9. Meera
“What are you going to do to me?”
His emotions are hard to read. He’s silent, leading me by a chain like a common animal, as he walks me through the streets.
I can tell that I’ve pissed him off. And I know that whatever grisly fate awaits me, I’m not making it any easier by annoying him.
A demon.
I’ve been bought by a demon.
I mull the words over in my mind, trying to make sense of them. I don’t know why I hoped that nobody would purchase me—that maybe I’d suffer a more generous fate and be purchased by a xaphan at another auction.
His tattered disguise is a mockery of most people’s intelligence. I can see the hood struggling to contain his horns, his eyes an unnatural color. The only way he would be well-disguised is if somebody weren’t looking directly at him.
And my mind won’t settle itself. As I’m paraded through the streets, looking at every building with apprehension, I remember what it was like to be considered a civilian—to walk freely through the city streets without eyes staring at me from every direction.
I find myself missing it.
“We’re here.”
I turn my attention from my captor toward the modest-looking building in front of me. We’ve seemingly left the quainter, more impoverished districts of the city, reaching a place where somebody might actually notice if I turned up dead.
I look at the door, deep in confusion.
“Where are we?”
He just grunts and pushes the door open, revealing a modest tavern. And to my shock, he discards the leash at the door, dropping it onto the wooden floor.
The leash is still bound around my neck, but I could easily walk away from this tavern now. I wonder if he’d give chase, or if he”d let me go free.
My eyes follow him into the empty bar, uncertain of whether or not to enter the building.
He finds a table in the corner of the bar. When I don’t follow, I think it actually upsets him.
“Well, are you coming in or not?” he asks.
A busy bartender behind the counter tries to remove water spots from a glass. There are instruments left behind on a small stage in the tavern, seemingly discarded quickly and without much care.
I watch him as I approach, expecting him to whip me or reveal this as some kind of joke. But eventually, I just sit across from him on a stool.
As the door of the tavern slams shut, a candle barely illuminates our table. He retrieves a single sheet of parchment from within the pocket of the tattered cloak.
He loudly unfolds it, and as it unfurls and opens up, it covers the entirety of the table.
Glancing at it, it appears to be a map of the surrounding area, but more focused on nearby cities than on mapping out New Solas. It doesn’t look professionally made, but the depictions are detailed and impressive nonetheless.
“Hey, could you get that candle and bring it here?” he asks. “Kinda hard to see in this fucking place.”
But my mind is filled with a million questions, and I hesitate a little too long.
A chill overtakes me. I think I see the candle nearby dance, and the shadows wind up and deepen, a gust of wind blowing in from out of nowhere.
The candle levitates through the air, seemingly of its own accord, before placing itself down on the table.
“Never mind,” he says. “I got it.”
“How—”
But I can’t find the words. I’m entirely stumped.
The entire time I’ve been with him, other than being a bit aggressive in bringing me here, he’s shown no interest in harming me. I’m not even sure he’s shown much interest in me at all.
He says nothing, moving his finger over the map.
I clear my throat.
He looks up, appearing almost offended.
I know that I need to phrase my words carefully. Yet I also know that if I don’t break the silence, I might never know anything at all.
“Am I free to go?” I ask suddenly, recalling the leash that isn’t attached to anything.
He chuckles slightly to himself.
“You know, some of us demons have these shadow powers,” he says. “If I wanted to, I could snatch that leash right up, and we’d be right where we were two minutes ago.”
I say nothing, terrified of speaking out of turn.
“But I don’t think that’d be much fun,” he says. “You don’t want that. I don’t want that, either.”
He scratches his chin, then goes right back to studying the map, now moving his finger to the northwest.
“And what do you want?”
He looks up again, this time more amused than pissed off.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Ethical business practices?”
The door of the tavern swings open suddenly.
I turn my head, confirming nobody standing there.
“Strong winds today,” he says.
“Was that you?”
He says nothing.
“Your shadow powers?”
“And you know, I never thought about it until now, but I’m not too fond of this human slavery thing either,” he says, ignoring the question. “Or at least not the way Gorran runs it.”
I find myself somehow more confused than I was when I entered the tavern.
Did I just find the only buyer not committed to casually discarding me like an old toy?
“Gorran?”
Somehow, I feel like if I ask about the human slavery thing, he might just take it back. So I find another part of the statement to ask questions about.
Thinking about it, it really is too good to be true that he’d just buy me and set me free. That must all be some elaborate and cruel joke.
“You’ve probably never even heard of the guy,” he says, looking back down at the map. “That’s my mistake.”
There are various red x’s marked on the parchment. I notice one right around New Solas.
“I’ve heard the name,” I say, recalling what I heard on the way here. “Who is he?”
Without warning, the demon slams his fist down on the table, nearly knocking over the candle in the process.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” the demon says. “He’s the least competent xaphan to ever run a successful business, and that’s saying something. He should be rotting beneath the ground somewhere, not running large operations from several continents away!”
Not wanting to upset him further, I simply nod.
“He’s also the reason you’re a slave,” he adds. “But if you’ve heard the name, I’m guessing you already knew that.”
I look around the room, taking in the dim bar.
“I’ve never met many demons who care about the freedoms of humans,” I say, almost thinking aloud. “The xaphans always talk about demons like they’re the worst of the worst.”
He nods.
“Well, to be fair, I don’t give a shit about humans,” he says. “You’re strangers to me, every single one of you.”
I say nothing, wondering if the bartender is selling drinks.
But then I don’t have a single coin on me, so I couldn’t buy anything even if I wanted to.
He waves a hand through the air. “I don’t mean to offend you. It isn’t anything personal. I just?—”
“So then why am I even here then? Why did you bother freeing me at all if you were just bringing me here to insult me?”
He chuckles.
I want to punch him, despite knowing how bad of an idea that is.
“You have a defiant spirit,” he says. “And it would be a shame for that to die on the slave block.”
I look toward the entrance, realizing that I could dart out at any moment.
Sure, he might catch me, wrapping me up in his shadows.
But if I could just get away, I would be free.
But what do I even have left?
I remember, yet again, that everything I’ve ever known is gone—almost everybody I’ve ever met is now dead.
“So I’m feisty,” I say. “You purchased me because I’m feisty.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Is that all? Is that really the only reason you bought me?”
He begins folding the parchment back up.
“Actually, I thought you might be a bit of a catalyst,” he says.
“A catalyst?”
Having finished rolling up the map, he considers tucking it in his cloak pocket. But thinking better of it, he instead removes the cloak from his body, discarding it casually on the floor.
“I’m sure there are better cloaks I can purchase,” he says offhandedly. “That one’s just served its purpose.”
He grips the map in his hand tightly.
“Well, seeing the fire that burns in you, and how much you probably hate Gorran’s slave trade, I thought we might have a bit of a shared purpose.”
At this point, I’m tired of asking questions. I just give him a look, clarifying that he should continue talking.
“Like I said, I don’t give a shit about humans or slaves,” he says. “But Gorran sure does. And I figure that if we fucked over a few too many of his slave caravans, he might see everything he’s built crumble around him.”
He stands up.
“And that would be pretty funny.”
We walk to the bar counter. The barkeep is still polishing glasses and countertops. The demon coughs.
“Not here to cause any trouble, are you?” the barkeeper asks, perking a brow.
Gorran just chuckles.
“I’ll have a glass of the usual,” Gorran says. “And get the lady whatever she wants.”
Sighing, the barkeeper finishes cleaning the glass, proceeding toward the tap.
“I’m Kavian by the way,” he says.
I try to remember what drinks you can order in New Solas, hoping I won’t order something that will accidentally poison me.
“You don’t have to tell me your name. In fact, you can walk out the door if you want to. Wouldn’t be too offended if you did.”
The bartender places the glass in front of Kavian and then looks at me expectantly.
I look at the door one more time, pondering how I’d even survive in this city on my own, with no wings to speak of.
“I’m Meera,” I offer, going against my better judgment. “And I’ll have a glass of your strongest stuff.”