Chapter 2
two
Orelia felt her face go slack.
Beron rested his booted feet atop the desk and casually crossed one leg over the other like he hadn’t just destroyed her life.
“But sir, I’ve done good work for you, and the girls trust me. Why are you doing this?” Her heart felt like it was trying to leap out of her throat.
“Because I just spent an obscene amount of money on those Ricaboro whores, so I won’t be able to pay you and my current whores. And since you’re the only one that doesn’t bring in any money, it’s time you say ‘goodbye’ to this place.”
“Won’t the new girls bring in a lot of silver? Certainly you’ll have enough to pay me and everyone else.”
Beron put his arms behind his head and puffed out his chest. “Oh, they definitely will, but I’ll be spending it on expansions for this place.
I plan to make Minro’s only brothel grand enough to be recognized as widely as The White Pony.
I’ll get a better clientele than just shitty humans and dwarves.
Maybe more rens and stivs will start coming here.
” His eyes sparkled with greed as he grinned up at the ceiling.
“My whorehouse will be the best in all of Nivinia.”
Orelia’s quick breaths stabbed her lungs. “But this is my livelihood. I need this job.”
Beron waved a thick hand in dismissal. “Not my problem.”
She approached his desk. “I-I, Beron, please. The girls need me. Who will take care of them if I’m gone?” She didn’t want to resort to begging, but if it came to it, she’d hit the ground on her knees.
“They can take care of themselves.” He picked a piece of meat out from his rotting teeth and flicked it aside.
Her palms began sweating. Beron only hired humans, as they couldn’t fight back against magic-wielders. Someone had to look out for them, and she knew it wouldn’t be him. “Sir, you know how cruel some of the patrons can be. The girls need me here to heal them.”
“They can heal at a normal pace, just like the rest of us. Now go, before you aggravate me more.” He finally met her eyes, saying this was the end of their conversation.
The worry for herself turned into fear for the ones she’d be leaving behind.
Her voice hiked up in volume. “If you don’t make consequences for the men who hurt our girls then they will continue to do so, and no one will be here to heal them so they can keep working for you.
You’re going to lose money in the end by getting rid of me.
” A risky statement to make, but it was true.
Beron rose with an agitated grunt. “It is not ‘our’ girls. They are mine, and I decide what to do with them. If the patrons have coin, they can do whatever they want to my whores for as much as I care.”
“They are people, sir. You cannot let these vile men continue to do what they do!”
He slammed a hand on the desk, sending papers cascading onto the floor. “You do not tell me what I can and cannot do! Now, get out, before I change my mind and take that silver from you.”
Orelia reduced herself to pleading and knelt, putting on her best ‘feel sorry for me’ face. It wasn’t hard to do, as tears already burned her eyes. Her next words came out of trembling lips. “Please let me stay.”
“I know you mean well, but this world is brutal and unfair, and it’s about time you realize it. You can’t protect everyone all the time.”
He’d watched her work many times with a look of disinterest, even as her light filled the healer’s room, bringing a grateful smile to his girl’s faces.
Hells, she’d healed him after tavern brawls when he’d drunkenly stagger into the brothel, dripping blood on the floors he loved so much.
Apparently, the past didn’t matter because the hard set of his mouth said there was no changing his mind.
She sniffled. “Can I at least leave my healing elixirs here so the girls have something?”
Beron nodded and motioned for her to stand. “I’m sorry it had to be this way, but you’re too soft-hearted for this line of work anyway. You should know by now not even the brightest light can cure the blackest heart.”
When she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears finally escaped. Orelia cried with her face in her hands. She didn’t know what she was going to do.
A clammy hand gripped her shoulder. “I don’t know why you continue to believe in goodness, Orelia.”
Better to have hope for a kinder world than to be a cynic, she wanted to say. Orelia wiped her nose and dried her tears on her sleeve.
A strange look came over Beron as he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Tell you what, if you want to put on the green dress, I’ll let you stay.”
She stilled. “What?”
“If you really care about the whores and want to keep healing, then you’ll have to make me money.” He showed his yellow smile that always made her stomach turn.
Orelia blinked rapidly. “I . . .” She couldn’t be a pleasure girl. She’d never survive it.
Beron patted her arm. “Think about it and get back to me. But don’t wait too long, or I’ll rescind my offer.” He brushed past her, leaving Orelia clutching the coin purse as her life fell out from under her.
With few options for work in the village, getting another job was going to be impossible. She’d be lucky to find employment scraping fish guts off the docks.
Feeling dizzy, Orelia gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. She stared at the purse, wondering how in the Three Hells she was supposed to make it on so little. Her emergency jar above the kitchen basin at home only had a few silver left.
It wasn’t enough.
No. She would not accept this. This place was all she knew. Her friends were here, and the girls needed her. Orelia was a witch. She had value she could bring Beron without having to resort to selling her body. She’d make him see that.
Orelia rushed out of the office and followed Beron’s voice, running fast enough that the orbs above the doors of each rental room flashed like sparks. She spotted him speaking to a patron, knowing she shouldn’t interrupt, but did anyway.
Beron silenced her with a raise of his hand. “Out. Now.”
“But—”
“Now, Orelia!”
Beron ushered the man he was speaking to down a hall, glaring at her over his shoulder.
Thankfully, the room was noisy enough that no one heard their altercation, saving her further embarrassment. She took a final look around.
Mara took a puff of her pipe and passed it to the naked man whispering in her ear. Sienna giggled as two dwarves fondled her over her dress while kissing her neck. Wren rode a human lost in bliss as he gripped the soft flesh of her hips.
She locked eyes with Rae who grinned like she’d already heard the news. Rae had consistently refused to come to her for healing and often whispered to the others when Orelia was around. She had never understood the woman’s dislike of her.
Even so, these girls were her home. Her only family. She rubbed her arm, the goodbyes dying in her throat. Everyone was too busy to notice the healer’s departure as Orelia dragged herself out of the brothel.
The haze from the incense followed her into the muddy street.
She looked up at the crooked signboard swaying above the doorway.
Beron’s name had faded over the years, and only the yellow ‘B’ had withstood the elements.
The cracks in the structure needed sealing, weeds encroached on the stairs, and the trulights bordering the entrance lacked vibrancy.
Though, she supposed men didn’t care much about the exterior of a brothel, only what the interior offered.
She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the cool night air as she made her way toward her house. With limited job opportunities in Minro, she didn’t know who would take her on. Perhaps Morton, but his shop wasn’t frequented enough to be able to pay for another’s help.
Orelia clung to the hope of finding work as she crossed the bridge and headed up the hill to her home on the edge of town.
The porch steps creaked when she arrived a few minutes later, and the squeaky door hinges welcomed her back.
Moonlight shone through the windows in silver beams, guiding her way to the kitchen table.
The trulights stayed dark. They’d been there for almost ten years and their energy was close to expended, and she couldn’t afford to buy more.
Orelia summoned a box of matches off the counter and lit a single candle in the middle of the kitchen table. It was enough light for her single room home that used to belong to her aunt.
The loss of her caretaker had gone by with few tears, the same amount she cried for the parents she’d never known. Her aunt drank herself into oblivion for years, and one winter’s night when Orelia was seventeen, the crotchety witch succumbed to the drink, leaving Orelia to fend for herself.
The home belonged to her now, and though she loved it dearly, the patchouli wiggled its way into the wood like termites, solidifying its hold. She let out a desperate laugh. Without the brothel, she wondered how long it would take for the smell to disappear entirely.
After kicking off her boots, she opened the cabinet door that never shut all the way and surveyed her remaining provisions: half a bag of flour, yeast, a sealed jar of pitted olives, and a small bag of dried venison.
Orelia grabbed a strip of venison and ripped off a piece with her teeth. She slumped into a chair at the table and chewed on the tough meat, letting her gaze land on the dark pines behind the back fence.
Knowing the girls would be left to fend for themselves sat like a rock in her stomach. She’d expected Beron to have more empathy toward his kind, being a human himself, but clearly even the weak enjoyed exploiting the weak.
Not all the patrons were hurtful, and many frequented the brothel without harming the ones they spent time with. But there were plenty who were not kind, and now the lambs were left to the wolves who never could seem to eat their fill.