Lullaby Scars by Hollee Mand EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: Hollee Mand
- Language: English
- Genre: Asian Myth & Legend eBooks
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- Size: 2 MB
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Jirin, Capital of Jachuana
Most sold their souls to serve in Jirin’s whorehouses.
Mailin couldn’t blame them. In a land where women were
worth less than chattel, and rape resulted in nothing more than an
averted gaze, brothels became safe houses. Sanctuaries. If she were human,
or a mage born into the impoverished caste, she might have done the same.
At the very least, whorehouses gave women access to coin in exchange
for what invariably happened out on the streets. Brothels ensured a roof
over their heads, warm beds, and food for their bellies. They also proscribed
paupers, barring the dirty and diseased from their doors.
Unfortunately they didn’t discriminate against well-paying sadists,
Mailin mused at the edge of the whore’s bed.
She expelled an audible breath as she surveyed the cluster of swollen
bruises marring her patient’s shoulder. “How could Madam Sima let this
Leisa grimaced, angling her head to allow Mailin better access to her
broken collarbone. “Madam Sima could hardly refuse a lord,” she muttered
through whimpering breaths.
Mailin dipped her chin Leisa’s as warmth seared her cheeks, borne not
of anger but shame. Of course the brute came from her caste. In all her
years scrap-healing, Mailin had witnessed sexual violence in all its forms,
meted out by men of all stations, but the jade caste lords were the worst
perpetrators—misogynistic monsters hiding behind placid smiles and
polished boots who derived pleasure from a woman’s pain.
Monsters just like her father.
The door creaked open as Madam Sima sashayed in, the tiny baubles on
her hairsticks jangling in tandem with the annoying clop of her wooden
slippers. Her wraparound grenadi was a poor attempt to disguise her station.
In fact, her formal attire only made a mockery of jade caste ladies. The
beautifully embroidered folds of her grenadi were poorly—perhaps
purposefully—slung to expose an indecent amount of flesh.
The madam tutted as she scrutinized Leisa’s face. “Railea’s tears, this
won’t do.” She whirled to Mailin, hands fluttering like the wings of an
agitated pigeon. “Halfbreed, whatever you do, those bruises must go.
Leisa’s next client is here. The man’s impatient.”
Mailin curled her lips but tried to keep her tone even. “The bruising is
the least of my concerns. Her clavicle is broken, and I suspect there are
pieces of fractured bone—”
“He’s a lord,” the madam interjected. “A foreign dignitary. We cannot
keep him waiting.”
Mailin folded her arms across her chest. “Have another tend to his
needs. Leisa shouldn’t be servicing tonight.”
Madam Sima pinched the bridge of her nose and made a show of
exhaling, as though Mailin were a half-wit she had to tolerate instead of a
fae halfbreed for whose services she paid nothing. “He already paid. For my
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