Chapter 2
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The woman in front of me stumbles as the slave trader yanks on the chain that binds us all to one another. The blocks of cobblestone beneath our feet are uneven and rough, and there are stains from what looks like dried blood.
That’s probably not good.
We pass through the streets of Ensalya, keeping our heads down and our steps quick.
Well, they keep their heads down. I take it all in with wide eyes. I’ve never been to Ensalya before, but it is as beautiful as I have been told. The smell of spices and bread wafts out from a bakery nestled between a tailor and a tavern, people mill about through the streets and shops with baskets full of fresh vegetables, meats, and goods. Everyone is smiling and going about their day, calling out to friends, and bartering with merchants for lower prices.
That is, they smile until they see the hundred slaves being led to their doom through the middle of the street. Then, they duck their heads and turn away, rushing to make room for us in the crowded streets.
We turn off into a small alley, barely big enough for us to fit single file. It is far less welcoming than the business street we had just been on. Despite it being the middle of the day, the alley is dark, and I stumble as my foot hits something soft and warm.
And moving.
I swallow my scream and hurry forward, stepping on the woman’s heels in front of me. She glares over her shoulders and continues walking, apparently not aware of the live body passed out in the alley.
The guards lead us through many twists and turns, disorienting us all. I see a small sign hanging from the wall above us; Staver og tonics. Spells and tonics. Strange business to have, and a strange location to have it, but that’s not my problem.
No, my problem is being a slave for the rest of my life.
We keep walking, and after a few more turns, I see the sign again, the rotting wood and scrawling script recognizable even with the low amount of light in the alley. The guards are leading us in circles. Are they really that dumb? I start to keep my eyes out for any possible escape routes should I get away from them. I look down wide alleys and streets, through crumbling entryways, and I even see a couple of slits in the wall, no more that a foot wide. I can’t tell how far back they go, but with the lack of light, and how I completely missed them the first couple of times that we walked by them, they would be a great spot to hide. I start counting my steps and turns.
We pass under the strange sign again. They should have picked a less… memorable alley to get us lost in. We round a turn, but instead of going straight, we turn sharply to the left. The slaves stumble as we go through a small door and I have to squint my eyes as blinding sunlight fills my vision and a sense of dread fills my stomach.
We’re in a large, round sandstone courtyard filled with people. Some are standing by sandstone tables, and some are sitting on benches of the same. The tables are covered in small trinkets and rare animals, on one table, there are jewels that seem to glow in the sunlight that streams in through the open ceiling. There is a large group of people hunched over one of the largest tables, holding bamboo straws to their noses, and sucking up the lines of white powder lying in front of them. One of the intoxicated men trips on a bag lying on the ground and tumbles into another customer. A shout of outrage comes from the second, and they start throwing punches before they even hit the ground. They tumble around on the floor, sending a large cloud of dust into the air around them. No one else seems to notice that there is a full-on fight in the center of the floor. They seem to be evenly matched, and I don’t see a sign of the fight stopping.
That is, until the one that tripped gets stabbed in the stomach.
I gasp as I see the blood freely pouring from his abdomen, but the people around the two fighters start cheering as he goes down. The victorious one gets up and raises his hands above his head, looking ridiculous in his expensive dust covered coat with his bloodshot eyes.
A group of people moves in to block my view of the scene, and I turn to look in front of me, reality snapping back into place.
In front of us on the walls are giant, rusted hooks.
The guard comes by each of us and unchains us from each other and then individually attaching our chains to the wall. I test my chains, but they hold firm.
A man in a fine tunic heads up to the podium and clears his throat.
Surprisingly, everyone stops what they are doing and turns to face him.
“Greetings,” He says. “Welcome to todays auction. All of these fine slaves were just recently imported from North of the Fjellne Mountains.” His voice carries surprisingly well throughout the room. “They have varied experiences from all,” I cringe at how he said all. “areas of work. I assure you all, they are of the highest quality. May the bidding proceed.”
The din of the crowd’s shouts overwhelms all my other senses. A low ringing starts in my ears, growing louder and louder. My vision blurs and I try to blink it away. A stark, metallic taste fills my mouth, and my tongue feels completely dry. I clench and unclench my fists and I bite my lip as my nails dig into my skin and draw blood.
A high-pitched whistle sounds, and my vision clears. The crowd has stopped cheering. My mouth feels normal and the ringing in my ears immediately recedes. I can see that the announcer brought up the first slave. She is trembling, and her striking green eyes are filled with tears. There is a deep purple bruise forming on her arm, and a thin stream of blood flowing down next to it, almost the same color as her hair. She fought. She fought going up to that podium and giving up her life to be sold to someone. I admire her.
“Twenty-four coppers.” the announcer exclaims. “Any higher bids?” No one says anything. A short man comes to the front and starts climbing the stairs of the podium, and the woman’s shaking increases. She starts shaking her head, and tears flow freely down her cheeks. Other than her trembling and head shaking, she stands completely still, as the man comes up to get her. He reaches for her wrist, and she twists, grabbing his arm.
She flips him onto his back with incredible speed and kicks him in the head, knocking him out cold. She aims a kick at the announcer but he’s faster. He grabs her foot and twists. I can hear the bone snapping above the sounds of her screams.
But there is something else. A sound of hopeless wailing.
Oh, my gods.
I thought that she was just overweight, but as she falls and lands on her back, I can clearly hear a child wailing. She tries to sit up, but the announcer pins her to the ground with his foot. The wailing continues and she protectively wraps her hands around her belly. The announcer grins, an evil, catlike thing, and his dark eyes flash. His nostrils flare as he bends down and removes her cloak. The room gasps.
There, wrapped tightly to her chest, is a small baby, no older than four months. The sight makes my breath catch in my throat.
How can anyone be okay with this?
“Well,” The announcer drawls. “A beautiful woman and a newborne babe. How wonderful is this?” He surveys the crowd and looks back at the unconscious man on the stage. “Who had the next highest bid?”
A stout woman raises her hand, her hard eyes unforgiving as she stares down the announcer.
“Would you like the slave and the babe? Or just the slave?” he asks her.
“How much will the babe cost?” Her voice is surprisingly deep and husky, it matches her dark brown hair.
“Ten coppers.” He says, always starting higher than he thinks she will pay.
“Four.” She responds.
“Six.” She nods and looks towards the woman and child. He slams the pommel onto the speaking box.
“Come,” she says, and although her posture and tone it strict, her eyes are compassionate. The woman struggles to keep the babe to her chest as she rises on one leg and limps over to her. I lose sight of her in the crowd, but not before I see the buyer put a comforting arm around the woman.
I am surprised by that. Since she is at a slave auction, I would have expected her to just stuff the mother in a wagon and leave. That small act of kindness surprises me.
I am snapped out of my thoughts by the announcer’s voice. He gestures to a guard to bring up the next slave, this time an old man. The guard sets about unlocking the chains and the man stands there patiently. He is unchained from the wall and the guard leads him towards the stage. His grey hair falls in front of his eyes as he stumbles on the uneven stone floors. He looks up and the hair falls to the side, revealing a kind face and soft eyes. He continues to walk to the stage with a slight limp. He stops by the announcer, and I see one small tear trickle down his cheek.
I recognize him. He is the cook from the Kerston’s.
I don’t even listen to the auction. I just watch the man on the podium. He looks at me, and surprise flashes over his features. I give him a sad nod, and he does the same back.
“Twenty coppers.” The announcer calls out. “Do I hear twenty-one?” After a long pause, the announcer hits the pommel against the podium. “Sold!” The man was led away by the guards, and I fought to restrain myself from screaming out.
Twenty coppers. That’s really all his life was worth to you?
These people make me sick.
I test my chains again, and the steel digs into my wrists. I grit my teeth and keep pulling, but nothing happens.
The next slaves are led up, one a tall skinny male and one a younger female. She looked about my age. They were both sold to the same person for twenty-two and twenty-seven coppers respectively.
On the way down the stairs, the male stops and turns around while the female keeps walking.
He looks at the guard and attacks.
Although his hands and ankles are bound, he fights beautifully.
He swings a punch at the guard on his left and I hear the impact of metal hitting cheekbone even from where I stand. The guard’s head snaps back, and he snarls at the slave. With his lips pulled back, I see his elongated canines.
He’s Fae.
The Fae throws his fist at the slave, but the slave ducks, landing a blow on the guard’s knee. The guard’s grunt of pain echoes through the room and he collapses to the floor, clutching his shattered kneecap. Everyone gasps.
The second guard lunges for the slave. His fist connects with the slave’s temple and he stumbles, bringing his hands up to protect himself. Before the second guard can deliver the killing blow, the fallen Fae springs up and lunges for the slave.
His jaw closes around the slave’s neck. The slave opens his mouth to scream, but the Fae rips his head back, tearing out the slave’s throat.
The slave slumps to the ground in a heap. Dead.
I swallow back the bile in the back of my throat and turn to the announcer. He doesn’t even look surprised at the blood seeping from the slave’s open throat.
The crowd starts gasping and whispering and the man who bought the dead slave starts towards the stage, his face the portrait of outrage. Before he can reach the stage and cause a scene, the announcer lazily waves a hand to another guard, and the guard retrieves the bag of coins that the merchant paid for the slave. The guard goes and meets the merchant. The merchant nods and takes the bag. He steps over the dead slave, and behind him I can see the female that was sold to him as well. There are tears staining her cheeks, and she holds a hand to her mouth.
I turn back towards the stage.
There is one slave left before me.
The dull throbbing starts in my head again, this time more severe. With every beat of my heart, white hot lightning flashes between my temples. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the pain. The announcer’s voice fades into the background and is replaced by a high-pitched shrieking.
I try to draw my hands up to cover my ears, but I cant. The chains binding me prevent them from leaving my hips.
My breaths come in short bursts and I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the pain. Hissing through my teeth, I concentrate on my breathing. I inhale and exhale as deeply as I can.
I repeat this and keep my breathing slow and even, despite the pain waiting to take control.
A low whistle sounds in my ears, and I brace myself for the pain to worsen.
Only, it doesn’t. The pain is gone.
I open my eyes and unclench my fists, turning my attention back to the podium. The woman in front of me has been sold.
I’m next.
I will my heartbeat to steady and my face to stay neutral as the guard comes over to untie me. Subtly, I size him up. He stands about seven inches taller, and probably has a good fifty pounds on me.
I can take him.
He grins at me almost like he can tell what I am thinking, exposing his elongated canines.
Of course, he’s Fae.
He reaches for the chains behind my back and unlocks them. He roughly grabs my wrists and brings them forward to rebind them, and I struggle not to flinch. I see that the links that held me to the wall weren’t unlocked, they were broken.
I don’t think I can take him.
I struggle and thrash as he drags me to the front of the room. The crowd is unusually silent as he shoves me up the stairs.
I stop next to the announcer and gasp when I turn around.
Over three hundred people showed up for today’s auction.
The guard backs off and lets the announcer take over. He looks me over from head to toe, but his face stays neutral.
“The bidding will start at—” He is cut off by a rough male voice.
“Twenty coppers.” I search the crowd for the owner of the voice, but there are so many people that I can’t find him.
“Thirty.” A female voice calls out.
“Thirty-five.” The first voice says. I look at the announcer. His eyes are wide, but other than that, he doesn’t look surprised.
“Forty.” The female voice is closer now, and I see a hooded figure. I can just barely make out two pommels of a sword peeking out from under her hood. The sun illuminates the tip of her nose and her long blond braid, but other than that, her face is cast in shadow.
“Forty-five,” the male counters.
Gosh, I’m popular.
I see the female’s mouth open to make a counteroffer, but she is cut off by another voice. Its deep husky rasp echoes off the worn stone walls of the coliseum, and I gasp when I hear the offer.
“Two gold pieces.”
I hear the announcer suck in a breath. Two gold pieces? That’s enough to feed an entire village for at least a month.
I look at the announcer. There is a ridiculous expression on his face, and his mouth is completely open. I swear I can see drool pooling on his tongue.
I almost snicker at his “struck dumb” expression and his wide mouth…
But then a bug flies into my open mouth.
I snap my mouth shut in embarrassment and try to harness my coughing.
Guess he wasn’t the only one “struck dumb” by the offer.
At the sound of my coughing, the announcer seems to wake from a trance.
“Two—” he clears his throat. “Two gold pieces. Any higher bids?”
He is greeted with silence.
“Sold, for two gold pieces.” His eyes are still wide.
To my left, near the exit, the crowd parts, and a tall, hooded man stalks toward the podium. His tunic is obviously of fine make, and I can see a pattern of silver and gold embroidery over his heart. His hood is carelessly tossed over his face, doing almost nothing to hide his features.
His dirty blond hair lies in limp curls across his forehead. They effortlessly accent his striking cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His sky-blue eyes are framed by dark brows and even darker lashes.
If he hadn’t just bought me, I would find him attractive.
Well, no. That’s a lie. I still find him attractive.
Very attractive.
I’m just repulsed by the fact that he supports and funds the slave business.
What a waste of good looks.
The closer he gets to the stage, the more tense my muscles become. I can sense that “Mr Chain-breaker” has come up behind me. He puts a strong hand on my upper arm and shoves me forward. I barely manage to stay upright as my chains dig into my heels.
My breath quickens as I realize what is about to happen to me.
I am being sold like rutting cattle to the highest bidder. And once they purchase me, they are free to do whatever they like to me.
I lock eyes with the stranger and the guards grip tightens. He shoves me forward another step, but I don’t stumble.
My breath hitches as I remember the soft, loving words that used to be whispered to me before I slept.
Keep your head up.
I lift my chin, even though my throat tightens at the memory of who told me that. I swallow my grief and continue walking towards the stranger.
The crowd has gone silent.
Waiting… watching.
The guard shoves me again, and I can already feel a bruise start to form on my upper arm. He chuckles, and then his hand starts to slowly slide down my back.
I slow my steps, but his hand keeps moving.
Nope. Nu-uh. Not happening today, mister.
I thrust my head backwards as hard as I can, and he doesn’t have time to move away. The back of my head connects with his nose. Pain dances down my skull, and I see spots in my vision, but the sound of his nose breaking, and then his grunt of pain is totally worth it.
I stride forwards as gracefully as I can manage with the chains still binding my ankles and wrists together. I near the man, and even though I am trembling, I keep my chin up and look him in the eye.
He looks me up and down as I near him, his face unreadable. I feel completely naked under his hard gaze, and I resist the urge to cover myself as I stop in front of him.
His lips push into a hard line, but he says nothing.
After a second, I gesture to the exit with my head.
“Shall we?” My voice is surprisingly steady, given my current predicament. His head dips in a slight nod. He takes one of my wrists and leads me towards the exit.
We reach the doorway, and a black carriage pulls up. The driver comes around to open the door for us. He bows to the man.
He stays silent as he guides me the final steps to the carriage. I trip on one of the uneven stones on the floor, but he catches me. His grip is gentle but firm. Nothing like Kerston.
I swallow at the thought, but I straighten. I look up to thank him, but my gaze catches on the embroidery on his tunic.
Two interlocking circles of silver and gold, with a steel sword plunged through the center.
I struggle to get air down as I realize what the embroidery is. The embroidery that I had dismissed before.
I look up to the carriage, and, sure enough, on the side is the same symbol.
The symbol of the sotia, the royal guard.
I sit silently on the carriage seat as we jostle down the dirt road. My hands are clasped together in my lap, and my knuckles are white from how tightly I am holding them. I stare directly ahead of me and keep my back straight, just as I have for the last hour or so.
The inside of the carriage is plain and simple. Practical.
There are two benches facing each other. I sit on one, and the sotia sits on the other. I completely ignore him.
There is only one door, and no windows, so…
Escape is relatively impossible.
There is also nothing inside the carriage that I could use as a weapon, so fighting is also a no-go.
I turn and face the—well, I don’t know what he is, but he is a sotia and a member of the corrupt Royal Guard.
He is lazily reclined on his bench, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks totally at ease.
As though he could sense me staring at him, he turns and meets my gaze.
Even though I can feel my cheeks heat at being caught staring at him, I don’t look away.
I can’t.
His light blue eyes are mesmerizing. They seem to be swirling around his pupils, the outside a darker navy and the center a light ice blue.
I realize that not standing down could be considered a lack of submission, and that my lack of submission could get me killed, but…
I can’t look away.
He raises his eyebrows. “Can I help you?” His tone seems to be teasing, but there is no warmth in his gaze.
I give him a grin and scrunch my nose. With as much sarcasm and bravado as I can muster, I reply, “You have something in your teeth.” I touch my lower lip and bat my eyelashes at him. My heart is pounding as I turn back to the wall of the carriage.
“Well,” he says. “She bites.” He crosses his arms. I can feel him watching me.
I turn and glare at him. The edges of his lips twitch, and I see a hint of a smile on his face.
I snap my teeth at him.
He leans forward, and I struggle not to shrink away.
“You should mind what you say to me, girl.” Pfft, girl. He isn’t that much older than me. I’d give him a four-year lead. “Your fate is in my hands.” He gives my chains a pointed look.
I lean in toward him and put my elbows on my knees, the grin returning. “Aww,” I drawl. “That’s sweet. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” I give him a long, loving blink, and his lips pull back in a snarl. I just blow him a kiss.
Gods, I’m stupid.
He leans back, and a bit of humor softens his features. “Not all of the knights are as tolerant as I am, you know. They won’t take kindly to your comments.”
I lean back and mimic his position, crossing my legs and arms. I tilt my head to the side, some of my brown hair that escaped the braid falls into my face.
“That sounds like their problem, not mine.”
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