Don't Fight the Spark
Page 8
The phrase is also used as a colloquial term for a healer in general.
Guild of Mages, Alchemists and Healers---An association of Mages, Alchemists and Healers which oversees the practice of all Magic-related crafts within the Empire. Also a governing body through which all Magic-able individuals register their skills with the state. Such registration is required by the law and compulsory for all level of talents. Withholding knowledge of magical abilities is a criminal offence in the Empire.
Ih'mohrô (literally meaning Sand Fighter)---A highly trained combatant who earns his living entertaining audiences in public arenas by engaging in bare-knuckle fights against other ih'mohrôs. Once a profession of condemned criminals and slaves, it has become a profitable and respected career for fearless young athletes proficient at martial arts.
Livid Sea---A body of water connected to the Anthracite Ocean, bordered by the North Isles to the north and the Elven Country and Empire to the south. Its infamously rough waters, subject to frequent high-speed winds and unpredictable weather changes, are riddled with an abundance of atolls, rocks, reefs and shipwrecks. The Livid Sea is the biggest sea in the northern hemisphere.
Něssyr (also called Stewpot)---The large and lively port in the southern Empire situated on the coast of the Calm Sea. Tucked a safe distance away from the scrutiny of the Emperor and central state authorities, this cosmopolitan city is mainly inhabited by merchants, artists, whores and mercenaries, and attracts flocks of pirates, traders and vagrants from all over. Něssyr is known for being home to the Order and also for its picturesque beaches, black ragged cliffs and hot coastal climate.
Order Obsidian---A token of passage to the Black Fortress, allowing entry through the magical wards protecting the Order Headquarter.
Order---The most formidable and influential Assassins' Guild, located in the south of the Empire, on the outskirts of the port city of Něssyr. The Order, which uses a hawk as its symbol, is headed by the Grand Master and Council of Enforcers.
Rhénon---The northernmost island in the Northern Isles archipelago on the Livid Sea.
Source Stone---A semi-precious mineral used by Sparks as a method of storing their Magic. Often worn as a necklace, the type of stone reflects a Spark's level of ability and strength. The most gifted Sparks require jade. Medium-able ones use agate. Those with the weakest talent wear verdite.
Spark---A Magic-able individual who (unlike a Mage) cannot produce their own Magic, but is otherwise capable of processing and shaping Magic that has been transferred from a willing donor. A legal transfer of Magic is a transaction, where Magic is exchanged for coin, goods or favours. An unlawful transfer of Magic, known as extraction, takes place when an unwilling donor is drained of a fraction or the entirety of their power, which is a crime punishable by death under Emperor Xenedor's Code of Laws.
Sparks have a spectrum of abilities, ranging from a basic magical sensitivity to a high level of creative Magic.
Trovo---The biggest and southernmost island in the Northern Isles archipelago on the Livid Sea.
Vamper---A neutral, colloquial term for a vampire.
Variñya---A plant that is both a powerful toxin and a potent remedy. The Elven rune for variñya is the symbol of the Imperial healers and represents their motto: A dose makes the poison.
Winter Lights Festival (also known as the Night of Winter Lights)---The most important holiday of the year. Held on the winter solstice, it's observed across the world by the humans of the Empire, Barbarians, Elves of the Elven Country and Elder Races. Mid-winter marks the return of the sun and is celebrated as a time to be thankful for the blessing of surviving the harsh cold. While the festivities vary depending on country and region, lighting candles, lanterns and bonfires, putting on firework displays and offering gifts are common holiday practices.
Yaʼneshi (plural: yaʼneshi)---A curved, slender sword of Elven design, featuring a circular guard and a long hilt. Intended for close-quarter combat, yaʼneshi are forged by the famous blacksmiths of Asirhwӱn according to the ancient method of nine layers. Aside from being considered deadly weapons, yaʼneshi are also valued for their artistic qualities. Extremely rare in the human Empire, they fetch significant sums of silver.
Yarogon---A plant of the cactus family, only occurring on the southern coast of the Empire. As the white, night-blooming flowers open in the evening, they give out an intense, pleasant fragrance.
Ysêmyr---The capital and most populous city in the Empire. The place where the Emperor resides and keeps his Court; also famous for wine production.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A linguist and an avid reader with a particular fondness for fantasy and paranormal genres, KASIA BACON lives in London with her husband. When not tearing her hair out over a translating project, she writes stories about the shenanigans of emotionally constipated assassins and sexy Elves. Otherwise, she can be found shaking her loins at a Zumba class, binging on anime or admiring throwing knives on Pinterest. She has a mild coffee and lemon tart addiction. A lover of MMA and Muay Thai, she also enjoys nature and the great outdoors. She dreams of becoming independently wealthy, leaving the city and moving into her wooden mini-manor---located in the heart of stunning forests resembling those of the Elven Country depicted in her tales.
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BOOKS BY KASIA BACON
AVAILABLE NOW
The Mutt (Order Book 1)
The Highlander (Order Book 2)
Twenty-One Arrow Salute (Order Book 2.5)
The Poison Within (Inspector Skaer Book 1)
Blessing and Light (Standalone)
Don't Fight the Spark (Soldiers and Mercenaries 1)
COMING SOON IN THE ORDER UNIVERSE
When I First Saw Red (Soldiers and Mercenaries 2)
The Scouts (Order Book 3)
GERMAN EDITIONS
Segen und Licht (Einzelband aus der Ordenswelt)
Der Halbelf (Der Orden Buch 1)
Der Hochländer (Der Orden Buch 2)
WHEN I FIRST SAW RED
Coming soon! Read on for a sneak excerpt:
I'd never been one for whorehouses.
When it came to carnal entertainment, the advantages of having a steady lover had always appealed to me, both in terms of cost and convenience. Having spent half of my life in barracks, camps and garrisons, my preference lay---quite literally---with soldiers, simply because of their immediate availability and reluctance to form ties that went beyond camaraderie.
Therefore, I rarely frequented brothels.
The young corporal I used to fool around with had transferred west to another unit near the Elven border, in Radvadur. Following his departure, too busy to make new arrangements, I'd hit a bit of a dry spell. Soon after, one-third of my squad had come down with the fever, which proved truly vicious that rainy season. Daily dealings with a dozen poorly, whinging lads had rid me of any amorous inclinations. Since I'd been waking up with a clenched jaw and a headache rather than a hard-on, fucking ranked low on my agenda.
The majority of my garrison religiously attended Cocks & Hens' shag-all-you-can bargain nights, held every last Freeday of the month. Twelve silvers paid at the door stretched a long way if your stamina was up to par. If not, well, they sold famous Viah Grah powders for an extra fiver onsite.
That evening, I found myself off duty and bored. The coin, freshly received from the quartermaster's hands, burnt a hole in my pocket.
So I came along.
Humans and non-humans of all genders, in various states of undress and sobriety, eyes glassy from lust and assorted substances, mingled in the roomy area of the well-lit downstairs bar. At that stage, it posed a challenge to tell the whor
es from the punters. For a bit, it looked as if the outing would turn into a drinking session for me.
"No one tickles your fancy, Sergeant Jhagán?" The pretty proprietor---a plump, mature Něssyrian---had introduced herself to me earlier, but I'd immediately forgotten her name. "Tell me your type. We aim to accommodate all tastes."
"I have no type," I said, tossing back another shot of plum moonshine and cringing at the burn in my gullet. One thing was clear: they didn't fuck about with their liquor in this place.
"You'd be mine for sure," she murmured. A coy smile showed off her dimples as she skimmed her fingers across my biceps. "Such a strapping, solid lad you are. I'd show you a grand time myself, but I stopped entertaining customers"---she lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper---"aeons ago."
A raucous ripple of laughter rang from the wooden gallery above us, where the more pricey whores kept lodging and conducted their business. Following the source of the commotion, I looked up.
Two men and a woman had just come out of a room located on the mezzanine floor. Judging by the way the joke had them all in stitches, it must've been top-notch.
The highborn couple, dressed in layers of greys and silvers as the latest fashion dictated, stood in contrast with the shirtless and barefooted whore. He sported only a pair of low-slung, undone breeches, offering the world a generous glimpse of his hips and groin.
I couldn't make out their words, but I recognised that the merry gathering held a conversation in Common Elven. It didn't surprise me. For one, it had been the language of the nobles and courtiers since the Emperor took the throne thirty-odd years before. Secondly, the whore was a half-breed Elf.
One glance at him and my mouth went desert-dry and my shaft hardened.
I drank in the sight of him---his lean figure, luminous skin and angular eyes. The pointy tips of his ears poked through a cascade of red hair. Not copper, ginger or auburn. Not mahogany. But blood red. Intricate tattoos on the sides of his face announced his Incubus heritage on the human side. The obsolete law still called for the marking of Incubi descendants, even though their magic, inactive for centuries, had likely expired together with their demonic forefathers.
The redhead's companions waved their farewells and made for the stairs. He leant over the railing in a nonchalant pose, his sculptured arms folded on top of the barrier. There was a note of arrogance in the way he examined the crowd below and shamelessly displayed his ethereal beauty.
It took a moment, but eventually his gaze fell upon me. At first, he seemed to glance through me. Then he stared me up and down, blatant and hostile somehow, as though ascertaining my worth. Leering at me in a downright insolent manner.
I couldn't look away, turned on and irate at the same time. Insane as it might be, I felt the physical touch of fingers running over my body. The sensation set my flesh on fire.
Perhaps the stories told about the Incubi held a grain of truth.
Next thing I knew, his mouth set into a condescending smirk. He averted his eyes and pivoted on his heel. Before he disappeared, I observed his lush hair swish to the side and cover his shoulders and back like a fiery silk cloak.
The slam of his door felt very much like a slap to my face. I flinched. The man was a half-naked whore who earned his living on his knees and elbows. He'd just serviced not one, but two clients. The stickiness of sex, the ripe smell of it, must've still lingered on his skin. Yet it was I, the Sergeant with the Imperial Forces, who'd ended up appraised like a stud at a cattle market. One who didn't quite make the cut, to cap it all. And he'd tossed his ridiculous hair at me, for fuck's sake. A mix of rage and want lined my gut.
The owner's snicker helped me snap out of it. "Ouch," she said, covering her lips with her hand. A fit of laughter shook her dainty figure. "I think he likes you."
I disagreed.
She dropped her gaze to my crotch. "Well, damn. That's... unfortunate."
"How so?" I gritted out. "Who is he?"
"My main coin-bringer. His name's Ōkkanȏ Kyatto."
I spoke passable Common Elven, as did most members of the military stationed around the border. Ōkkanȏ meant scarlet. I snorted.
"He dislikes soldiers," the woman said.
Well, boo-hoo.
I adjusted myself under the table. "How much for him?"
She smiled and shook her head. "Pick someone else, Sergeant. Ōkkanȏ's a fussy bugger. He ain't cheap, either. But the local aristocracy can't get enough of him."
"How much?" I repeated in a dry voice.
She tilted her head. "Hundred and fifty silvers an hour."
Sweet fucking gods almighty.
I sucked air through my teeth.
"He's engaged for the next six weeks," she added. "And I can't see him accepting patronage from a soldier, at any rate."
"Well, I'm sure you could convince him if you tried." I leant in closer and eased my tone. "What if I, say, paid a thousand for a night with him?"
The glint in her eyes told me I'd chosen the right path. "Sergeant---"
"Make the arrangements." I nodded my goodbye. "I'll see him next Freeday."
It turned out I did have a type, all right. A mixed-race, stuck-up courtesan I couldn't afford was it, apparently. Wouldn't it be fun, though, to see if the damn Elfling could still smirk while choking on my cock?
Sliding off my stool, I tried to reduce the swivel the alcohol added to my step.
The rosy-cheeked proprietor, who was still watching me, bit her lip in a transparent attempt to stifle a laugh.
I shot her a dignified look. "Yes?"
"Oh nothing, Sergeant," she soothed, probably afraid to lose my coin to my bruised pride. "Next week, eh?"
I bobbed my head. Next week. I had things to do. Sobering up, for starters. And rubbing one out---or two, perhaps, given the way I felt all riled up.
I needed a clear head to figure out the way to attain a thousand silvers in seven days.