Followed by Fire

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Followed by Fire Page 10

by McKenzie Austin


  “I said you could stay the night,” Esven muttered, one hand sliding to stop at her hip. “It’s morning now.”

  It didn’t take long for a slow grin to spread onto Balvonak’s face when he remembered where he was. He opened his second eye and stretched his arms above his head. The motion irritated Maritimus just enough that the cat slid himself off of Balvonak’s body and onto the floor. The fire demon reached out to pet the animal as he sat up, both surprised and amused that the inhuman heat radiating from his body didn’t seem to harm the animal at all. While scratching behind Maritimus’ ears, he sent his regard to Esven. “You know, I heard your mother was far more generous.”

  Satisfied to see him sitting up, Esven approached the door. “Yes,” she mumbled. “And her generosity followed her all the way to the pyre.”

  “Spoken with true bitterness.” Balvonak smirked, yawning as he pulled his legs up to rest his arms over them. “I trust you thought about my offer, then?”

  Esven spun to face him. “I thought I was clear last night. I will not help you unleash a demon army.” She drew her shoulders back, standing straighter. “My mother died in the name of goodness. For me to act with anything but, only spits in the face of her final act.”

  Though her word were acrimonious, they pulled a laugh from Balvonak’s mouth. “I hear you saying the words,” he said, shaking his head, “but I do not feel the conviction behind them.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you feel.” Esven steeled her voice, reaching for the door’s handle. “My answer remains the same.”

  Balvonak’s smirk faded. He thought the night would urge her into an agreement. That if she had time to think about it, everything would start to make sense. He saw in her eyes that he was wrong. That his opportunity was closing.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Balvonak pushed himself to his feet and slicked back his hair. He needed her. His charming personality had failed him up to this point. Nerves poked at his chest. It seemed she could elude his social graces, but would she also push away Vahldod’s? It wasn’t a chance he wanted to take. “Perhaps you need me to stick around and show you more examples of humanity’s failings.” He took a step toward her, his arms spread innocently out at his sides. “That might part the clouds of doubt a little, hmm?”

  Esven shook her head. “There is nothing you could possibly show me that would outdo what I have already seen.” She pulled on the handle, opened the door, and gestured outdoors with her hand.

  She wasn’t budging. Balvonak blinked, sliding his teeth together as his eyes darted around the room. Her actions were stubborn, but stemmed of love for Amadeia. She revered her mother. If he spoke of the late witch, perhaps Esven could still be swayed. “If that is what you wish,” he started, taking hesitant steps toward the door. “A shame, though. The demons truly did love Amadeia.” He stopped in the door frame, grinning all the while. “They speak highly of her, and often. They would have clamored at an opportunity to avenge her, you know.”

  Esven could not stop herself from rolling her eyes, though she regretted the hostile display shortly after she’d made it. “Do forgive my bluntness, but demons are incapable of loving anything. And even if they weren’t…” She locked onto his eyes, unafraid. “…why would they revere a woman who had nothing to do with them?”

  Her admission pulled Balvonak’s brows together. “Nothing to...? Oh, wait, wait, hold on… now this all makes a bit more sense,” he said, nodding. “I understand that Amadeia severed her ties some twenty years ago, but she never told you about her historical connections with the demon realm?”

  A flutter of intrigue spiked in Esven’s chest. She banished it immediately, checking her statements off on her fingers. “She told me two things. One: always choose good… which is why I’ve allowed you the opportunity to spend the night. And two: it is unwise to trust demons—which is why I’m showing you the door.”

  “Unwise to trust demons?” Balvonak chuckled, casually scratching at his jaw. “That may be sound advice, my darling, but Amadeia did more than trust us. Dare I say, she even loved some of us?” His chuckle shifted into a broader laugh. “I believe the Demon Lord, Marumon, may have even shed a tear when I told Him of her death, if He was capable of producing them.”

  Esven hardened her stare. “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” Balvo held up his hands to emphasize his innocence. “The more literate of us have written books on Amadeia. She is nearly a goddess amongst demons. Mention her name in the Netherworld and you will be met with fond memories of when she once graced our nation with her presence. The only full-blooded human worthy of demon reverence.”

  The young witch’s eyes slipped to Balvonak’s knees. Her thoughts drifted to her mother. She knew far more existed to Amadeia’s life than she was ever privy to, but the demon’s tale sounded like a stretch.

  Esven recalled the twilight hours in her childhood, when enchanters would team together to penetrate her mother’s protection spells. They would come to the door, begging her to accompany them on one undertaking or another.

  While Amadeia fed them and offered them tea, believing her adolescent daughter to still be in bed, Esven would watch from the darkness of her room. She’d listen to the nameless mages beseech her mother, plead with her, tell her that she was the only one who could tackle whatever task it was that they felt they needed her for.

  Amadeia would allow them to finish their food, their tea, then politely decline. She never explained why.

  Her mother did not shy away from keeping her secrets. Whenever Esven questioned her on her history, Amadeia prattled off the same lines: The past is exactly where it should be. Times have changed.

  Esven craved to fill that hole with more knowledge of Amadeia’s history. What had her life been like before? What should Esven’s life be like now? She had countless unanswered questions.

  To know so little of what had made Amadeia the woman she was… it only made the loss of her all the greater. Esven would never know who her mother used to be… or who she was meant to become.

  Was Balvonak’s appearance a way to fill in the gaps of Amadeia’s past? Was that why fate had brought him to her door?

  With a new purpose in her pulse, Esven lifted her eyes, locking hard onto Balvonak’s. She wouldn’t take him at his word. But if he could prove it... “Show me.”

  The fire demon nearly choked on an unspent laugh that lingered in his throat. His eyes widened and he cocked his head. “Show you?”

  “Show me.” Esven reached out, grabbing her red cloak off of the rack it hung upon. “As gentlemanly as you claim yourself to be, Balvo, I’ll need to see anything you say with my own eyes before I believe you.”

  “You…” Balvonak trailed off, his expression betraying his confusion. “You want me to take you to the Netherworld?”

  He couldn’t believe it. Not even the demons wanted to be there.

  Throwing the cloak over her shoulders, Esven fastened the clasp, and pulled the long locks of her red hair from beneath the fabric. “I wish you to take me anywhere that will shine more light on my mother’s history. She lived nearly eighty years before she had me. I’d like to know what her existence was like before she found herself held back by a child.”

  “Held back?” A brow rose on Balvonak’s face as he watched her get herself ready. “Is that really what you think?”

  Esven pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and turned to face Balvonak. “I think my mother was Brigovia’s greatest witch before I came along. I think she had to have accomplished countless incredible things to have earned such a title. The only thing I know for certain is she left a lot behind when I was born.” Her voice faded at the ends, but resolve remained in her eyes. “I’d like to know what I made her give up.”

  Balvo edged away, severing their eye contact. His gaze skittered about on the floor while he postured. He had no desire for her to enter the Netherworld. A great chance existed that she would not like what she saw. Not a lot
of people had the stomach for the demon realm. Witnessing it firsthand would only drive home whatever foul beliefs toward demons that Amadeia may have raised her with. His best bet of getting what he wanted was keeping her as far away from it as possible, until he was certain she’d open the door. “My darling…” He tucked his arms behind his back, dipping his chin, “the Netherworld is a… a challenging place. The heat and pressure alone—you would need to produce a spell of such power just to—”

  “My spells are capable,” Esven interrupted.

  Balvo pinched his lips together. The protection spell she placed around her property made him beg to differ. While Esven seemed to harbor some of her mother’s greatness, she was no Amadeia Greenbriar from had he had seen so far. “Might I suggest—”

  “Furthermore,” she interjected again, “if you so badly wish for me to summon an army to the surface world, I should like to know who I’m inviting.”

  An uneasy chuckle left him. Balvonak dragged his hands over his beard. “It’s hardly the place for you.”

  Esven threw the length of the cloak over her torso. “Did or did my mother not walk through your world?”

  The fire demon ran his tongue over his lips and hardened his jaw. “She did. Many times, from what I’ve been told.”

  “Then it is fit for me just fine, thank you.”

  A small part of him admired her tenacity. Esven was unlike most of the other humans he’d met; that much was clear from last night. But the prize was too valuable to run the risk of not receiving it. Balvonak could not deliver her to the Netherworld, introduce her to the demons that dwelled there, and chance that she would be too terrified by what she saw to initiate Marumon’s plan. The Demon Lord would kill him. “Give me three days,” Balvo said, pinching his thumb and index finger together while he raised the last three fingers on his hand. “Let me first show you more examples of mankind’s darkness. You will see that revenge for Amadeia is just.” He placed his palms together as if he were praying, though the action itself was dredged in irony. “Three days. I give you my word. If you still haven’t found the wisdom in my offer, I will take you to the Netherworld after.” He watched her, waiting with baited breath in the hope that she’d agree to his terms. Not only would it buy him some time, but it would drag her from the area that Vahldod was last seen sniffing around.

  “Your word means nothing to me,” Esven admitted. The words were harsh, but her tone held a softness to it as she struggled to balance kindness with self-preservation. “We’ve only just met.”

  Balvo squeezed his mouth shut to seal his frustration inside. He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Fair enough,” he said, smacking his lips as he removed an object from his trousers. He held it out to her, his fingers slowly unraveling to unveil the item in his palm: the bone key. “This is the key to the Netherworld,” he explained. “You keep it. When the time is right, I will show you how to use it. You can ask them all the questions about Amadeia that you’d like, when you arrive.”

  Tilting her head, Esven studied the key. Crafted from the bones of what appeared to be a small mammal, she did not shy away from its morbidity. Bones were natural things, after all. She’d seen many of them scattered amongst the fallen leaves of the forest. The witch met Balvo’s gaze, her eyes firm. “And how am I to know that it is not simply a trick to get me to break the seal over the demon realm’s door?”

  “It doesn’t—” Balvo clenched the key into a fist, trying to clear away the obvious frustration in his voice. He sighed, relaxing his tone. “It doesn’t work that way. We would need your blessing, coupled with your abilities to break the seal over the door.”

  Esven refused to look away from his face. “Keys open many doors absent of blessings or magical ability.”

  Her eyes challenged him. Alluring as they were, they irked Balvo with an unmatched force. His shoulders rose as he inhaled, and after a moment, he slid the key back into his pocket. “All right…”

  The fire demon reached a hesitant hand into his opposite pocket. It took some internal struggle, but he wrapped the delicate chain around his fingers and pulled the locket from its hiding place.

  There was still time to change his mind—time to run risks far less than handing over his only ticket to the surface world. But as he stared at the unshakable gaze of Esven Greenbriar, he knew his options were limited.

  It was time to roll the dice.

  “This,” he started, holding the swinging locket out toward her, “is my most prized possession. If you promise not to lose it… you can keep it as collateral. Until we’re through.”

  Esven fixated on the dangling object with admitted disbelief. “A locket? That is your most prized possession?”

  “Not just any locket, my darling.” Balvo clutched it as if it breathed oxygen into his lungs. “Please. Do not lose it.”

  The witch flicked her eyes toward him, analyzing his features. She saw a glimmer of desperation wash over his otherwise confident gaze. Strange. It was the first glimpse of humanity that she saw in him, since they had met.

  She knew trouble rested in dealing with demons. Her mother would not have preached such things to her if it wasn’t true. Even with the whispers of Amadeia’s concerns spreading through her mind, the temptation was simply too great to resist.

  What did she have to lose? Her charmed existence of isolation in the woods? She had all the time in the world to master the limited enchantments that her mother had taught her, but when those were perfected… what then? If Esven hoped to touch even a fraction of the greatness that Amadeia had claimed in her glory days, she needed to learn what her history had entailed. It was the only way to keep her mother’s spirit alive, while simultaneously satisfying her incessant lust to find purpose.

  “Fair enough.” Esven reached out, accepting the locket. She had to tug on the chain a little harder than she thought she would, as Balvo had some trouble letting it go. When it was fully within her grasp, she tucked it into a satchel at her side. “Now… how do you intend to show me that your cause is just?”

  It took some convincing to banish the intense flood of regret, but Balvo recovered as soon as he was able. He cleared his throat and pressed his back against the side of the door frame, offering Esven space to exit the opening. “To witness their failings, we must throw ourselves straight into evil’s mouth. Come.” He extended his arm outward and flashed an unreadable smirk. “To Pinesguard.”

  Pinesguard. The name alone sent an unexpected shiver up through her torso, and out each of her limbs. Pinesguard meant people. Esven grumbled, bringing her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “I think I might prefer the demon realm,” she whispered beneath her breath.

  The admission made Balvonak’s anxious grin shift into a more assured one. “Then my job won’t be half as hard as I first thought it to be. Come, my darling. If you’re to see how much the beast needs to be put down, you must first look it in the eye. The eyes are the window to the soul, after all.”

  True words. The witch searched his own, to see if she could spy any cracks in the foundation of Balvo’s words. She couldn’t get a proper read on him. Running her tongue over her lips, she peered beyond his shoulders, out into the forest. Toward Pinesguard.

  There would be at least one familiar face there. Elias would delight in seeing her. The priest had tried to convince her to seek the safety of his church countless times. But the unknowns… the watchful eyes of the merchants… the cautious glances of church-goers… the heated eyes of the Brotherhood… They all made her nerves tingle. She could not pick them from a crowd. Anyone could be an enemy, as they all wore similar faces.

  Esven glanced down at Maritimus, who lifted his sluggish head to meet her eyes. “What do you think?” the witch asked, her expression uncertain.

  Maritimus twitched his whiskers, his yellow-green orbs wide. His tail jerked at the tip, and he failed to produce a sound.

  No help at all. Typical. Esven inhaled, hoping to summon courage into her lungs, as well as
oxygen. “All right.” She pushed her hair out of her face and slipped past Balvonak’s body, into the outdoors.

  Three days. Three days of subjecting herself to humanity. All she had to do was remember Amadeia’s mantras. Do no harm, Esven repeated in her head. Do no harm. Do no harm. Then, she could honor her mother’s wishes, and gain insight on her history in the process.

  She could do it. She hoped.

  Chapter Seven

  The smell of the town hit their noses before it came into view. Esven closed her lids and blew out her cheeks, forcing each new footstep to follow the previous one. The closer they edged toward Pinesguard’s gate, the more potent the bubbling pool of nerves in her stomach voiced their disapproval.

  Balvo did not mimic her distress. His gait showed his brimming sureness. A simple tune whistled through his lips, right up until they came to the entrance. He glanced at Esven from the corner of his eyes, sporting a sly grin. “Are you ready, my darling?”

  “Do you find it necessary to address me as such? I am neither yours, nor your darling.” Esven drew her shoulders back, fixing her gaze on the town’s interior. So many people. Countless more footsteps left in the mud, where other people had traveled. The indents left in the viscous muck served as a symbol to how many had walked these grounds. So many sets of eyes.

  “Now, now,” Balvo smirked, patting a gloved hand down on her cloaked shoulder, “don’t throw your anger and fear at me. Give it to them,” he said, gesturing toward the town. “That’s where it really belongs.”

  Esven pulled her shoulder out of his touch. “Where do you intend to take me first?”

  The question brought raw delight to the fire demon’s face. “One of the greatest places to witness mankind’s debauchery.” He turned his face forward and headed into the town. “The local brothel.”

  The heat of embarrassment could not have rushed to Esven’s cheeks any faster. “A brothel?” Her whisper left her in a high pitch. She reached out and squeezed Balvonak’s arm, sinking her fingers into the cloth of his tunic. “You intend to make me gaze upon those who sell their bodies for money?”

 

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