Millie’s alabaster skin had a natural glow and was perfectly smooth, like a single stroke of paint. Far too young for this kind of place. Not that any female of any age should want to find themselves in the predicament of having to sell their body to financially survive. Orelia dared not ask her age for fear she’d run into Beron’s office and tell him to stop buying adolescent girls. The healer’s complaints always went unheard anyway.
She gave Millie a genuine smile. Orelia’s best friend Teegan often said the witch’s full, rosy lips and straight white smile could make her a lot of money as a pleasure girl, but Orelia only laughed her off. She wasn’t strong enough to don the sage dress that barely covered anything and sell her body for a meager handful of coin, even if it would significantly amplify her financial situation.
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll gently wipe away the blood from your cuts with this cloth,” Orelia said. “Then I’ll use my healing to make those orange lines on your arm go away. Would that be all right?”
Millie blinked a few times, eager tears sitting on her waterline. “Okay,” she said meekly.
Orelia rose and with a tender touch placed the cloth above the girl’s elbow. Millie winced but didn’t pull away. Orelia knew the residual pain of a Lysa Fae’s power was a slight sting, but she wastold the infliction of it was like fire bursting across one’s entire body. She couldn’t imagine the pain Millie had endured with how many forked lines defaced her skin.
Orelia wanted to storm out of the room, find whoever had done this, and throw them out herself. But she wasn’t that brave. Or stupid. Beron controlled her livelihood, even though what he paid her was barely enough to get by.
She worked her way up Millie’s arm, letting the cloth drink up the remnants of blood as she lightly patted the incandescent cuts.
Millie’s gaze was fixed on the wall, though Orelia suspected she wasn’t looking at anything. She had seen that vacant expression too many times on the other pleasure girls’ faces.
“Where are you from?” Orelia asked, though she already knew part of the answer. Beron had recently procured a few girls off a ship from somewhere in the Golden Triangle—a moniker for the three grossly rich cities surrounding Goldbottom Bay.
“Ricaboro. I worked at The White Pony,” Millie said flatly.
She had heard tales of the Pony. Said to be the finest brothel in all the land, where girls were painted in gold and men were said to lose themselves in pleasure for weeks at a time, never seeing the light of day. As Ricaboro was the wealthiest of the three cities in the Triangle, it was understandable that a single tryst with a White Pony pleasure girl cost the same as a week with one of Beron’s.
Orelia dipped the cloth into the bucket and rung out the crimson water. “How did you end up here? If you don’t mind me asking. The Pony is certainly more lucrative than this place.”
There was no way Beron could afford Ricaboro girls. Not with what little he paid his own, and her. Orelia had to stretch each piece of silver she earned, but at the end of some weeks she’d skip meals until he paid her again.
“How does anyone? I was sold like a cow for milking, then shoved onto a ship with my arms and legs shackled until we arrived two days ago.” Millie’s turquoise eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
Orelia awkwardly fumbled over her words. “Please don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have asked.” She should have known Millie never had a choice.
Orelia cleaned the final cut before tossing the cloth onto her worktable. She wiped her hands dry on her skirt and said, “I’m going to place my hands over the wounds and seal them, okay?”
Millie nodded, curiosity in her gaze and apprehension in her stiff posture.
“I promise it won’t hurt,” Orelia offered. “You’ll feel a tingling, but that’s just the healing at work.”
She waited until Millie gave her another nod of approval, then placed her palms side by side at the start of the cuts above her elbow. Orelia pictured a ball of light inside her and called on the Omnimagia— an internal place where all beings who could summon magic could pull differing abilities from. She didn’t know how it worked, only that she had to imagine healing a wound, or a broken bone, and it just . . .worked.
Orelia’s palms glowed yellow as warm energy flowed through her. Matching yellow rings and shapes appeared on her fingers, andsimilar designs worked their way up her hands, painting her in the medicinal power of a witch. The final piece—a golden vine wrapping around the entirety of her wrist—meant the healing was ready to begin.
Millie’s eyes blew wide as she stared at the various shapes. “I thought you might have been a wizard, but I didn’t know you were a witch.” For the first time that night, the girl smiled. “What else can you do?”
Orelia chuckled. Despite the ordeal Millie must have gone through receiving the wounds, there was still the hopefulness of youth in her high-pitched words. The same hope Orelia tried to find each day.
“I can summon objects and call them to me,” Orelia said.
Millie twisted in her seat, not seeming to care much for her injured arm as it slid through Orelia’s grip. “Can you show me? I’ve never met a witch before.”
Orelia looked at the candles sitting near the door and curled her fingers until her long, pointed nails touched her palm. The candles slowly ascended and followed the sweep of her arm toward the workstation. When they hovered over the table, she motioned her hand toward the ground, and the candles descended into empty holders.
“Humans are so boring compared to you magic-wielders.” Millie gave a dramatic eye roll, but she smirked.
Orelia laughed, but her smile immediately dropped. “Did you not have anyone at the Pony who healed you or the others?”
The girl’s excitement faded, her shoulders slumping. “No. No one was there to help us.”
Orelia’s heart pinched. It seemed even brothel-keepers in rich cities did as little as they could to take care of their girls. It was like Beron had once said: as long as they weren’t dead, they could work.
“My older sister, Tara, looked out for me the best she could, stealing sana from our boss’s stash whenever she was able. But when Doyle found out what she’d done . . .” Millie swallowed, and her eyes went misty. “He sent me away, keeping Tara there as punishment.”
