Chapter 6 Mercy's Cruel Glint
Serafina
There was a dangerous glint in the depths of the Mistress’s eyes as she took in my appearance—and I mistook it for mercy.
“How old are you?” the Mistress asked.
“Eighteen.” My throat tightened. Her brows lifted—just a fraction. Enough to tell me she hadn’t expected that.
“Red hair. Green eyes.” She tilted her head, studying me like a rare commodity. “Interesting.” A pause, measured. “Are you a virgin?”
“Yes.” The word left my mouth thin and brittle, as if it might shatter if spoken louder.
“And your name?”
“Sera,” I said quickly. “Sera Bale.”
She repeated it under her breath, slow and thoughtful, as if testing its weight. “Sera Bale.” Then her eyes sharpened, all warmth vanishing. “And what kind of help do you seek?”
“Help?” My voice caught. I forced it steady. “I need help to save my brother. He’s dying. I need a healer.”
Silence followed.
“And your parents?” she asked at last.
The question slid cleanly between my ribs.
“Dead,” I said. “Both of them. Died of sickness.”
The lie tasted familiar—bitter, practiced. I swallowed it down with the guilt, knowing the truth would only close doors I couldn’t afford to lose.
The Mistress watched me closely and I knew she heard everything I didn’t say.
For a fraction of a second, her expression softened, just a shadow of humanity flickering in the Mistress’s features. She nodded once, sharply, then straightened, lifting her cloak with a deliberate grace. A large bag swung over her shoulder.
“Very well,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “Lead the way.”
She turned to Darrick as she exited her office. “Keep a watchful eye until I return. And Darrick—” Her gaze sharpened. “I will know if something is missing.”
With a tilt of her head toward the door, she motioned for me to go. And we were off.
I had no idea what she intended—whether she meant to see Lio for herself or summon someone else to help—but hope clung to me all the same.
I barely breathed as we hurried through the Dust District, weaving between alleys in tense silence. I had another chance here, through this woman, and it was all I could focus on.
When we arrived at our shack, Lio lay in the same twisted heap of blankets, sweat soaking his clothes. He coughed violently as I knelt beside him.
The Mistress surveyed him silently for a long moment. Then she dropped to her knees, placing her hands gently on his chest. Her eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural light—sterile, bright, cutting through the darkness of our room.
“He’s drowning,” she said quietly. “The fever has infected his lungs. It’s severe… but it can be treated.”
She drew a small vial from her bag, uncorking it with a soft pop. The stench hit instantly—acrid, bitter, sharp enough to make my eyes water. I fought the urge to gag as she tilted Lio’s chin and poured the foul liquid between his lips. He coughed and retched, but she steadied him with a firm, gentle hand until he forced the dose down.
Then she placed her hands over his chest again, murmuring an incantation I didn’t know. Light flowed from her palms, white and pure, burning away the infection. I watched, wide-eyed, as Lio’s body relaxed beneath her, the shallow gasps of pain easing into even, easy breaths.
When she finished, she flicked her fingers. The mattress, sheets, and blankets transformed before my eyes—soft, clean, new. Lio was dressed in a fresh set of pajamas.
She opened her bag again and produced food: bread, jam, fruit, milk. Silver coins clinked softly as she set them on the table. Relief washed through me in a hot, sudden wave. He was breathing. Truly breathing.
I placed a hand on his forehead. The fever was gone.
“Thank you,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes. “Thank you… I can’t… I don’t know what to say.”
The Mistress’s expression darkened suddenly. She yanked me to my feet. “Your brother will survive. But now… you must fulfill your bargain.”
My heart dropped. “Bargain?”
“I know an Imperial Mage,” she said, her eyes glinting. “He will pay a thousand gold coins for your virginity. If you leave now under cover of darkness, the Warden will never know.”
I froze. The room spun around me. Hunger, sickness, and desperation had brought me here—but this… this was beyond anything I had imagined.
I thought of the Warden.
All I had to do was bend the knee—pledge my loyalty—and she would have made it all disappear. No sickness. No hunger. No debt clawing at my throat.
Yes, I would have become a Collector. Hated. Feared. Spat on in the streets.
But it would never have come to this.
I wouldn’t have had to sell myself for a thousand gold coins—money I would never even touch.
I pictured the Warden’s face in my mind, her red lips curving into a slow, malicious smile.
“All you had to do was pledge your loyalty, Sera,” she would say softly. “Now your virtue is gone. And for what?”
Her gaze would flick over me, cold and amused.
“A measly thousand gold coins.”
“You… you can’t be serious,” I stammered, voice shaking.
“I am,” she said flatly. “There is no other way. You asked for help. You have it. Now the price must be paid. You will do this, or the help I gave will be undone.”
Undone?
Then she yanked me roughly by the arm, and before I could protest, I was being pulled back toward the brothel. “You’re filthy,” she said, almost clinically. “You need to be clean before you leave. I’ll scrub you myself.”
My knees threatened to buckle under the weight of exhaustion and my own poor choices, but I followed her all the same. It was too late. Nothing could be undone.
The Mistress did not speak another word until we reached a private room with steaming water and fresh cloths. She set me down and began the process, methodical and unflinching. She scrubbed away the dust, the grime, the months of survival etched into my skin. Her hands were firm and precise, and I hated her for making me feel so small and so utterly helpless.
All the while, she spoke softly, as though she could hear my thoughts. “The Warden would not have given you a better deal, Sera,” she said gently. “You will see your brother again before you go. And I assure you, he will be fine. When you return to Dust, you will find him strong, healthy, and at work.”
Her words offered a measure of comfort. I pictured myself returning to Dust, Lio waiting at the shack, arms outstretched.
When she finished, my skin burned from the hot water, and my hair was clean, braided neatly as she instructed. The Mistress handed me a fresh dress, white, simple but clean, and black leather boots.
Then she left me to prepare for my departure. I dressed slowly, willing time itself to crawl.
After tying my boots, I sank onto the edge of a wooden bench, feeling utterly alone.
I drew in a deep, steadying breath.
This was the price of a miracle.