temple to rid the irritation of clinging water droplets. “Harming you is the last thing I want to do.”
Esven searched his eyes, as if she’d find answers there. Though no part of her wanted to peel her focus from his body, she found herself gazing to Maritimus for guidance. The feline only stretched, his body sprawling to its full length, until he settled into a lazy position on the floor.
He seemed relaxed. And he had never steered her wrong before. Still… she harbored a demon in her home. Esven did not know enough about them to arrive at complete ease. Only bits and pieces. And what little she did know, was not pleasant.
The witch spied Balvonak once more before she slowly sucked the water from one hand back into her body. The other, she left present. “It’s rare for a demon to get out of the Netherworld,” she observed, drawing her shoulders back. “How did you do it?”
“Ah,” Balvonak squeezed the last remaining drops of water from his beard as he dried his hands off on his tunic. “That, my darling, is a story for another time.”
Pinching her lips together, Esven lowered her other hand. She still felt the madness of her racing heart. Maritimus may have found no alarm in the presence of a demon, but Esven had trouble dismissing her unease. “My mother told me not to trust demons,” she murmured.
Balvonak lifted his eyes. He found hers, pushing back his hair with brimming confidence. “And what do you think?”
Esven scoffed. She pressed her back into the wall of her home, keeping a sharp watch on him. “I think I envy all the people who’ve never met you.”
It was the surprise that made him laugh the most. Balvo leaned forward, his teeth coming together as his amusement burst through them. “Well,” he started, reining in his hilarity, “your mother was a wise woman. Demons are vile things. Then again…” He paused, flicking his gaze toward her, “it was not the demons who burned her at the stake now, was it?”
Esven’s stomach hardened. Her glare turned to ice. “How do you know about that?”
Once again, Balvonak held up his hands. “Please, my darling, I don’t mean to upset you. I’m actually here with a proposition, as it were. I know a great deal about Amadeia Greenbriar, particularly the ugly circumstances of her death.”
Her mother’s name. It burned her that he knew it. That he said it with such confidence, though she had never validated such a thing. Small relief came from him speaking it; it felt good to hear it again. Esven had not hear
d her mother’s title uttered in six long months.
Was this why Maritimus held no fear of this demon? Did Balvonak hold some tie to her mother that fate felt Esven needed to know? Perhaps the feline was right in his ease.
Still, that her position had been discovered—that someone knew of her hiding place in the forest—that that individual was a demon, no less—it birthed a restlessness in her. “What kind of proposition?” she whispered.
He had her attention. Balvonak slid forward, edging closer to where Esven stood across from him. When his body hovered near hers, he leaned in, fearing no recourse at lingering inches from her face. “How would you like to make them pay for what they did to your mother?”
The witch tried to draw away when he edged closer, but she was already pressed up against the wall. “What do you mean?”
“I mean a lesson,” Balvonak answered, his wild eyes gleaming. He was so close to closing Marumon’s deal, he could almost taste the freedom on his tongue. “The rule of three, right? They burned her. You are the only one with the warrant and the power to seek retribution for Amadeia… and I can show you how to do it.” He spread his hands out before him to illustrate his imaginings. “Picture it. An army of demons, freed from the Netherworld, coursing through Brigovia to punish mankind for their sins. You know Amadeia is not the first witch they’ve burned, and you know damn well that she will not be the last.” He lowered his voice, his breath hot as he whispered, “Should they not receive a taste of what they gave?”
She studied him, feeling a sudden chill despite the heat that emanated off of his body. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t entertained retribution. Esven rubbed her arms, hoping to bring warmth back into her icy skin. “That… that is not for me to decide,” she forced herself to say, turning away from Balvonak. “And all that aside, regardless of what you may know of my mother… I don’t trust you.”
Followed by Fire Page 8