Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  He glanced down at her tightening grip, which she withdrew as soon as the unnatural heat of his body forced her to do so. The demon blinked once before he found her blushing cheeks. “What?” Chuckling, he leaned in toward her. “Do naked bodies frighten you that badly?”

  Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. Nervous fingers shoved strands of hair behind her ears. She shuffled her feet and fidgeted, feeling an overwhelming awkwardness crawl up her face, neck, and ears. “I—I just—I mean, I’ve never… it doesn’t seem necessary,” she stumbled, tugging down on the hood that covered her head. “I am not naïve enough to pretend that kind of exchange doesn’t exist, but that doesn’t mean I want to acknowledge it with my own eyes.”

  Her discomfort on the subject was delightful. Balvonak found himself giving her a playful shove. “Relax, my darling. I am not bringing you there to embarrass you, as delicious as this is,” he said, gesturing to her flushed face. “It is less about what happens in the brothel and more about what it represents.”

  Esven arched her spine as Balvo placed his covered hand on the small of her back, and gently urged her to move forward. She would have protested, had his action not stemmed from a desire to lift curious eyes off of their unmoving bodies. The witch cleared her throat, her muscles tensing. “And what, exactly, does it represent? I won’t find any revelations at a brothel, Balvo. I already know what happens in establishments like that. Some men are animals, yes, but it does not mean the entire city deserves to perish for the depravities of the few.”

  “True,” Balvonak uttered, surprising her with his agreement. “But do you know why the brothel remains, even when the entire town knows about the acts that take place there?”

  Esven curled her toes beneath her feet as she walked. “Why?”

  Weaving his way through the crowd, Balvonak continued to guide her. “Because the whole of Brigovia decided that this particular vice was a necessary evil. Can you believe that? That they feel within the right to pick and choose what evils live here?” He snorted at the absurdity. “It’s a place to curb men’s… lusts. They allow ‘tainted’ women to adopt the risks, and mental trials, to keep gents from endangering the virtues of ‘innocent’ women. Not only do they choose what evil gets to live here, they get to choose who is pure, as well. Civic officials, peasants, merchants, the church—they all permit prostitution to carry on within the walls of every city in Brigovia.” He stopped, turning toward her. “So long as it turns a profit.”

  Hunching her shoulders over, Esven swallowed. Her mother spoke highly of humans. She did not shy away from shedding light on all of their graces. For that, Amadeia glossed over a fair share of their inadequacies. Esven cleared her throat. “What are you saying, then? That they think money is more valuable than the women who work there?”

  Balvonak hitched a shoulder, holding her eye contact. “I’m saying that there is not a soul in all of Brigovia who cares that injustices run rampant. I am saying that mankind cares more about the ease with which men can ejaculate, than they care about what’s ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.”

  As they walked farther from the bustling center square and deeper into the shadowed parts of Pinesguard, Esven grew quiet. The voices of the cheerful folk faded away, replaced by hushed whispers and haughty laugher.

  The brothel fell into view. It was a simple building, not unlike many of the others. The only thing separating it from its fellow structures was the constant flowing line of bodies entering and exiting.

  “It seems… popular,” Esven muttered.

  Balvonak laughed. “That it is, my darling. Come.” He turned to her, his eyes shining. “Let us find whatever examples of moral shortcomings we can, shall we?” He extended an elbow, an offering for her to loop her arm into his.

  Esven glanced at his offering with an arched brow before she pushed past it, heading toward the door. Her senses were heightened as she ascended. She regretted that they were. As soon as Esven gripped the door’s handle and pushed it open, her nostrils burned with the brothel’s mixture of scents.

  Sweat. Bodily fluids. For how clean the interior seemed, Esven thought it surely had to be an illusion. Did a warlock not cast a spell of deceit over this place? The floors were washed, and freshly laundered linens hung from a cord in the far corner to dry, but the walls… the smells of burly, sweltering men clung to those walls. The dripping stench of decades’ worth of depravity lived in every crack. It was something even the finest maid could not wash out.

  Esven drew her sleeve up over her nose and mouth. Someone had attempted to cover the putrid stink with scented oils. What was that smell supposed to be? Lavender? Sandalwood? It did little to hide anything, only creating its own fragrance of flowers dipped in hefty amounts of heated perspiration.

  Smoke wafted up from a burning stick of incense. Another attempt to cover the odor. It stung Esven’s eyes as she tried not to inhale, pushing her way through a crowd of bodies until she found an open space. It would be far safer to observe without elbows jabbing into her sides.

  Balvo was not far behind her. The brim of his hat shadowed the top half of his face, but did little to disguise the wry smirk he wore. He came up beside Esven, staring out at the handfuls of men who draped scantily clad women off of their arms like prized fur stoles.

  “Soak it in, my darling.” The fire demon spread his arms out, gesturing around them. “Take a long, hard look.” He paused, snorting as he nudged her. “A long, hard look at all the long, hard items. They’re not in short supply here.” Balvonak smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Easiest thing to spot, though? A complete lack of common decency.”

  Esven rubbed her arm where he’d nudged her. The fire demon left a lingering warmth behind. A physical one. She felt it when she’d touched his arm earlier and tried to rub it away. “Just because these men are sex-starved animals does not mean they deserve to die.”

  “Oh, look there.” Balvo ignored her statement and pointed ahead with a hearty snicker. “That one’s not shy now, is he?”

  Regret surfaced immediately when she followed his finger. Standing against the opposite wall across the room’s distance, a woman knelt before a man. His eyes were closed, his hands grasped on both sides of her head, as he forcefully encouraged her to continue pleasuring him. Esven’s hand flew up to her mouth and she turned away quickly, feeling the familiar heat of embarrassment flood into her cheeks. “Why would you tell me to look at that?”

  “Isn’t that why we’re here?” A brow sprung up on Balvo’s face. “Look around and tell me these creatures are worth saving. Look around and tell me that these men deserve to live, after they decided your mother should not.”

  The witch pressed her lips together and swallowed to wet her drying throat. She had stepped foot in Pinesguard no more than an hour ago, and already, Balvonak was pleading his case better than she thought he would. Rule of three, rule of three, Esven repeated in her head, trying to hold fast to her mother’s teachings. Do no harm. Do. No.

  “Oh—” Esven stumbled as a man bumped into her. She turned, taking in the sight of the brawny individual. He first gazed upon her with disdain, but when he saw that it was a fair maiden he had staggered into, his expression was quick to change.

  “And how much for some time alone with you?” he propositioned with a silky tone.

  Esven scowled. He was too distasteful to be so shamelessly forthright. “You couldn’t afford me.”

  He wore his surprise on his face. This was the last place a woman turned down an offer for money. “I am a man of means,” he uttered, after collecting his thoughts. “Can I at least put in an offer?”

  “An offer is the only thing you will be putting anywhere near me,” Esven murmured, inciting laughter from Balvonak as he stood behind her. “And I can guarantee you, I will refuse it.”

  “Mmm.” The man cradled his jaw with one hand as he looked her over. “I cannot tell if this is a clever game to get me to pay more or not… but… I am very intrigued.”r />
  “I hate to disappoint you, sir.” Esven hardened her stance, as well as her tone. “But I am not for sale.”

  His brows rose. He studied her carefully, his line of vision crawling up her hips, and stopping at her chest. “A pity.” He reached out, brazen and just a bit too sure of himself, as he grabbed her hand and forced her to lace her fingers with his. “Mm. Soft. Is there nothing I can do to convince you to lay these delicate hands upon me?”

  She was quick to jerk her hand free from his grasp. Esven inclined her chin, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You need only press me further. I will lay them on you in the form of fists.”

  Balvonak snickered for only a moment before he stifled his laughter back into his mouth. The fire demon leaned in, his lips hovering an inch away from Esven’s ear as he whispered, “What happened to ‘do no harm’? How quickly you fall, my darling. But rightly so.”

  Esven spun on her heels to lay into Balvonak, but the stranger held out a hand, cutting her off. “Is this one yours?” he asked, glimpsing the demon he thought to be a man. “I’d love a go with her when you’re through.”

  After stealing a preview of Esven’s angry face, Balvonak returned his eyes to the stranger and grinned. “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  The rise of anger in her gut was fierce. Esven hadn’t felt her blood boil to such a degree since that fateful night with the Brotherhood, and the rabid people of Pinesguard. Clenching her jaw, she parted her lips to speak, but high pitched shrieking from the brothel’s many women made her head spin to the room’s center.

  “Oh, he’s so cute!”

  “He looked at me!”

  “Bring him here, bring him here!”

  “I want to stroke him!”

  Esven’s wide eyes fell onto the subject of the women’s glee. There, standing in the center of the brothel’s front room, Maritimus lavished under the warm hands of the women who pet his fur. A throaty purr vibrated from his entire body. As if he felt the bulk of Esven’s gaze upon him, the feline opened a single eye, finding her across the room. He watched her for but a moment before he winked the eye closed, and returned to being pampered by those who praised cats for their ability to decimate Pinesguard’s rat population.

  The witch jolted when the stranger’s hand cupped her behind. He gave it a firm squeeze. Esven bristled, her fingers outstretching as the smoke from the incense flew toward her rigid hands. It collected there, swirling in her palm. She could direct the smoke into his throat. She could suffocate his lungs with a stifling amount of it. She could—

  “Now, now,” Balvo whispered, waving his hand to banish the smoke away from them, before anyone took notice of the unusual scene, “much as I appreciate your tenacity, there is always a time and a place.”

  Through clenched teeth, Esven snarled. “He’s touching me.”

  Balvo leaned in toward her, close enough that she felt the heat radiating off of his body. “I’d prefer you stay alive long enough to help me open the gate,” the demon uttered into her ear. “I can fight off my fair share of libidinous men, my darling, but all it takes is one shout to bring far more dangerous opponents our way. Best you stifle that magic of yours.”

  His words did more to anger her than the hand on her buttocks, but Esven saw Balvonak’s wisdom for what it was. She tore herself away from both men, forcing her way through the crowd until she found a small clearing in the far back of the room.

  Pushing her back against the wall, she buried her face in her hands. Why did Amadeia love these people? How did she keep herself from slipping, when every act they performed put their shortcomings on display?

  Sliding her back down the wall until she came into a sitting position, Esven pulled her legs up to her chest. So long as Esven knew her, her mother had never harmed a soul. Not a single one. To have all the power to do so and more, only made Amadeia’s victories more profound.

  Why, then, with her mother’s flawless karmic record, did the fates let her burn on the pyre that day?

  Esven sighed. Three days. She thought she could harness her lingering feelings for retaliation for that small duration of time. But in less than half a day, Balvo had driven his point deep into her mind. Deep into her heart.

  Were people really worth saving? What little Esven had seen of them, it certainly didn’t seem like it.

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  A voice from ahead made the witch open her eyes. She spied a young woman across from her, wrapped in translucent cloth. Her attire left nothing to the imagination. At the very least, her breasts were shielded by the tumbling locks of auburn hair that stopped just above her pelvis. She mirrored the sitting position that Esven found herself in.

  “I’m… fine. Thank you for asking,” Esven forced herself to say, sliding her hood back just enough that she could tuck her hair behind her ears. “Are you all right?” she asked, unable to comprehend the kind of life the youthful woman must have had to endure.

  A tired smile followed her inquiry. “Oh, I’m fine, all right.” She swept her hands over her face before she leaned back on her palms for support. “Just resting me eyes a bit.”

  Esven tightened her lips, surveying the woman from head to toe. She seemed fatigued. “Long day?”

  “Longer than most,” the maiden replied, shrugging a single shoulder. “But a shorter day will be ‘round the bend eventually.”

  Optimism. It was the last thing that Esven thought she’d find hiding in the mouth of a woman who men repeatedly used as an object. Drawing her cloak tighter over her shoulders, she stole another glimpse of the crowd in the main room.

  Balvonak separated himself from the man who tried to buy her. Maritimus continued to soak in the attention of the women who fussed over him. Beyond the two she knew, Esven saw the haggard faces of the ladies whose time was purchased from men they clearly had no vested interest in bedding.

  Some wore smiles. Lies. Esven saw through their shining teeth, knowing those grins were traded in exchange for money. They meant nothing. Counterfeit expressions to placate those who would forget about them the moment they got what they wanted.

  When did people decide their own brothers and sisters were disposable things? When did they decide they were things at all? At what point did mankind agree, as a whole, that their own species could be divided into categories of worthy and unworthy? Esven shook her head, turning once more to the woman across from her. “How do you do it?” she asked. “How do you lay with these vile men?”

  A small laugh slipped out. “Better to lay with a vile man and have a roof over me head and a meal in me belly, than to die in agony with the lepers and beggars.”

  Esven sat up straighter, shifting her body on the uncomfortable ground. The woman’s response seemed fluid, as if she had to explain it one too many times before. “Is that why you’re here? Out of necessity?”

  “Aye.” The woman lifted a hand, running it through the hair that hung over her torso. “It began that way, at least.” She shrugged. “Maybe it still is. I get my two square meals. A weekly bath. Shelter. It could be far worse… and for many, it is.” Her eyes flicked toward the crowd. She tilted her head, and her eyes glossed over. “Even so… not all the men who come here are vile. Some are just lonely. Wives dead from the plagues and all that.”

  Esven swallowed. The maiden spoke so candidly of her life, as if she had nothing to hide. Perhaps she didn’t. If her daily life was as transparent as her clothing, Esven imagined the woman grew accustomed to living without secrets. “But, your sense of worth…” Her voice trailed away, as she did not wish to offend her, but did not know how else to ask. “Do you not feel as though you’ve traded it away? Do you not feel expendable here, as if you are nothing?”

  A brow lifted on the maiden’s face as she returned her eyes to Esven. Despite the small look of offense she wore, an amused laugh slipped out. “Is that how you think I feel? Or how you think I ought to feel?”

  Another blush. Esven could not remember the last time
she felt the rise of embarrassment more than she had in this one single day. “I meant no offense, I just… I’m trying to understand something.”

  The woman waved her wrist, dismissing any embarrassment that Esven kept with her. “It’s all right, miss. You’re not wrong. I did think as you did in the beginning. That coming here somehow made me less. That all I’d ever become in me life was a chamber pot for men to empty themselves into.” She crossed one leg over the other, fluidly poised. “The more experienced women of The Velvet Pearl told me a day would come when it didn’t bother me as much.” She paused, just long enough to flick her hair over her shoulder. “Turns out, they were right.”

  Her story left Esven with little comfort. That a day had arrived when this woman became worn down enough, that she simply rolled over and accepted her fate, did not speak to humanity’s greatness. “When?” she asked, a hint of defeat in her tone. “When did it get easier?”

  The maiden smiled. It was far brighter than her previous show of joy. Less exhaustion around the edges. “When I got me first repeat customer,” she said, her voice lifting. “He asked for me by name. Men don’t often take the time to learn names in here. Said me company was so genuine, so warm, it kept him from throwin’ himself onto a sword. His stop at The Velvet Pearl was to be his last hurrah, but… he changed his mind.” She shrugged, her hands falling into her lap. “It’s not noble work, miss… and it never will be. But the day I realized I made a good enough influence in someone’s life that they decided not to end theirs, well… I’ve never felt more self-worth than I had in that moment. I’ve not seen him since. But I hope, wherever he is, he is well.”

  Esven blinked. It was all she could do as a peculiar layer of stillness settled over her. This woman, this stranger, truly did delight in guiding that man out of his perilous place. She saw it in her face. The way her voice shifted to hold a tinge of pride. The way her body posture adopted a grander, albeit unconscious presentation.