The Honey House
Content warning: This chapter contains disturbing scenes and dark themes. Reader discretion advised.
I moved through the market, careful to avoid the area where I'd been caught stealing. I had no plan, no idea what to do. Hours had passed since the encounter with the Honey House man, and Kumbuye was still in critical condition. Desperation gnawed at me. I thought about stealing again, but the fear of getting caught a second time held me back.
I approached a nearby stall.
"Hi, um… do you know where I can find the Honey House?" I asked an old woman arranging fruits.
Her eyes, old and judging, lingered on me, then she shook her head, scoffing under her breath. "Children don't care to work these days. They just want easy money."
I felt a sting of shame, but I didn't care, she had no idea what was at stake.
"You'll find the Honey House four streets from here, on a corner to your left," she said, gesturing with her hands.
I nodded and followed her directions. After a few minutes, I reached the street she had mentioned, turned left, and there it was — the Honey House.
It stood at a quiet, enclosed corner, unassuming to anyone just passing by. The air at the entrance was warm, carrying the scent of beeswax, sandalwood, and faint perfumes that spoke of wealth without being gaudy. The hallways inside were narrow, lined with deep crimson tapestries, their threads catching the flicker of torchlight.
A man sat behind a counter, eyes fixed on me as I approached.
"May I help you?" he asked.
"I'm looking for a man," I said. "He told me to meet him here."
"What's his name?" he asked.
"He didn't give me a name. I just met him in the streets."
The man hesitated for a moment before saying, "Okay, come with me."
I followed him desperately, my heart pounding. He led me into a room, and my stomach turned. The space was filled with young girls. Girls far too young for this place. Many were in states of undress, and the men around them were not commoners, they looked like men of prestige, their presence and authority making the room feel suffocating, doing unspeakable things to these girls.
Cries, whispers, and muffled sounds like moans came from other rooms. I didn't want to hear, didn't want to look but I couldn't help it. The weight of what was happening pressed down on me. My hands trembled, my chest burned with a mixture of fear and anger.
Some of the girls glanced at me with wary, hopeless eyes. I forced myself to keep my head down, moving quickly behind the man who had led me here. The sense of dread was overwhelming, a realization that this place thrived on control, fear, and corruption.
Finally, we reached a door at the back. He knocked and waited. When a muffled response came, he swung it open.
Inside, I saw the man I had met in the market. A young girl knelt before him, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. The scene stopped me in my tracks. My stomach twisted, my throat went dry, and a cold, sharp panic clenched my chest. Horror settled in my gut like a weight I couldn't lift.
The man let out a low, heavy sound of relief, then shoved the girl away. She scrambled to her feet, her mouth trembling, and fled the room, with tears streaking her face.
He turned to me, a smirk curling across his face as he adjusted his loose breeches. His gaze was sharp and calculating.
"I told you," he said, slow and deliberate, "you'll need me."
At that moment, the weight of my mistake hit me. "I'm… sorry," I stammered, stepping back, desperate to leave. But the man who had brought me in caught my arm, holding me fast.
"You're not going anywhere," the man from the market said, his voice calm but edged with menace. "You've already come this far…" He paused, as if savoring the memory of his own indulgence. "So… you're going to work for me."
"I can't… this… I can't do this," I whispered, the words trembling.
"That's how they always react the first time," he said smoothly, almost amused. "Don't worry. It'll be worth your while. I'll give you the twenty silver and fifteen coppers you need for your friend. And… I'll even give you more."
Then an idea popped up, if I collected the money, I'd pay for Kumbuye's treatment and I'd run, leave this place, this settlement entirely. Perhaps that's the only way.
"Okay, I'll collect the money first and I'll come back—"
He laughed, low and sharp, like a blade scraping stone. "Oh no, no, no. I cannot trust that. Many like you have promised to leave, collected my money, and never came back. That's not happening. You will stay here… while your friend gets what he needs." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "I'll send one of my men to help him, with the money in hand. You, however, will stay. Ronan will examine you."
My chest tightened. Panic surged, and for a heartbeat, I thought of unleashing my power, throwing them all back, tearing a path free. But just as quickly, I clenched my fists, forcing it down. I couldn't. Not here. Not now.
If I drew attention, if the screams of my power echoed through these streets, it would reach the wrong ears. It could send me back to the Castle, back to Ormric, back to all the pain I had fought so hard to escape.
I swallowed hard, gripping my bag. My hands shook. I was terrified, but I had to stay small, stay careful. Fight with my mind, not with the fire inside me.
"Tick-tock," he said instantly, urging me to make a decision.
I had to save Kumbuye, then I would find a way out of here, but for now, he had to stay alive. Before I could think twice, the words left my lips.
"Deal," I said, forcing my voice to sound confident.
"Good girl," he said, stepping toward me, his hand trailing along my jawline in a teasing, predatory way. "Take her to the dressing room," he commanded.
Ronan grabbed me roughly and dragged me into another room.
"Take off your clothes," he barked, trying to snatch my bag. I clutched it tighter.
"No," I spat, holding on with everything I had.
He struck my face hard, leaving a burning mark. I screamed.
"Give me the bag!" he barked, harsher this time.
"No! Not the bag!"
Anger flared in me, my powers humming, responding to the surge of emotion. I could feel it building, wild and dangerous, threatening to break free.
Then the man from the market stepped into the room.
"What's going on, Ronan?" he asked, walking toward me. He saw the mark on my face and his eyes flared. Without a moment's hesitation, he punched Ronan square in the nose.
"How many times must I tell you? Not the face, that's our selling point!" he snapped, hitting Ronan again, this time in the stomach.
Turning to me, his expression softened. "Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry. What's your name?"
I couldn't give him my real name, it wouldn't have been wise. "Milly," I lied.
"Milly," he murmured, almost reverently. "Such a beautiful name. You'll bring me so many customers." His tone snapped to command. "Clean up your nose!" he yelled at Ronan.
"How am I sure the money will be paid for my friend?" I asked, concern twisting my voice.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, his hand brushing over the mark Ronan had left. "We'll make sure your friend is taken care of. Just tell me where he is, and his treatment will be paid for."
"He'll need food too," I added quickly.
"Ah, that won't be a problem," he groaned, almost amused. "Anything else?"
I shook my head. Then my stomach growled.
"You're hungry," he said softly, a flicker of something strange in his eyes. He shouted out the door, "Ronan, get this honey some food."
Honey? They call their girls honey?
I hesitated, then remembered one more thing. "Please… one last thing."
"Go on," he said, watching me closely.
"Could I… go with the man you're sending for my friend? I just need to see him… to make sure he's okay."
He studied me for a long moment, his gaze sharp and calculating.
"Please," I whispered, pleading.
Finally, he spoke, low and deliberate.
"There's… something about you," he admitted, almost to himself. "I don't usually… I don't usually make exceptions. Not like this. But you… there's something about you that makes me do it anyway." He paused, eyes sharp. "You can go with him but just this once. That's as generous as I'll get."
My heart leapt. This… this could be my chance. My escape.
"But I insist you eat first. Then Ronan will go with you to pay for your friend's treatment," he concluded.
Ugh… Ronan. I hated him so much already.
As he started to leave the room, I stopped him. "Wait — what's your name?"
He smirked, eyes glinting. "Hm… you can call me Roderick."
And then he left the room.
The examination of my body was postponed. Roderick ordered his men to leave me untouched until I returned from seeing Kumbuye. According to him, that was when my work would truly begin.
By the time Ronan and I set out for the apothecary, the sun was already sinking low in the sky. He carried food and a small bundle of fruit, proof of Roderick's so called generosity but I knew better. Nothing from him came without a price. My bag was still with me, clutched tight at my side, the compass and key pressing against me like tiny anchors in this storm.
We were halfway there when the sound of hooves thundered toward us. Men on horseback raced past, clad in the colours of the Castle guards.
A chill tore through me.
I could not go back there. Never again.
I bent abruptly, pretending to fasten my boots, lowering my head so they would not see my face. As the guards rode past, I kept my gaze fixed on the dirt, my breath shallow, my pulse roaring in my ears. My powers stirred instinctively, heat curling beneath my skin, begging to be released. One spark, one careless surge, and they would feel it. They would see me.
Ronan huffed impatiently at my delay, but a flicker of caution crossed his face, perhaps remembering how Roderick had struck him earlier.
"Whatever you're doing, do it quickly," he snapped. "We don't have time to waste."
"Yes, I'm sorry," I said quickly. "Something got stuck in my boot."
The moment the guards disappeared, I straightened, keeping my head low as we continued. Noxara was not safe for me.
The apothecary sat far from the Honey House, tucked away where the city thinned and the streets grew quiet. My heart clenched when I saw Kumbuye. He lay unconscious, his chest rising faintly beneath the thin blanket.
We paid the healer and dropped the food on a table. I told him to give it to Kumbuye when he woke.
"We have to leave," Ronan said as the shadows deepened. "It's getting dark."
This was my chance. My only chance to run. The money had been paid. I could fight my way free. We were inside the apothecary, the only witness here was the old man and I would deal with him later.
I let my power take over. The moment I channeled it, the air thickened, and Ronan's blood obeyed me. It surged violently through his body, gushing from every opening — eyes, nose, ears, mouth — until he collapsed, choking and gurgling in a pool of his own blood.
The healer froze, terror written across his face. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. I held his voice, binding it with my power.
"I won't hurt you," I spoke quickly, my chest heaving. "You've helped me. You've helped my friend. I won't hurt you."
I released him, and his voice returned, trembling and ragged.
"W-What are... what are you?" he whispered, eyes wide with fear.
"You will say nothing of what you saw today," I commanded.
The old man nodded quickly, terror mingling on his face.
"When will my friend regain his strength?" I asked, my voice sharp, pressing him.
"He-he… I-I am not—" he stammered, faltering under my gaze.
My eyes narrowed, urging him to speak freely, quickly.
"When he wakes up… I have brewed a potion for him to drink. It will… it will give him strength," he finally muttered.
I didn't blame him. It seemed power in the North was rare, and what I'd just done would terrify most.
I looked at the body on the floor, the pool of blood spreading slowly across the floorboards. I didn't want to leave the old man in trouble, so I forced myself to act.
I grabbed a cloth and wrapped the body as best I could, though the weight fought me at every turn. Then I scrubbed the blood from the floor, my hands shaking as the stain clung stubbornly to the wood. When that was done, I dragged Ronan's body out of the apothecary.
Every step felt like hauling lead. My arms burned, my breath came sharp and uneven, sweat slicking my palms as I struggled to keep my grip. It took far longer than I expected. By the time I reached a far corner, my legs were trembling beneath me. I let the body down there, hidden from sight.
My chest heaved, my heart still hammering, but at least no one would stumble upon it.
I thought.
The winter breeze cut into me as I made my way back to the apothecary. Night had already fallen, the streets nearly empty, the world hushed and watchful. When I stepped inside, the old man was still trembling, his eyes darting as though the memory might lunge at him again. Ronan's blood, bending under my will.
The truth unsettled me. I felt… elated. For so long, channeling had been a struggle, a fight that left me drained and trembling. But now, after so long, it came freely. Too freely.
What brewed inside me felt heavier than before, raw and demanding, as though my power no longer waited to be summoned. It pulled. It hungered. It answered emotion before thought, craving release, craving blood, pushing against my skin like fire trapped beneath it.
I had to be careful. One misstep, one unchecked feeling, and I feared it would tear out of me in flames.
"Can I stay here for the night?" I asked quietly.
I was exhausted, my bones were deep tired. The day had taken more from me than I could measure, and all I wanted was the mercy of sleep.
The old man nodded, still shaking. Not out of kindness, but fear.
I ignored it. I could not keep proving I meant him no harm. I had spared him. That should have been enough.
He laid a thin mattress on the floor for me. Faint stains of blood still marked the boards beneath, shadows of what had happened. I had scrubbed for what felt like hours, but blood was stubborn.
Before resting, I checked on Kumbuye one last time. His breathing was steady now, peaceful, as though the world had loosened its grip on him, just a little.
Only then did I lie down, my body heavy, my thoughts restless, and finally closed my eyes.