10. CHAPTER 10
Aveline
The indenture market wasn’t anything as I had imagined. It was far more civilized than I envisioned. I thought the humans would be brought in by ropes, the Vireth fae poking and prodding at us as if we were cattle.
I imagined we would wear dirty, simple shift dresses to appear alike. I pictured an auctioneer standing at the block, bringing us onto the stage one by one and selling us off as if we meant nothing at all but the coin we would bring.
This was nothing like that.
While I was still tense with apprehension, I had to admit that the humans here were not treated as poorly as I had been led to expect.
We had been herded into grand carts pulled by horses to expedite travel from Scaldrithor to the palace.
When I had first spotted the metal spires piercing the sky from the rickety cart that jostled me back and forth, my heart suspended in my chest.
The Gothryn palace rose as if it were a black blade against the summer sky—tall and narrow.
Severe.
The spires clawed upward to pierce the mist that hung heavily in the air. The stone was dark obsidian and weather-worn. The castle boasted elaborate balconies and beautifully arched windows. It was utterly breathtaking.
We took the wide dirt road that led to the arched gates of the palace and the courtyard beyond.
A black owl circled above, its silhouette cutting across what little of the sun could be seen beneath the mist. How odd to see one out during the day, its forehead stamped with a crescent moon—something I had never seen before.
Everything about the Gothryn castle suggested it was a place of power and secrecy. It was home to dragons, after all.
We were unloaded in the courtyard, then filed into the main hall. We did not linger—we were quickly taken down a corridor toward the west wing of the castle.
Where the castle in Myros was all pale stone and sunlight, the palace in Gothryn was the exact opposite.
The corridor stretched long and wide, bending out of sight and giving no true sense of where it might lead.
The walls were carved entirely from dark aged stone.
Tall columns rose toward vaulted arched ceilings that were adorned with elaborate paintings of the night sky.
Exquisite tapestries were hung from the walls for decoration, the columns stamped with the Blackwater dragon crest.
The passageway was lit not only by golden torch light but by dozens of candles burning throughout.
Pillars of wax were clustered in brass basins among the floor, burning inward as they embellished each window and alcove we passed.
I couldn’t imagine the number of staff it would take to maintain them and keep them all lit, unless they were using magic.
After twisting and turning through the corridor, we reached the great hall. It was a place typically reserved for grand balls, celebrations, and hosting royal dignitaries.
A multitude of decadent golden chandeliers hung overhead; the tables pushed to the sides of the hall to allow us to occupy the large space.
I hadn’t thought they would allow lesser creatures let alone humans to desecrate such a place with their mere presence.
It never would have been allowed in Myros.
As we had traveled to the palace from the dockyards, I noted that the streets were immaculate. The Vireth took great pride in keeping their city clean. There was no rampant famine or illness to be seen, unlike in Majur.
Everyone was clean, well-dressed, and well-fed.
A pang of anger had surged through me at the thought of the starving citizens of Majur I had left behind. It was because of Gothryn that our trade had declined rapidly. That our alliances had broken and our people had gone hungry and suffered for it.
I shook my head, clearing the thought. I needed to remain focused.
We were lined up in the great hall in six neat rows spanning from one wall to the grand arched windowpanes beyond. The mist had begun to lift, and sunlight streamed through the towering arched windows, spilling in pale gold ribbons across the marbled floor.
There were about fifty or so of us searching for work. Enora and I had been separated the moment we stepped foot into the castle. The Veytari fae with existing assignments went one way, the humans searching for work went another.
The Vireth looking to purchase indentures walked the lines of humans, asking questions and selecting the humans based on experience and the type of work they were searching for.
They also considered the length of time the human desired to enter into the contract.
The humans were not being forced, they were searching for honest work in the castle and at court.
It was all very…civilized.
Those seeking to become feeders and join the blood trade were brought to a separate area.
Those not seeking to join the trade were not being forced to do so.
I had only been in the castle for an hour and everything I had known had already been turned on its head and dismantled.
This went against everything I had been taught about Gothryn from Kallias, Queen Dyata and King Faris.
The picture painted for me indicated that the Vireth were a gruesome, unforgiving, and bloodthirsty species. That humans meant nothing to them. That they were regarded with even more disdain than in Myros. That humans were forced into pleasure houses and the blood trade against their will.
That they were forced to be lifelong servants.
As Vireth moved down the rows of humans, I began to question if Myros’s view was colored simply because Gothryn was the enemy. Or maybe it was that this particular market wasn’t a good indication of what the remainder of the realm might be like. I had only just stepped foot in Gothryn, after all.
Not many Vireth stopped to speak with me.
They could see that my hands lacked callouses, my dress was too fine in quality for that of a simple housemaid.
My skills might not be aligned with manual household labor—but they were plentiful still.
My talents of distilling alcohol into medicine and antiseptics and extracting plant compounds into tannins and alkaloids were not highly sought after.
I could also test mineral purity through flame color and create strong alloys for weapons.
If any of them had use of an alchemist or herbologist, they would be pleasantly surprised to find me here. I could even double as a healer with the knowledge I had of plant life.
I was somewhat of an expert with the bow and arrow, though you couldn’t tell from my prim appearance.
My first lover had taught me how to hunt small game, and the sensation of the arrow between my fingers excited me.
It wasn’t hand to hand combat, but it made me feel strong.
Capable. I practiced day and night until it had become second nature.
Though, I doubted the Vireth were in search of a small, human hunter to add to their employ.
Most of the Vireth here were searching for hard-working laborers for moving brick, construction, and cleaning services.
A small, well-dressed human didn’t fit that bill.
I had brought the most modest and threadbare dresses I owned, but it hadn’t appeared to help. I only needed to ensure my indenture kept me in the castle, so I could remain close to the princes. If my work took me away from castle Gothryn, my plan would immediately unravel.
I was so lost in my own thoughts it took me a moment to realize the entire room had suddenly grown silent. I was pulled from my thoughts as a pair of boots against the marble of the great hall echoed across the room.
Whoever it was had a foreboding presence. The mere sound of their footsteps sent the room into utter silence. Those Vireth that had come to the market seeking workers scurried out of the room, pressing to the walls of the great hall to clear the way.
Was I about to come face-to-face with King Mavros? The King of Gothryn had a fearful reputation all his own.
When the dark figure materialized in the arched entryway, I understood at once.
It was a prince of Blackwater.
I swallowed audibly, my pulse quickening.
The figure was tall despite being cloaked in the shadow of the entryway.
He stepped forward and my breath caught in my chest as light spilled over him.
He was tall, composed of lean, taut muscle.
His face was hauntingly beautiful—a sharp nose and full, lush lips.
His black beard was trimmed short and neat, his hair a cascade of inky strands that appeared windswept.
His jaw was angular, his eyes as dark as a moonless night.
He was terribly striking. His black wings were gathered at his back as he folded his hands together behind him, out of sight. The gesture made him appear taller. Broader. He was calm as he rolled his shoulders and walked forward, examining the first row of humans.
Which prince was this? I couldn’t remember which color dragon the Crown Prince Sorin was, and I cursed myself. I wished more than anything Enora was at my side to whisper in my ear. As a historian, she was always better with the details.
The only thing I remembered with certainty was that the crimson one was the first to breathe fire on Majur. Emrys. The one Queen Dyata had called unpredictable and juvenile.
This particular prince reminded me of the fleeting image I had seen on the dock as we approached the shipyard. The image was gone as quickly as it had appeared—I couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t merely been my imagination.
I froze, my back flush against the wall as I pressed myself against it.
Was this the prince I was destined to kill?