Chapter 7
Iwake with a start, my neck screaming in protest as I lift my head from where it lolled against my chest during the night. The chains around my wrists dig into my skin. I can’t believe I fell asleep. It must have been sometime in the early hours, when the sound of the others crying became too much to bear. Even with my gates up.
My mouth is dry, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I see Rawk’s lifeless body still sprawled on the floor and wish I was still sleeping.
“Would have been easier if he’d stayed an asshole right up to the end, huh?” Kayan says, his chains clinking as he shifts to look at me.
I offer him a wry smile. My hair has fallen across my face, but moving it is awkward because of the chains. “Don’t worry about Rosalie,” I offer him. “She’ll be fine. She’s feisty.”
He smiles, and his cheek dimples. “She certainly is.” He inhales sharply, looking at me as though he’s about to say something important. But then the cell door clangs open, and the bulky silhouettes of the Gloomweavers appear on the other side of the bars.
Rough hands grab at us, dragging us to our feet. I don’t recognise these ones, but it doesn’t matter. They are all as cruel as each other.
They herd us out of the cell, prodding us with the butts of their weapons, their laughter echoing off the stone walls as we pass through dark, dank tunnels.
We emerge into a vast, circular space, a colosseum-like structure with tiered seats rising up on all sides. The light stings my eyes, and I squint up at the stands as thick, humid air meets my skin.
The stands are filled with a raucous crowd, drinking and hollering despite the fact the sun is only just creeping up over the horizon.
“Eldrion lets this happen?” Kayan hisses at me. “I mean, he must know about it, and he lets it happen?”
I shake my head and sigh. Over the years, I’ve become good at listening. When no one speaks to you, it is about the only thing you can do. And I’ve heard the rumours. I’ve heard what they say about the lord who rules Luminael. About his cruelty, the way he treats women, the backhanders he gives to criminals and thugs in order to keep the streets under control.
The elders keep it from the rest of the villagers. But they know what happens in the cities and, because of them, I know too.
“Why would he care what happens here?” I ask with a sigh. “Sunborne care for no one but themselves, and he is the oldest of them all. To him, elementals are bugs to be squashed. Not because we are inferior like the Shadowkind, but because he is afraid of us.”
Kayan hisses through his front teeth. Before he can answer me, we are thrust into a pen at one side of the arena, our chains rattling as we collide with each other in the tight space.
Across from us, a stage rises from the dirt floor, and upon it stands the female Gloomweaver who ended Rawk’s life. She raises her hands, and the crowd falls silent.
“Welcome,” she calls out, her voice ringing through the arena. “Today, we have a special treat for you. A fresh batch of forest fae, ripe for the picking.”
My stomach churns at her words, bile rising in my throat. Beside me, Kayan tenses, his jaw clenched tight.
The Gloomweaver gestures to the side of the stage. The crowd falls silent, and then my heart leaps into my throat as Rosalie is dragged forward, her hair tangled and matted, her face streaked with tears. Kayan’s entire body uncoils and he lurches forward. A guard nearby slashes at his shins with a large metal prod, then smashes it across his back, striking his wings and sending him to his knees.
Rosalie stands, trembling, in the same pale brown dress I was given to wear. She searches the crowd, then her eyes land on the pen. She cannot see Kayan because he is still on the floor, but she sees me. Her eyes catch mine.
I nod at her and try to smile. Try to tell her it will be all right if she stays strong.
Oh, how I wish I could take her pain away. Absorb it all, swallow it down, and leave her feeling brave and powerful instead of like she’s about to crumble.
Something stirs in my stomach; the urge to let my gates down and search out Rosalie’s feelings. But what good would that do? I wouldn’t just let hers in, I’d let in the swirling, cacophonous emotions of every soul in the arena.
I am still trying to fight the urge to feel for her when the Gloomweaver launches into a rapid-fire sales pitch, extolling Rosalie’s virtues as a breeder and her abilities as a fire faerie. The crowd grows restless, shouting out bids.
In the end, it is a rotund man with a leering grin and a pair of golden Sunborne wings who claims her, his bid outstripping all others. Rosalie sobs quietly as she is dragged away.
In front of me, Kayan’s shoulders shake as he starts to sob too.
I drop to my knees beside him, my heart breaking for him. “Shh,” I whisper, stroking his hair. “We’ll find a way out of this. We’ll find her.”
But even as I say the words, I know they are hollow. How can we find her when we’re about to be sent to our own version of the hell she is headed for?
As the auction continues, as more of our kin are torn away from us, sold to the highest bidder, a numbness settles over me. This cannot be happening, cannot be real.
Any minute now, I’ll wake up in the cave behind the waterfall. The stranger in the blood-red mask will be there, cradling me in his arms. And everything will be right again.
I close my eyes, trying to block out the sights and sounds of the arena.
It works.
The noise dies down, and something in the air shifts. Quiet descends. For a moment, I feel like I can breathe again. But then I open my eyes to see every single fae in the arena staring in the same direction.
At the side of the stage, a huge, looming shadow has appeared. The Gloomweaver running the auction flexes her fingers on her wooden staff and takes a step back. She looks afraid. Everyone looks afraid.
And then I realise why.
“Lord Eldrion, what a pleasure.” The Gloomweaver dips into a bow as the tallest fae I’ve ever seen steps out of the shadows.
My mouth becomes instantly dry, and my wings stiffen.
Eldrion’s presence commands the entire arena. A simmering column of power, he strides towards the Gloomweaver. His wings, huge and black, iridescent onyx in the morning sun, unfurl at his sides, casting shadows over the stage.
As he moves, his long, silver hair catches the light, cascading down his back like a river of molten metal. His chiselled features are sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that could have been carved from marble.
He is beautiful. And he is deadly. A lord and a predator.
“I was not invited to this morning’s auction,” he says in a timbre that is deep and rough. He raises an eyebrow and folds his arms in front of his expansive chest.
The Gloomweaver stutters nervously. “I wasn’t aware...” She trails off, then corrects herself. “An unforgivable error on my part, Lord Eldrion. How may I make it up to you?”
Is she flirting with him? On stage? While we are sold like cattle?
Eldrion does not bite. Instead, he turns and fixes his gaze on the pen where we are being held. “This is all that is left?” he asks, waving a casual hand in our direction.
The Gloomweaver nods. “Yes, my lord.”
He nods slowly and then, causing a ripple of shock to move through the crowd, flies over the heads of the audience and lands with a thud in front of us.
Dust flies up from the ground.
His wings beat hard against the sticky, congealed air of the arena, and his ice-like eyes scan our faces. When they graze across mine, something tugs at my belly. A quiver of treacherous intrigue that makes me want to lower my head in shame.
Except, I can’t. Because he is staring at me and I cannot look away.
Although his head barely moves, I feel his eyes trace my features. He takes in my hair, my pale skin, the freckles on the bridge of my nose. He looks at my wings, my arms, and the gloves I wear.
Then he snaps his gaze away, flies back to the stage and says, “I’ll take them all. Name your price.”
The Gloomweaver’s eyebrows jerk up towards her hairline. “All, my lord?” She laughs nervously. “It’s just that I have customers expecting –”
“Are you refusing me, Gloomweaver?” Eldrion’s voice booms like thunder, shaking the stone walls of the arena.
Every single person holds their breath.
The Gloomweaver shakes her head. “No, of course not, my lord. They are yours. You just pay me what you see fit. Take them...” She gestures in our direction. “Take them all.”
“Very well.” Eldrion reaches into his pocket, takes out a small velvet purse, and throws it to her feet. Then he snaps his fingers and, from the sides of the arena, a flurry of royal guards appear.
The pen is opened, and we are dragged out, hustled towards the door, through the dark underbelly of the arena, then out into the light again.
Eldrion does not appear again until, two hours later, after being marched through the streets of Luminael, we arrive at the citadel. On a small island, it is accessible only by foot at low tide because – legend says – Eldrion’s guards will shoot down any fae who dares attempt to fly over its walls.
My pace slows as I look up at it. Home to the upper echelons of Sunborne society, it rises dramatically from the wet sand at its roots. According to books from my mother’s library, within the thick stone walls, a maze of winding streets and tightly packed buildings climb up towards the central keep. And at the island’s pinnacle sits the ancient castle itself. Eldrion’s castle.
From here, we can just about see the spires that stretch up towards the clouds.
“Keep moving,” a guard barks roughly.
We do as he says, our bare feet meeting the cool, wet sand and sighing with relief after so long without proper rest.
It is almost midday by the time we reach the castle. The climb through the narrow streets was arduous. Seeing us coming, Sunborne nobility slammed their doors and windows closed, leaving us to crawl our way towards the man who purchased us with tired legs and aching lungs.
No one speaks as we walk, and it is only when the castle comes into view that I hear Kayan say, “Holy stars, I didn’t think I’d ever lay eyes on this place.”
I catch him glancing at me, and exhale slowly. The castle looks nothing like the pictures I have seen. It sits high up, yes, but instead of glimmering resplendently as the sun catches its curves and lines, it looms like a sinister sentinel watching over the city. Its once bright walls are now scuffed and muted. Dark. Too dark.
A shudder racks my body.
Something feels different here.
Yes, the outer districts of Luminael felt dirty, and chaotic, and insidiously dark. But this is different. Even with the gates of my affinity locked down tightly, I cannot help but feel the desperation that hangs in the air here.
As my wings flutter violently, a guard tells me to keep still. “You fly, you die,” he reminds me, jerking his eyes up towards the parapet of the castle where Eldrion’s soldiers wait with glinting arrows.
Thinking of the arrows, my thigh burns. I was not hit with enough of the Gloomweaver’s poison to be killed by it, but I am afraid it is spreading slowly through my body because the wound is starting to feel hot and painful beneath my dress.
As we approach the castle gates, I crane my neck to take in the full scope of the building. It is a testament to Eldrion’s power, a physical manifestation of the iron grip his family have had on Luminael and the wider kingdom for thousands of years.
But, still, I cannot escape that feeling. The one that tells me there is something bigger and more sinister at play here.
We are on the bridge approaching the large wooden doors when something moves. A shadow. Above us.
I look up, and at first I think it is a gargoyle staring down at me.
Then I realise it is him. Eldrion. His ink-black wings tucked behind him, he stares down from the tallest spire, watching us.
Watching me.