Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  Her attention flitted over to Balvo. The same tart expression still lived on his face. He had not been himself since Elias had touched him.

  Esven tapped her fingernail on the countertop. She needed to pull him out of his funk. He was far easier to be around when he was the version of himself that she’d first encountered.

  “Barkeep.” The woman raised her hand, motioning him over. “Two of your finest ales, please.”

  The man acknowledged her with a nod, before he shuffled off to fulfill her request.

  Balvonak scoffed, spreading his hands out on the counter. “And how do you intend to pay for that?” he muttered, recalling she hadn’t any money to secure a room at the inn last night.

  With a wry smile, Esven reached over. “What’s that behind your ear?” she said, in a tone that playfully mocked the demon.

  Wrinkling his nose, Balvo watched as Esven produced a small sack of coins from behind his head. He squinted, inspecting the bag. It looked awfully like…

  “Hey—” His eyes narrowed and he frantically patted the sides of his chest, where the bag used to hide in an interior pocket. “How did you—?”

  “Magic,” she whispered quietly, mischievousness in her eyes. “Remember?”

  A joke? Balvo stared at the bag in her hands, unsure what to do with himself. The barkeep returned with two flagons of ale. The liquid rocked back and forth, having been set down with some force. “That’ll be two pfennigs,” the man said.

  “Two?” Esven tilted her head, fishing the coins out. “Is that all?”

  The bartender looked unamused. “I’d be happy to let you pay more for it, if you’d like.”

  Balvo scoffed as she slid the coins across the counter. “Please,” he muttered, staring at the contents of the drink. “It looks like horse piss. I could go outside and drink that for free.”

  “You could,” the barkeep murmured, sliding the coins into his palm, “but it won’t get you drunk.”

  “These are fine, thank you.” Esven smiled as she pulled the drinks closer. The barkeep dismissed himself, leaving the pair to their beverages.

  Balvonak rested the side of his face in his hand, still unsure how to respond to her behavior. It was playful. Had he not been wallowing in irritation from his encounter with the priest, he might have enjoyed it more. “I didn’t take you for the drinking type,” he said, observing the two beverages placed before them.”

  “These aren’t for me.” Esven slid both flagons over to Balvonak. “They’re for you. Your attitude is terrible. Perhaps these will make you a little more tolerable.”

  A brow spiked upward on Balvonak’s face. “Terrible? Is that so?”

  “Yes. It’s hard to concentrate on mankind’s deficiencies with your negative attitude draining all my focus.”

  Balvonak stared. In the face of everything, a slow smirk crawled up one side of his mouth. “Quite kind of you to buy me a drink with my own money,” he muttered.

  She detected his sarcasm immediately, but it still made her smile. “I’d hardly call it your money. I’d bet my life and more, that you pilfered it from some poor soul.”

  A short laugh fell from the demon’s mouth. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” the witch said, sliding the glasses even closer with the tips of her fingers. “You’re about as predictable as anyone else.”

  His grin broadened. When the good natured ribbing that Esven delivered had fallen away, the demon found himself staring silently into her eyes.

  Extended eye contact. He was unaccustomed to it. Balvo had met the gazes of most, as it was a requirement for skillful deliveries of deceit. When they discovered the ‘real’ him, and not the false one he put on during con jobs, the people of Brigovia looked upon him with many different sentiments: disgust. Hatred. Fear. Irritation. Panic. Aggression.

  All understandable things. Balvo was no saint.

  Esven, though…

  She knew what he was. A demon of the Netherworld, eager to burn the parasitic touch of humanity from all of Brigovia… and still, her eyes delighted in a very sincere way when she looked at him.

  Eyes didn’t lie.

  She may have found him to be predictable. He may have even agreed with her. But the way he felt when he dissected the feeling behind her eyes… the way his pulse electrified his body in quick, unforeseen bursts…

  That was all very unpredictable.

  Clearing his throat, Balvo reached over to grab a mug, analyzing the sloshing liquid inside before he flung an amused look in Esven’s direction. “I’ll drink one if you drink the other.”

  The woman wiped at her mouth and chuckled. “I don’t know that I’d like the taste of it.”

  “Neither do they.” Balvo gestured toward the others with the mug in his hand. “It’s hardly about the taste, my darling.”

  His infamous pet name for her resurfaced. Esven was content to see Balvonak restoring to his former self. Still, she hesitated, her eyes lingering on the flagon.

  Balvo nudged her leg with the tip of his boot. “Come on.” He pulled his most charming appearance from his storage of looks, putting on a false pout. “It’ll make me smile.”

  Esven’s gaze found his face, and she let out a short laugh. “You’re telling me that the fate of your attitude rests on me drinking a mug of ale?”

  “If the act itself doesn’t amuse me,” Balvo started, lifting his mug to take a long sip, “seeing what it does to a light weight like you certainly will.”

  Esven smirked. She had built up somewhat of a tolerance to such things. Memories of sipping the homemade dandelion wines that she and her mother had made in the forest were a comfort. Though she was young, Amadeia saw no harm in enjoying the fruits of the forest in careful moderation.

  Ale was not her favorite, however. The yeast, the barley—it all left an unpleasant coating on her tongue. A flicker of competition sparked inside her, throwing that information aside. She wondered if she could outlast Balvo in the art of drinking. “Fine.” Esven grabbed the other mug and lifted it from the table. “But if we’re to do this, we need a proper toast.”

  What was worthy of celebration? Esven’s six months of isolation left her with little to celebrate in the forest; it was almost hard to think of something now. She struck Balvo with her gaze, thinking of the demons who might have known her mother. Of the potential that awaited her if all of that was true. The potential to learn about Amadeia’s life before she was Esven’s mother. “To new beginnings,” she said, lifting her glass.

  Her willingness to participate caught him off guard. Balvo found himself smiling, the same strange sentiment from moments ago spiraling around in his gut as he raised his glass. “To new beginnings.” He clanked his mug against hers and took another sip.

  The pair returned their glasses to the table, sitting in the collection of morning drunkards. Save for the two who had passed out already, only three other bodies filled the room. The trio sat at a table in the far back, muttering inaudibly to themselves as they sipped their libations.

  “So…” Balvo spun on his chair, turning to face Esven. “While we wait for humanity to show us its shortcomings, why don’t you enlighten me.” His gaze darted around her face as he swallowed another mouthful of ale. “How did you of all people come to befriend a holy man?”

  Esven lifted a shoulder, shrugging. “Shortly after my mother’s death, actually. He came at the right time. I was in a very dark place…” Her expression glossed over as she stared off into the distance, somewhere behind Balvo. “I wanted all of them to burn…” Pinching her eyes shut, she almost saw the flames again. The orange glow. The sickness. Esven shook her head to refocus. “It was almost as if my mother had sent Elias to me… to show me that not every man has bloodlust in his heart.”

  Balvonak huffed. If only he had found her first, instead of the priest. It would have been far easier to corrupt her if the fury left by her mother’s execution was still fresh.

&nb
sp; The fire demon surveyed the room before leaning closer toward her, and lowering his voice. “You’ll have to forgive me for not finding him the trusting type. You don’t wonder how he made it through your protection spell? You don’t wonder why a man of the church would befriend an enchanter, when it’s no secret that the two nations are… shall we say, strained?”

  “You made it through my protection spell, too,” Esven noted, wincing at the realization that she needed to work on the strength of that particular incantation.

  “Yes,” Balvonak admitted, draining the last of the contents from his glass before he exhaled. “But my appearance was no coincidence. I sought you out.”

  Esven took a thoughtful sip, smacking her lips against the bitter taste. Balvo was right about one thing: it was a dangerous time for enchanters to get in the way of the church. Amadeia knew it. She knew it well enough to stifle her incredible accomplishments in magic, to live a peaceful life among the people she adored, and to force a life with limited incantations on her daughter, as well. But Elias… he was a friend. From the moment she first heard his kind voice speak, she never doubted that.

  “On the subject of Elias,” Esven said, “I do need to speak to him. I’m sure he has a thousand and one questions, given the ill-reputed inn he saw you and I sharing a room in.” She felt the heat of embarrassment fill her cheeks before she coughed quietly into her hand, trying to shove it away. “All that, and I owe him some gratitude for pulling De’Savaria away.”

  Balvo studied her face, frowning. He didn’t want her to slip away. He needed her to stay close by. The last time he allowed her to part from him, she somehow found humanity in a brothel. “You don’t owe him anything.”

  Esven clamped her lips together as her eyes fell to the table. “I owe him more than you know. I must make a point to see him soon. He… he said something. Back at the inn.” Something about her mother. A small thread of wonder pierced her. She wondered if, perhaps, Balvonak was on to something. Esven trusted Elias with her whole heart, but… was it possible that he knew more about Amadeia than he originally led her to believe? The priest said he had heard of her exploits. That in and of itself was not uncommon. Amadeia Greenbriar was a luminary in the land of Brigovia. There weren’t many who didn’t know at least a little about her.

  It was something in his eyes. Elias knew something. On top of explaining the events of the last few days, she needed to investigate further.

  As if he could read her thoughts, Balvonak reached out across the table. He almost laid his hand on top of hers, but stopped himself, curling his fingers back into his palm. Fire demon. Human. He did not wish to burn her again. “You don’t have to go today. You said you’d give me three days.”

  The witch glanced at his hand and back to his eyes. “I will. Is it a requirement that they are strung in a row?”

  He smirked. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t prefer it that way.” The sooner he could earn his freedom, the better.

  Esven clamped her lips together. She looked to her flagon before pulling it to her lips, tipping the vessel to the ceiling as she drained it of its contents. “I’ll give you a pass on today. This one won’t even count.” She slid the glass across the table. “You can have me all to yourself tomorrow, all right?”

  He was losing her. Balvonak postured in his seat as one of the three men from the table rose to approach the bar. The individual plopped his arms down on the counter, flicking a wrist that had fallen limp from liquor.

  “Barkeep—” he sputtered. “Another round for me and the boys.”

  “I wouldn’t go now if I were you,” Balvo said to Esven, ignoring the man who wobbled against the bar behind the witch. “For all you know, he still has his hands tied up with De’Savaria.”

  Before Esven could part her lips to reply, she felt the intoxicated breath of the man behind her as he spun his head. Holding himself steady with one hand on the bar, the man wobbled on unsteady feet, looking beyond Esven’s shoulders at Balvonak. “What about De’Savaria?”

  The fire demon flicked an irritated gaze to the eavesdropper, but stopped himself short of a cynical reply. Hiding beneath the parted cloak the man wore for warmth, Balvonak spied the symbol emblazoned on his chest. The shield driven into the sword. The halo dangling from the hilt.

  This drunken bastard was a member of the Brotherhood.

  Balvonak felt the chaotic stab of his rising pulse again, for a far different reason this time. He stole a quick glimpse of Esven before redirecting his eyes back to the man.

  He was a threat to them both. A hunter of witches, demons, and all things they thought spit in the faces of their god, Balvonak knew he had to choose his next action carefully.

  Stay calm, he thought to himself. It was not as if it was obvious the woman was a witch, or he, a demon. They looked like every other man and woman who walked Brigovia’s cobbled streets.

  All that, and this particular observer was drunk as shit.

  Deciding they were in no immediate danger, Balvonak sported a wide grin. “Ah, a member of the Brotherhood, I see. I must say, I always feel a bit safer when one of you is around.”

  Upon Balvo’s confession that a member of the Brotherhood stood directly behind her, Esven’s spine snapped straight. She froze, staring at the fire demon with wide eyes.

  Balvonak spied her fear immediately. It was the same look she wore when she saw De’Savaria appear behind the priest back at the inn. Before he could think to respond to it, the drunkard snorted and swiped his nose with his thumb.

  “What did you say about De’Savaria?” he asked again, suspicion in his countenance.

  The fire demon recovered from Esven’s panic quickly, sliding it under a proverbial rug. “Just… that he might still be in the company of Pinesguard’s priest,” he admitted, gesturing toward Esven. “This young lady seeks a meeting with the Father.”

  Wrinkling his forehead, the man glimpsed the back of Esven’s head. Though the cloak hid most of her figure from the back, his thirst for maidens was not dulled by appearances. “Yeah?” A filthy smirk spread across his lips. “Have you sinned, young lady?”

  She didn’t dare turn. Her gaze fell from Balvo’s, darting wildly around the floor. “No,” she stuttered. “I… just… I just…”

  “It’s all right.” The man sucked in some air, and puffed out his chest. “We’re all a bit naughty every now and then.” He leaned in, his lips hovering near the back of her head. “How bad were you?”

  Her face paled. That voice. He was almost certainly among those who had ripped her mother from their home. Six months did not erase his raspy tone, and she knew six-hundred months later, she would still hear every inflection in her mind.

  It all flooded back. The flames. The mistreatment. The wicked injustice, when they stripped her of her clothes and her dignity. The way her flesh peeled from her bones and people cheered for the act. Though she tried to fight them back, tears danced on the brims of her eyelids, threatening to spill onto her cheeks. Esven had pushed her grief down for so long. It lived somewhere deep inside, festering and breeding like an indestructible mold. Was she truly about to cry? Pathetic. She stared at the wall, afraid that if she moved an inch, the liquid would tumble down her face.

  “Aye,” the man grunted. “I asked you a question.” He clapped a cold hand down onto her shoulder. The action made Esven’s lips tremble.

  Balvonak watched the paralyzed witch cling to her fright, too consumed by her own anxiety and repressed grief to move.

  He should have let it continue. Fear was great fodder for the fire that was pushing Esven over the edge. Perfect fuel for her to see things his way—to recognize that humanity was unfit to receive every gift that they had been given. But seeing her there, completely unlike the quick-witted, confident woman he first met in the woods between Pinesguard and Bronzglen…

  Balvonak frowned. He couldn’t do it.

  “You’ll have to forgive this one,” he said, jumping to his feet, and pulling her to hers. �
��She’s had one too many.” Balvonak wrapped his arm around her shoulders, knowing the material of his clothing and her cloak would spare her any ill effects from the heat of his body, until he got her outside. “Seems I’ll have to escort her to the priest myself,” he added, winking at the man. “Or I’m sure she’ll stagger into the ditch with the lepers.”

  An unpleasant look adhered to the man’s face as Balvonak directed Esven forward. Catching it, the fire demon reached into the satchel Esven still clung to in one hand, and fished out several coins. “Your next round is on me, gentlemen.” He held the metal disks between his fingers, before sliding them across the table. “Six pfennigs ought to do you boys right. Thank you for your service,” he added, tipping his hat as he glided toward the door with Esven in tow.

  Grumbles of disappointment followed them out the door. As soon as they’d reached the sweet sight of the sun, Balvo removed his arm from her, not wishing to risk the chance that his touch might eventually penetrate their clothing, and burn her.

  Esven walked alongside him, too mortified to speak. Such a humiliating display, to fall to pieces like that simply from being in the proximity of that man. She chastised herself for her weakness, her sight on the ground as the pair cut through Pinesguard’s slums, heading in the direction of the town square.

  Her mortification was so thick, it was almost tangible. Balvonak strode beside her, his hands in his pockets. He tried to glimpse her face, but it hid beneath her hood. They walked in silence for a while, until he could no longer stomach the idea of it. “A shame his mother didn’t swallow him.”

  Unable to walk any further without breaking down, Esven stopped. She had been incapable of ridding her mind of the overwhelming flood of memories since they had accosted her at the tavern. They seemed stronger than before. More powerful than they had been in the forest, when she was far away from observing eyes. Her voice bore a darkness as she stared at a small pebble, finding it the only focal point she could gaze upon, and still manage to pace her breathing. “The night they burned her,” she whispered, “I wanted to slaughter them all like animals, but I knew they had far less value. An animal you can at least use for its meat, its pelt, it bones…” She brushed at her eyes with her sleeve, forcing herself to look up. “But I wanted there to be nothing redeemable left of them. Just ash and dust.”