The Courtesan and the Widow
an excerpt

Boxes were stacked precariously all about the small flat that Avora had once thought of as her home. There was but a narrow path through which one could navigate the area. Beautiful women traversed these paths, carrying boxes outside to the cart outside while Avora watched.

She ought to be helping, but it felt as if she was getting in the way every time she went to do something. These women had done this before. Indeed, every time a newcomer moved into Mother Vaela’s House, they helped the new courtesan move in. The majority of Avora’s things would be sold off, she knew, but she was allowed to retain a few precious keepsakes. The rest simply had to go. Mother Vaela would provide, and assured Avora that she would earn her place quickly enough.

Avora had been lucky. She’d been lucky most of her life, some would say. Blessed with golden hair, wide blue eyes and attractive skin, she’d managed to become the mistress of a married man, and had everything provided for her. It was a much better fate, they said, than having to marry and serve a husband of her own. Instead, she was lucky enough to have love. For a while.

The advantage a wife had over a mistress, of course, was legitimacy. When one’s lover was murdered, they were not entitled to the man’s money or the support of his family. This all went to the widow.

But Avora had been lucky there, too. Her landlord, who knew she wouldn’t be able to pay to retain the flat, had known Mother Vaela and helped arrange for her to take in Avora. She was lucky to know the right people, everyone said.

Never mind that Avora had never been a courtesan before. She’d had a few lovers in her life, and all of them had been for the sake of love or at least enjoyment. Never for money or survival or obligation, as would be the case from now on. To some extent, the idea was a little bit exciting, she supposed. But then, she found herself unable to avoid reminding herself that never again would it be the man’s obligation to please her. It would forevermore be about pleasing him.

She also found that she didn’t feel particularly special among the exotic beauties who diligently carried her boxes outside. She was so used to men commenting on her beauty. But now, she felt rather ordinary.

A slender female with pale braids knelt down to pick up a box that Avora had set aside in the corner.

“Not that one!” she called out, stepping toward the other woman.

The courtesan stiffened and looked up in surprise.

Avora gasped and took a step back as she stared at a face that wasn’t even Human. It was too angular. The eyes were too large, and they were tilted downward toward her nose, which was far too narrow. And then she noticed the ears, artfully hidden beneath her elaborate braids. They were pointed at the tips. Her finely groomed eyebrows rose in a questioning manner. “Excuse?” she asked in a soft voice with a heavy accent.

Avora’s heart pounded. She’d heard stories of elves, mostly from her late lover, Rodan. They were vicious killers, he’d told her. He’d been a soldier and had lost a number of men when they’d gotten too close to the haunted woods, known to be inhabited by elves. “That box . . . that’s the one I want to keep.”

The elf nodded, lifting the box and rising to her feet in a flowing, gracefully inhuman motion. She held the box to Avora. “You hold,” she said. “Then no one mistakes it.”

Avora took the box in her shaking hands. “Thank you,” she said foolishly. “I . . . I’m Avora.” She didn’t mean to be rude. Yes, this was an elf, but she was one of Mother Vaela’s courtesans. Surely Mother Vaela wouldn’t employ a save murderer. This creature would become like a sister to Avora. They all would, Mother Vaela had promised.

“They name me Fae.” The elf turned away abruptly and lifted another box, carrying it out without another glance toward Avora.

Fae was definitely a human word. Avora wondered what the elf’s real name had been, and if she’d ever spoken it at all to a Human. She must have been captured at some point. Avora supposed some men would find her exotic looks appealing. But how had Mother Vaela gotten such a creature? Avora felt more ordinary than ever now.

The box she held in her arms contained a few heirlooms of her mother’s, who’d died when Avora had been a young girl. But mostly it held trinkets from Rodan. Some necklaces, some rings. The things of sentimental value were all that she could keep. She’d be given new clothes, more appropriate ones, Mother Vaela had promised. She’d have a bed provided. She’d be sharing a room with another courtesan.

She bit her lip then, hoping she wasn’t going to be stuck with the elf. Aside from the fact that the creature made her heart pound and she felt completely uneasy in her presence, the elf also didn’t seem to communicate well. Avora thought she might very well go mad if she couldn’t make a friend. After losing Rodan, she needed someone. Though Avora had never been very good with other women. She knew how to get along with men, but she had a tendency to feel competitive with other women. She’d even admitted this to Mother Vaela over a cup of deceptively strong mulled wine, but Vaela had laughed and told her that all exceptionally beautiful women feel that way. Still, she assured her that soon enough, the women in her House would become her family.

“There are certain rules that, with the exception of the Flame Lords, all of our patrons are expected to obey,” Mother Vaela had told her. “We’re not some cheap brothel. We value our women, and expect our patrons to treat you all with respect. If any of them get rough, I expect to hear about it, and he will not be allowed to patronize my girls again. Any unconventional requests are at your discretion as well.”

“Unconventional?” she’d asked.

Mother Vaela had raised her eyebrows. “Do I really need to elaborate? I wasn’t under the impression that you’re a blushing maid.”

“I suppose I can imagine well enough.”

“When called upon by a patron, the first thing you’ll do is make the tea. The two of you will sit down and drink it together. You’re expected to keep him engaged with pleasant conversation during that time. The tea will keep him from getting you with child. Do you understand?”

Avora had nodded again. “Yes. This is good. I was concerned about that.” The last thing Avora needed was a child in her circumstances.

“The rest of the rules should be fairly common sense rules for living under my roof. I expect you to contribute to the chores equally with the others. You’ll learn your place quickly enough.”

“You said the Flame Lords are exempted from some of the rules?” Avora had asked.

Mother Vaela had smiled. “Of course. They provide us with the divine herbs used to prevent children coming from your work. They support us heavily. As such… well, they may do as they wish. It is important that we keep them happy, and would harm my business a great deal to do otherwise.”

“I understand.” Avora had felt a small flutter of dread within her stomach.

“Of course,” said Mother Vaela, “To be called upon by a Flame Lord would be a great honor, so I know none of my girls would disappoint. Although they aren’t required to, they pay higher than anyone else, and can be quite generous with gifts to my girls. To get such a man’s favor would be very lucky.”

Her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. Avora had always been said to be lucky.

Avora followed the last of the women out of her old flat and watched as they loaded the boxes onto a cart to be sold off. Her landlord stood outside watching the procession with a grin on his face. Avora had chosen not to ask how such an ordinary man had come to know Mother Vaela.

She approached him, digging around in her pocket to pull out a key. “Here you are.”

He smiled at her, taking the key from her hand, nodding. “Good luck,” he told her. “Maybe after you get settled in, I’ll call on you.” His eyes were not really at her eye level, she realized.

Swallowing, she looked up at him. “Thank you for your help,” she told him. She’d been right when she’d told Rodan that the man wanted her. Rodan had laughed it off as if it were nothing. If anything it had made him more flamboyant about the kind of relationship he had with her. But his flamboyance had been one of the things she’d loved about him. She missed him so much now.

Had her landlord wanted her badly enough to murder Rodan? The thought came to her abruptly along with a sick feeling as she turned and walked toward the carriage that awaited her. A woman clasped her hand and helped her up and inside as the driver closed the door behind her. Avora found herself surrounded by women, all eyes on her. Fae, the elf, was among them, of course.

“Avora,” the woman seated next to her asked. She had light red hair, worn in ringlets, and a violet gown that displayed an ample bosom. “I’m Maeri. You’ll be sharing a room with me.” The woman, looking to be a few years younger than Avora, clasped her hand. There were freckles on her face, but none on the pale skin of her breasts. “I’ll show you how everything is done in Mother Vaela’s House. Not to worry.” She smiled, and a dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You’ll find you’re quite lucky to have me.”