With a deft tug on the reins, Umbra brought Vaughn to a halt. The steed snorted and stamped his hooves on the flagstones. Esra, still shaking, peeled himself from Umbra’s back to take in his surroundings.

Umbra had stopped them in the busy streets alongside a building, magnificent and white, framed by fluted stone columns. The afternoon sun glinted brilliant behind the high walls. Esra, out of necessity, shielded his eyes to look upon it.

The structure was so tall he had to tilt himself back to see it all, from the ornamentation around the pillars, to the very top of the columns, where a statue of a long-haired maiden stood nude upon a ledge, pouring stone water from an overflowing cup. Behind and above her, carved into the very face of the building, an eye looked out over all who approached.

Esra swallowed, recognition chilling his blood. The smiting eye of Balor. Every soldier of Balor’s Fist bore it upon his shield. Umbra himself carried it upon his breastplate, settled over his heart.

He startled as two men in yellow, who had been standing outside the entrance, approached them. Slaves, Esra recognised, a tugging pang in his heart.

He knew their position by the collars they bore, welded circles of metal that lay around their necks. Any runaway would have no way to remove it; there was no lock to pick, nor weak point to force open. The collar could only be removed by a blacksmith, and by the law of Balor, there was a great reward to be had for any smith who returned a runaway slave.

At his village, the smith had kept the broken collar of every slave he had freed. The pile of rings had numbered in the hundreds.

The men approached, bowing deeply. One took the flighty Vaughn by the head, another reached up to help Esra dismount.

"Sir Knight?" whispered Esra, uncertain.

"Go with him," Umbra assured him.

Esra was at once flustered by the assistance, but also grateful for the help as he slipped inelegantly from the saddle. Both feet hit the ground with a thud. His legs wobbled beneath him; if not for the strong grip of the slave, he surely would have fallen onto his face.

After such a long ride, his legs seemed made of water. He found he had little control over them at all.

“Not to worry, young master,” murmured the slave. “I’ve got you.”

No one had ever spoken to Esra with such deference before. He flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh, n-no,” Esra stammered quickly. “You are mistaken. I am no master." Although, what was he? He found he had little idea. "I am… more like yourself.”

The man seemed to pause at that, blinking, but still he refused to lift his gaze, keeping his eyes downcast to show his respect. “Please, young master,” he said, after a moment. “You can put your weight on me.”

Behind him, Umbra smoothly dismounted. He gave the other slave a curt order for Vaughn’s care, and then paced ahead into the columned building. Esra was silently ushered in the knight’s wake, guided by the demure hand at his elbow.

Inside the entrance was dark and cool, and much quieter, separated from the chatter and chaos of the crowds outside. As they brushed through a barrier of translucent curtains, a new world of brightness and beauty revealed itself to Esra’s eyes.

A tall tiered fountain bubbled sparkling water over graceful figures of stone maidens. Golden rays of sun poured in through an ornamented skylight centered in the high domed ceiling. The beams illuminated the brightly tiled floors, the intricate carvings upon the walls.

All around him, Esra could hear a low murmur of voices, swishing water, distant splashing echoing off the walls. The air smelled sweet and heavy with moisture, like a summer day when the clouds looked ready to burst with rain.

Ahead, a woman finely dressed in yellow fussed over her illustrious guest. She had a brooch of office pinned under her shoulder. Servants deferred to her every order. She guided Umbra past the other guests, towards a secluded hallway.

“This way,” murmured the slave at Esra’s arm, and directed him forwards to follow the knight.

The youth would not have been able to comprehend the commotion his presence caused.

Much of gossip and business was done in the bathhouse, but always underhand, with meaningful looks and disputable turns of phrase. There were a few such subtle guests in the antechamber, grouped in clandestine conversation, but they fell to silence when they saw the knight. They looked upon Umbra, the gleaming black shape of him prowling over the tiles, and then at the nervous peasant boy that trailed behind him - strangely pretty, if a little frail, with such wide dark eyes in a small frightened face. Then, they looked at each other.

Esra slowed in his step, awed by the beauty that surrounded him. He was caught up by the patterns the colored tiles made over the walls and floors - depicting sea dragons and curling waves in creams, gold and cerulean. The swoop of scales and water almost seemed to be moving, a magical arrangement of ceramic giving the illusion of life.

“We must go on, young master,” murmured the slave, and pressed at Esra's elbow.

The youth let himself be propelled forwards by the slave’s gentle touch. He felt the steamy heat from further inside, the brush of fragrance. “May I ask, what is this place?”

“It is Boann,” the slave answered swiftly. “The grand bathhouse of Balor’s Throne.”

Umbra had spoken to him of this place. It seemed he'd kept his promise. "Are all allowed here?” asked Esra, fearing, for a moment, a confusion in his status.

“Oh, yes,” answered the slave. “All in the city may partake of the cleansing waters. His Majesty, the God King, brought up water from deep below the ground, heated by the earth itself. It pours now into plentiful hot springs and pools for us." The slave's eyes momentarily dipped closed. "Blessed be Balor."

In the summer, Esra bathed in the river that led to the sea. In the winter, he shared basins of heated water with the other villagers, and cleaned himself beneath his clothes with a washcloth. It had been all he’d known.

“This way,” the slave gently urged him. “See the mark?” He gestured an elegant hand to the archway, where overhead was embossed the same scythe that had hung over the Reaper’s Rest, that was tattooed into Umbra’s right shoulder. “Boann provides for her honored guests.”

* * *

The scent of the perfumed water carried from behind the curtains, having him thinking of bloomed flowers, early autumn, the smell of the wind through the trees. Slave and madam bowed low and left him secluded with Umbra. The Order, it seemed, did not bathe in the public baths.

“We've prepared the waters, Sir Knight,” came a soft voice.

Two comely attendants stood waiting inside, bearing the collars of their enslavement; a maiden, and a youth. They were shockingly dressed, in delicate yellow robes made of fabric so thin that it seemed to be invisible wherever it pressed to the skin.

The effect was somehow more salacious than if they were both fully nude. At a glance, one could see the curve of the maiden’s breasts, the peak of her nipples, and on the youth, one could see the way the fabric clung to his chest, and to one thigh and--

Esra averted his eyes at once, face flushed hot with embarrassment for them.

Their clothing was surely designed to incite men’s appetites, but it was the youth’s presence that boggled him. Although Esra was aware that certain women were forced to sell their bodies for coin, he had never imagined that young men could also be put into such a position, compelled to slake the lusts of men for survival.

With every passing day he was gaining a greater understanding of what the soldiers of Balor’s Fist had planned for him, and if not for the knight’s whim, of what fate had almost befallen him.

Could befall him, still.

“May we assist you further?” asked the girl, her auburn head still bowed.

Umbra waved a dismissive hand, seemingly unaffected by their beauty. “No. Will summon you should I require anything.”

“Would you like us to service your companion?” offered the youth, his voice soft and demure.

Esra flushed, eyes widening at what such a thing could mean. He felt a great relief when the knight simply replied, “Not today.”

The attendants bowed in unison, faces clear of any expression. "Your will be done, Sir Knight."

The bright eyes of the slaves caught Esra's as they passed, and upon looking over him, they softened in understanding. Their gazes spoke of a mutual recognition that they were the same, owned by others more powerful than themselves, and trapped in their respective positions of service to men.

Esra’s heart fluttered with panic at the reminder, he too was just an object, he existed for pleasure alone. Although his knight could be kind, he thought, how long could that possibly last, and when he tired of Esra he would--

The door clicked shut behind them.

“Esra,” Umbra prompted gently, and Esra startled to attention, looking up at his knight in question. “My armor.”

* * *

Past the curtains, a new luxury awaited them. Esra gasped to see the large pool, blue as the ocean on a calm day, if not for the steam that rose from it in hazy clouds. Through the leaded glass in the ceiling, dappled light streamed through, glinting off the water and casting shimmering reflections upon the tiled walls. Surrounding the tranquil waters were scalloped pillars, wound about with vines, flowers bowing their colorful heads towards the pool.

Upon approaching the water, Esra could see dried herbs, red petals, and soap flakes scattered over the surface. Their gentle, swirling patterns gave him something to focus his gaze upon, as next to him, Umbra slipped naked into the water.

The knight sighed as he sank beneath the surface, submerging himself. He broke above the water with a sharp inhale, hair slicked back over his skull, and relaxed against the wall of the bath. His pale skin glistened, dripping trails of water down his muscled body, and his smokey gaze went to Esra, who hovered self-consciously by the curtain in his tunic and breeches.

“The water is lovely,” he rumbled, a pleased smile on his handsome features. “Come in with me.”

Esra’s throat went dry at the thought. He knew he was expected to attend to Umbra, but he had no idea that he would be allowed in with him. He could not disobey a direct order, but the idea of being nude, in the water, with his knight...

Esra swallowed. “In the pool, Sir Knight?”

Umbra raised an elegant brow, as if to say, where else?

Esra nodded, and fiddled anxiously at the knots of his tunic. His eyes kept flicking up to the knight, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Should I turn my head?” asked Umbra, half-teasing. “No need to be so modest, Esra. You are quite easy to look upon.”

Esra stammered at that, cheeks reddening further, only making the knight’s smile widen. “N-no, it's…” Esra tried, but he relented. The nervous youth undressed swiftly, trying not to make a performance of anything. He did not once look over at Umbra, but he could feel the weight of his attention regardless, and it put a tremble in his hands.

* * *

When he entered the bathing pool, the sensation of hot water sliding up over his skin had him gasping. He had to bite back a moan at the feeling of it, the totality of that liquid pleasure.

Spirals of scented steam drifted up from the surface, curling around him. The water slid, languid, up his chest, over his arms, the heat lapping away his aches and his hurts. He ducked in deeper, sinking in up to his neck, feeling the kiss of warmth upon his throat as it invited him in even further. With one last breath of the fragrant air, the youth gave in to that invitation, letting himself sink completely underneath. His hair floated around him like seaweed.

Completely cocooned in silken warmth, he was weightless, floating, almost purified. He could never have imagined such bliss back in his small village...

The guilt struck him cold in his centre.

The price of this luxury had been paid in blood and ashes. The fact that he was enjoying himself...

The thought turned his pleasure to torture so racking that tears pricked in the corners of his crushed shut eyes. His body became heavy as a stone, sinking to the bottom. His blood pounded in his ears, a swish-beat of panic as memory resurged like a tidal wave. Curling into himself, he shook with mourning as his chest tightened and burned.

Strong hands took him under his arms.

He felt the tug of the depths against the strength of the grip that pulled him back to air. Water cascaded down his body as he broke the surface, and he gasped a shuddering breath, and melted. Petals stuck to his skin. He reached out, tremulous, and his grasping fingers met Umbra’s tensed forearms. His heart was beating hard, and he wanted to sob, but he focused on breathing slowly.

He had to steady himself, or Umbra would know that he’d been crying.

Maybe he already knew.

Umbra’s gaze was upon him, such intensity in his grey eyes. In the dappled light they were speckled with flecks of gold, hidden flame in the ashes of a fire. He threaded a petal from Esra’s hair. “You look like you belong here in these waters. I’ve heard such tales of nymphs…”

Esra swayed in the water, wavering in the ocean of his grief, but Umbra’s hand held as fast to him as an anchor. He blinked rapidly, lashes wet with both water and his own tears.

“I know the journey was difficult for you,” Umbra murmured.

Perhaps he meant more than what he said, because there was a depth to his expression that Esra could not parse.

The knight cupped Esra’s face with one hand, and brushed away the wetness from Esra’s cheek with his thumb. “Not to worry. We are home now.”

Esra looked up at the knight, his striking beauty, sober expression, and felt such a pull in his heart that he thought, this could be heartbreak. For it would break him, to feel for this man who could discard him so easily.

It had been a moment of unthinking foolishness to let his emotions overtake him. He could not make such a mistake again. He had to recall his purpose.

That he even stood here in this private sanctum, reserved for the most honored of guests, was because Umbra wanted it. The same reason the knight had taken him from his village to the capital, that he'd sequestered Esra from his men at the meeting hut. For whatever reason, he found Esra pleasing. Esra's place here, perhaps even his life, relied on it. He could not test the limits of Umbra's patience.

Yet Esra felt desire for something that he could not define.

It was intangible, but he could feel it so strongly as Umbra's eyes met his that he could have wept with it. Something to do with shelter in a storm, petrichor, the strength of those hands that had so easily pulled him from the water. The echo, perhaps, to his obedience.

His ears were ringing.

The knight's hand dropped from Esra's cheek, to his waist. He guided the youth to his side.

“Come sit here with me. Didn't bring you with me just to look at you.”