“The court knew not how to react upon the return of the heir apparent from the dead – or his new bride, the lovely and magical Dragonair Sorceress, Litania. The nobles might not have seen it but I saw demons in her gaze, inhuman shadows that followed her every step. The look of a girl whom had struck a deal with the devil.”
- Excerpt of the Memoirs of Court Advisor, Edward Danomere
Chapter 31
Lorca wasn’t in his room when Wren woke up and went to check on him, nor was he present at the breakfast table when she sat down. A young slave girl came in, ferrying a tray of food; two boiled and peeled eggs, a slice of bread with a little tray of butter. There was also a small jug of juice, which she went to pour but Wren’s hand snapped out. The girl shrank back, startled.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Forgive me?”
“No, no, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I’m not used to being…well, this,” said Wren quickly. “I shouldn’t have moved so quickly.”
The girl studied her with dark blue eyes. “You best get used to it if you’re to stay here. If you don’t you might expose Lady Helena and there are those here, and within the city itself, that rely on her. She can’t keep us safe if you expose us.”
Wren’s eyes widened. She had not expected that. Expose Helena – to what? She stared at the girl and went to reply when the door behind her opened, Helena strode in clad in a green silk and fur gown. She cast a cool glance at the girl, whom dropped her head and stepped back, both hands clasped firmly behind her back. Helena slid into the chair at the head of the table.
“You may go, Lydia. I have eaten this morning.” Helena didn’t even look at Lydia as she spoke, looking directly at Wren instead as the young girl slipped out of the room. When the door closed behind her Helena exhaled deeply, one hand lifting up to rub an apparent knot in her neck. “I trust you slept well?”
“Well, thank you. Have you seen Lorca?”
Her hand fell from her neck. She looked up, that gaze betraying no secrets. “I had an errand for him to run. A friend of mine needed protection during a little visit, so I asked if he might accompany him. He should be back before midday. He was…concerned about leaving your side but I explained you would be joining me on some meetings I have.”
“I am?”
“Indeed. Your story has given me some ideas on whom I might meet with to determine where your people are. What I wish to discuss, however, is your behaviour,” she said calmly.
A sliver of ice snaked down Wren’s spine. The threat hung between them like a beast, ready to strike. She masked that unease twisting around inside of it and took hold of the flame flickering within, grasping it firmly, letting it warm her, strengthen her.
“My behaviour?”
Helena nodded. “You don’t mean it but your actions do betray you. You’re not from here, not one us. You do not realise it but you’ve entered into a kingdom that is on the cusp of tearing itself apart. You see slavery, its abhorrent nature. You seek to free your people but that in itself is a treacherous path. I can guarantee you will never make it back to your mountains with a hundred people, not without help. Now, I will say things today, do things that you will not like, nor agree with. For your sake and that of your people, I suggest you keep your emotions hidden and you follow my lead.”
Wren took in everything Helena said cautiously. She felt these invisible ropes tighten around her. Of course, she’d need help to smuggle her people out of whatever hell they were trapped in, that she’d have to free the other slaves too – somehow – and that none of this would happen without help. The question was, where was Helena’s loyalty in that? Strictly to Inakara, perhaps, and if so, how far did that extend for Wren? If it didn’t, then the question of Helena’s loyalties and ambitions lay in far murkier waters. A place that Wren was reluctant to tread.
She didn’t want to ask Helena for help. It wasn’t needed for the moment. Whatever Helena did for her now wasn’t out of any kindness or pity for Wren; it lay at the behest of Inakara and by that extension, Sorcha’s strange visions. If the opportunity arose for that help to be given or requested, then perhaps Helena might be an ally. Wren had the feeling, however, that it was not something to be done lightly.
“I follow your lead,” said Wren with a nod of her head. “When do we leave?”
There is an inherent power astride a horse, clad in finery; it as though the world is yielding, that the rider is untouchable, perhaps even some heavenly creature gracing the mortal realm. That’s how it felt riding alongside Helena. She explained she had a carriage but for where they were to go it was easier by horse back. Personally, Wren reckoned she preferred to be seen. There was an image with Helena, an air she adopted the moment she stepped beyond her home. Wren had glimpsed it on their first meeting back at the camp and had only realised it was a mask when they reached Helena’s home.
They reached the entrance to the slave markets by late morning, the sun warming the stone city. The gates barring entrance were forged of a dark metal, with a high spiked inner wall seeming to enclose the whole market itself that stretched down several levels to the wharves below. One of the guards standing by the gate strode out from his little booth and approached Helena, whom lifted a medallion from her dress pocket. He studied it for a moment, then returned to his post, shouting up for the gates to be opened.
A series of heavy clattering noises resounded, followed by a long groan as the gates were lifted up. Once there was a loud clicking noise the guard waved them through. The gate was lowered back down behind them. Wren might’ve almost felt trapped by it but she’d seen the walls, rough and aged, an easy climb for her. For her, there was an easy way in and out.
She kept silent as they road down the main road that came to a large open yard, fenced in by low buildings. There were three gates ahead of them, smaller. There were guards on each of them too. Wren swallowed hard. For the slave market it was eerily quiet, unsettlingly so. Where was everyone?
“The official sales won’t commence until this afternoon. Buyers and slavers flock in and this whole square is filled, with slaves being sold for several hours until the allotted groups have been processed,” said Helena, pausing for a moment. She wheeled her horse off to the end of the buildings where a narrow path diverted off the square. Wren fell in behind Helena and only then did Helena speak again. “Slaves are first brought into the markets to what we call the pre-sale yard; there they are given a basic slave brand to denote their new status and a collar, both of which would be modified later to reflect their new owners. Slaves are then grouped in accordance with demand, appearance, any orders for large numbers, so on and so forth. After that, slaves are then determined for what days to be sold and they’re taking to the sale yards to wait until they’re shuffled out into the square. The final yard is the branding yard, where they’re marked for their new owners and all final paperwork is finalised.”
Wren felt cold and hollow inside. “How organised of them.”
“It wasn’t always like this. Alexandria overhauled the whole system, made it a business to which her empire needed,” said Helena with almost a tone of grudging respect, laced with bitterness. “The worst part is for the first few years her fierce and fiery nature made her a force to be reckoned with, that her very nature was right for stabilising a very unsettled court.”
There was something unsaid about her words, like she was biting her tongue in the long silence that followed as they descended down a gradual descent towards the sea front. She felt the cool salt breeze rush up the narrow veins of the city, washing over her.
“Do you believe we will find where my people are?” Wren asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said, as if there was no doubt. She paused for a moment then, before she went on. “I can’t say where they are but given, they should’ve passed through this city there will be records, in one form or another. Teverhis city never forgets those who pass through its gates; in one form or another, everyone is remembered.”
It should’ve warmed Wren to hear that, it probably was even intended that way. Only, it left her colder in side than she had been before, hollow.
Silence reigned between them again until they passed into the foreshore, where rows of wharves jutted out into the bay like fingers. There were several boats docked and flocks of sailors moving to and from them, some milling about taverns dotted along the front amongst several large warehouses. What chilled Wren and she had to force herself not to stare was several men being led down a wharf she passed, chained to each other, their eyes downcast.
She trotted up beside Helena, falling in beside her, eyes trained ahead but hardly focusing. A hand fell on hers. She flinched, looked at Helena, whom gestured for her to follow and they came to a stop before a busy three story house. It looked nicer than anything on the shore with a balcony on the two floors above the ground, several scantily clad men and women lingering outside, their gaze scanning the men below with hawkish interest. A considering look from several was cast over Helena and Wren, lingering on the latter for a fraction longer. Two pretty blonde women sauntered out from the front door and approached Helena, smiling.
“Madam expect’n ya?” One asked with a heavy accent.
“No but it is urgent,” said Helena. “Summon her for me.”
Wren’s eyes nearly bulged at the imperious tone in Helena’s voice, though she kept silent. She slid down from the saddle as Helena did, following her to the front, whilst the other woman took the reins of the horse and led them around the back. The one whom spoke nodded and set up to the front door, Helena quick to follow, leaving Wren to hurry after her.
They were led into the house, down a hallway and past two open living areas full of lounges with women draped over them. A cloud of smoke swirled above them all as they smoked, wisps of cloth scarcely covering their skin. Their gazes roved over Wren, curious. Yet for their airs of ease and sensuality, they all wore collars and brands, and there was a wariness lingering in their eyes, too.
Up a flight of stairs they continued down to the rear and stopped at a door as the young girl knocked, then slipped inside, momentarily barring them. The door reopened and the girl ushered them inside, then she headed out and shut it behind her.
The room was choked with a cloud of smoke that swirled overhead. There was a large bed on one side of the room, draped with furs and brightly coloured blankets. By the large window there were two large lounges, where a brightly clad woman was stretched out with one arm propped across the top of the lounge. A pipe was held up, pinched between her slender fingers, wisps of smoke rising up. The lady, with a striking face and long black curly hair which hung loose down her back, looked at them with an air of impatience.
“I have clients, Helena,” she said frostily. “Make it quick.”
Helena fished out a scroll from her bag and closed the distance to the woman, handing it over. “I need information on a group sale that would have occurred within recent weeks. Details are there. If you please, Luce.”
Her lips tightened as her gaze swept over the scroll, held with one hand. When her gaze finally lifted, she set the scroll aside.
“There was a disease breakout at the temple construction, so the head architect had purchased just about every slave available. Your people were probably sent there,” said Luce. “You know this.”
“I have to be sure,” said Helena tightly. “This is one of the survivors from the attack. She struck a deal with a close friend of mine, so now to fulfil a debt on my part I must see this through.”
For the first time since entering the room Luce finally took notice of Wren. Her gaze narrowed, curious. If the scroll had included details of where the village had been taken from then it was now abundantly clear whom Wren was. That gaze raked over Wren from top to bottom, lingering.
“You’re a Climber. I heard about your kind.” Luce drew the pipe to her lips and drew in a deep, steady draw of smoke, then exhaled, it swirling around her face. “You’re leaner than I expected. Shouldn’t you be all muscle and built like a man?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
Luce smiled; the statement was more amusing than anything. She rose from the lounge and walked across to the corner of the room to a large ornate wooden desk. Leaning over the deck she slid open a drawer and plucked out a journal, opening it and leafing through several pages before she found what she was after. She ran a finger down the page, then stopped.
“Robert Kraven handled the paperwork for those sales. Oh, it looks like there were a few pulled from those group for the pleasure houses here in the city,” she announced, her voice trailing off for a moment. “Most it seems ended up at Lauri’s house, just down in East Market.”
Helena muttered under her breath. “Seriously? Doesn’t Lauri have enough whores?”
Luce shrugged. “You would think so but demand has increased. We have more slaves, more ships and more nobility passing through this city of late. I might be offended at her trying to take my clients but truly business is quite profitable.”
Rage flashed inside of Wren, bursting through her like an inferno. She stepped forward, Helena reaching for her but it was too late.
“Those are people you’re talking about,” snarled Wren. “People whom bore no choice in this world.”
Luce stilled and slowly she set the diary down, turning to Wren with a surprisingly calm expression. She met Wren’s fire unperturbed, defiant of it even.
“And some people whom possess the ability to change it do nothing – perhaps do not assume that we are all so idle or that you know me,” said Luce coolly and she glanced at Helena. “I’ll obtain copies of the sales. The nature of the capture should refine it to a single batch. That will also determine if any were purchased by Lauri, which you should be able to buy back off her, though don’t imagine it to be a cheap or fair price. That snake will charge triple if you’re too keen.”
Helena said her thanks, gave a curt nod and ushered Wren from the room. Neither of them spoke again until they were riding back up the narrow road away from the wharves, where the silence grew heavy and charged.
“I told you to curb your temper,” said Helena softly, her voice cold as a winter storm, with just as much power. “You are lucky that Luce, for all her many charming qualities, is a friend of mine. One I would like to keep that way but will not if you lash out like that. Hells, someone might’ve heard that and even I would not be able to protect you.”
Wren bit back the fire rising up inside of her again, smothering it as best as she could. She looked down at her hands, realising her nails were biting into her palm. Several droplets of blood trickled down.
“How do you bear it?” Wren asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
Helena stopped suddenly and twisted in her saddle, looking at Wren, her gaze softening. “Hope and hard work. Now, come on, we’ll go see Lauri. New slaves are typically sent to one house for training first. By any luck some of your people will be there; if not, Luce’s lists will determine if Lauri bought them and I can determine what of her whore houses they’re at. Otherwise I should be able to determine quickly where they are.”
The Eastern Market was located in the north quarter of the inner-city walls, far removed from the slave market itself. Here, crowds bustled along the roads, in carriages, astride horses, on foot. Resplendently dressed men and women went about their business with their chins lifted, their empty arms restrained to small gestures as they spoke, whilst their slaves trailed behind them. Their arms were laden with goods; yet even weighed down, their eyes down, they never missed a step. Here, slavery was flaunted, out in the open, shamelessly declared. One could show their wealth with the number of slaves that followed behind; even some of the carriages had slaves trotting behind them, never missing a step or slowing down.
They diverted off the main road and down a narrow section, quieter too. Here, only men walked along, with no slaves behind them. Half way up the road appeared the first brothel amongst a string of wealthy inns. Like the wharves, men and women were out on balconies. Their clothes, whilst as thin and nearly transparent, seemed of finer quality, brighter too.
Something wasn’t right. It was all peaceful before her, yet something brushed icy fingers down her spine, stoking the fire within her. Somewhere, something was reaching out to her, watching her. Eyes locked on from some dark place. It felt like the forest again. Without warning the fire suddenly surged up from within her. She clamped her mouth shut, stifling the cry that nearly spilt from her lips. Tears burned her eyes as the fire surged again and again, straining against her skin. It wanted to be free but why, why now? Confusion lanced through her mind.
“Helena, I don’t—” Another eruption of pain sent her careening to the side and the ground rushed to meet her, stars exploding across her vision as she hit the ground.
Her lips finally wrenched themselves apart and screamed – only, there was no sound, just the scraping of air against her throat as she arched her back up. There was no control as the pain wrested her around like a rag doll, helpless to the pain.
Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.
The words roared through her mind, each a clap of thunder, trembling through every inch of her spirit. It consumed her, that voice rising up inside her, like fingers scraping and clawing up her throat, about to escape. This wasn’t just the fire within her anymore; something else was clawing to be let out, screaming in her mind, triggered. She felt the walls within her own mind crack and split, the voice surging into those cracks, widening them, breaking her down.
Yet, as quickly as it had erupted within her, it rushed away; the final gust of wind as it retreated back within her, a hiss and a curse within her mind. Her vision cleared, though only a little, for the world still seemed to tilt here and there, as though she were balancing precariously and at any moment she was to fall. Someone helped her sit up, then stand. She clung to them, her vision still swimming, her mind a scattering cacophony of noise and images that rushed about too quickly to see clearly.
“Come on, back on the horse,” urged the gentle voice, a woman’s voice, strangely kind. Familiar.
Helena.
Wren tried to voice the words, any kind of question, yet the sound failed to appear and she was helpless, obedient to Helena. She climbed numbly back onto her horse, her hands barely holding the reins. Helena tied something from the bridle of the horse to her the rear of her saddle, then climbed up. The world lurched again forward. Wren swayed but stilled as Helena was off, leading them back the way they’d come.
She glanced once more back up the way they had once been heading, wondering what had caused her power to erupt…when her gaze caught the sight of a girl standing by the front of a brothel, staring back. Her pale face, white with shock.
Ellie?
Wren started to move to her, her mouth forming the names but she was pulled away and her body obeyed. She twisted back to call Helena when a strange warmth flooded her mind, dispelling all clear thoughts, singing her into a haze.
In that mist she saw her sister, standing there, alone and as Wren screamed out to her, her sister turned away and vanished into the mist.
Sister!
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