Page 15 of The Shadow of Breninsol
But what if we werehisFavour?
The treacherous thought called to her, could she allow herself to be bought like that? Indulging in a luxurious life. She was intimately familiar with the gifts she’d receive: rich food and drink, warm clothes, and a soft bed. The Dark God could buy her if he desired, she was certain he was wealthy enough. She’d be his Favour. She could…no, stop it. Stop thinking like that.Those kinds of thoughts were perilous; it led to ideas that were not for her. She was aware of the price of that type of life, and the loss of freedom that came along with it. She’d be nothing but a glorified pet.
The lord underneath her made a hissing noise, pulling her from thoughts of the Dark God. She couldn’t think about that mysterious man anymore, lest she vomit all over the narcotised lord and risk exposing herself.
No, she’d see this night through.
Just as Eleanor was deciding if she needed to use her hand, the lord’s hips bucked, and his face strained as he worked himself into a frenzy with whatever he was seeing. With a few huffs and a strangled grunt, he came into his white kerchief, and then sunk back onto the silk pillows, falling fast asleep.
Eleanor gritted her teeth as she removed the cloth from his penis.
You’ve had worse in your hands before. You’ve dealt with worse.
Eleanor clenched her hand around the kerchief, concealing it from the potential prying eyes. She fought back thinking of the warm liquid in the cloth, repeating the words to herself. Then she held her breath as she edged closer to the fireplace and opened her fist over the dying flames. The fire roused to lick along the cursive letter S and then the ruined material went up in smoke.
As quickly as she could, she backed away from the hearth and hastily poured herself a drink, needing to replace the feel of his come-filled kerchief. She didn't bother with ice, preferring the sharp, unadulterated burn of the whiskey filling her glass.
Eleanor made a great show of retrieving his long-coat before she left the room, carefully placing it on the richly textured red jacquard chair, its deep crimson a stark contrast to the coat's fetid colour. As she carefully placed the garment down, she swiftly ripped a glittering jewel from its ornate lapels, the cold gemstone a stark contrast against her skin as she tucked it into the folds of her straps.
Chapter Six
Lauressa's Mirror
Eleanor cursed herself as she made her way up the wooden back stairs from the midday breakfast to Lauressa’s room. The back stairs were the main thoroughfare of the pleasure house. The ladies had access to the kitchen, their rooms, and a hidden door that connected to the client-friendly area of the pleasure house.
Lauressa had asked, over their breakfast of sticky porridge, for Eleanor to style her hair the same way Eleanor had done the other night, after she’d come back from the Moonlight House. For a reason unbeknown to Eleanor, she’d agreed to the woman’s request. She’d thought nothing of it, as she leftthe giggling and chattering of the kitchen behind her. But now Eleanor firmly blamed Madam Grace for this situation. After all, she’d been helping the other ladies at the madam’s threatening directive, instead of keeping to herself.
Though tempted to grab a swig of her weak wine hidden beneath the floorboards, Eleanor decided against it. The coffee, barely better than dishwater, had surprisingly tasted drinkable this morning, so Eleanor had drunk additional cups of coffee. It was enough to prevent Eleanor from acting on habit and instead, she made herself go to Lauressa’s room.
Eleanor knew that life wasn't so bad at The Ladies Grace; a clean dry bed, a roof over her head, access to cheap booze, and the monthly visit from a reputable healer. She'd been in worse places and for much longer. After losing to Madam Grace in that card game, Eleanor had intended to spend a few years here, to keep her head down, pay off her debt, and then move on. Now she was inserting people into her life. People that had no business being there.
Lauressa’s door was wide open, and she beamed at seeing Eleanor by the doorway. Eleanor groaned internally; she could have used some wine for this.
“Eleanor! Come, come.” Lauressa encouraged Eleanor into her room and vibrated with happiness, her faded flowery dressing gown flapping around with her excitable movements.
The small room was near identical to her own, with a plain single bed with thin sheets shoved against one wall and a single wardrobe against the other wall, but Lauressa had added her own personalised touch to it. A piece of aged fabric had been tacked to the small window and tied it aside with a short ribbon. A small, polished, wooden table leaned precariously to the left, stood beside the wardrobe. A cracked oval mirror balanced on the wobbly table, propped against the wall. It would have been jarringly out-of-place, if not for its brokenness.
“Like it?” Lauressa waved her arms around the room and noticed Eleanor’s eyes had caught on the mirror. “I found it at the back of Worth’s. Had to carry it all the way from the Centre,” Lauressa said with pride.
Eleanor was baffled by the mirror’s shattered state, trying to understand how that could have happened. Worth’s was the kingdom-renowned outfitters, and they designed the latest fashions for all the nobles. They imported the finest fabrics and silks from faraway overseas kingdoms and Eleanor couldn’t even guess at how much they charged for a single item of clothing. It made no sense that those soft handed nobles were having drunken brawls in such a fashionable and exclusive shop.
Large sections of the mirror’s golden gilding had broken off the frame, and the paintwork was chipped. A crack bisected the mirror, with spider-like veins radiating from it. Despite its damage, it was still functional but wasn’t presentable enough for a place as prestigious as Worth’s.
“It’s…it’s something, that’s for sure,” Eleanor said, giving her a small head nod and smile.
The compliment, though small, caused Lauressa's face to light up, her eyes sparkling with genuine pride. A triumphant wide smile broke across her features as if she recalled her successful, stealthy journey across the city, the thrill of avoiding the city guards still fresh in her mind. The retrieval of the item would have presented itself as a surprisingly difficult challenge, demanding effort and perseverance to both find and return it without getting caught. If Eleanor could still feel magic, the soft breeze whispering through the crack in Lauressa’s window would have murmured tales of her cleverness, a cool touch against her skin.
On the bed lay a wooden comb, plain hairpins, and several ties. Uncomfortable with the silence, Eleanor sat on the edge ofthe lumpy mattress and gestured for the woman to sit between her legs on the floor.
“My clients all paid me extra for looking like a right fancy lady. They did,” Lauressa said as she settled herself down. “Ma was a servant in a fancy house or something?”
“Does it matter?”
“Guess not.” Lauressa gave a little shrug and tossed her fawn brown hair behind her back.
Eleanor could tolerate that she’d agreed to style the young woman’s hair, but she wasn’t swapping stories. Eleanor would have contentedly sat in silence while she worked and then, once she was done, reward herself with a few mouthfuls of wine.
Was it too early to drink?
