31. Katya
31
W e’re made to lie on a scratchy canvas-like material that does nothing to soften the rocky ground. Then the guards chain the manacles on one ankle to heavy metal rings bolted into the stone at our feet.
So much for a night escape.
I keep replaying the argument with Aemon over and over in my mind. For a moment, I swear I saw something like longing in his eyes, and I had the almost irresistible urge to reach out and touch his face, feel the scratch of his beard against my fingertips, trace the shape of his lips. Gods, I must be losing my mind. He’s nothing but a menace. It would be better to just push him out of my life and be finished with him.
So, why does the thought of doing that make me sick to my stomach?
To my right, a fae girl rolls onto her side, facing me, and I instantly recognize her as the one who helped me in the cave. “You,” I say, as though I’m some primitive female who has just learned to speak and not an educated linguist.
“Me,” she replies with a warm smile. She has a snaggle tooth on her lower set of teeth that only makes her look kinder. In the cave, I would have sworn her hair was brown, but up close and with the nearby fire providing a bit more light, I can see that it’s more of a dark auburn that almost perfectly matches her eyes, except for the halo of gold around her pupils. She’s frighteningly thin and pale, but with a heart-shaped face, pert nose and full lips that hint at how beautiful she might be if she wasn’t constantly denied food and sunshine.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you. I’m not sure what happened, but I swear I thought I was going to die.”
“Coming to terms with all of this”—she looks up and around, indicating our surroundings—“is pretty terrifying. I’d think there was something wrong with you if you didn’t panic, at least a little. You eventually get used to it.”
“Which part?”
I didn’t mean it as a joke, but she chuckles anyway. “It takes a bit, but after a while, you’re so tired by the time you lie down you could literally sleep anywhere.”
That I believe.
“So, you weren’t born here, you were kidnapped, like us?” I ask.
She nods. “My brother and I were on the rode traveling to Verneth when we were jumped by a bunch of soldiers.” She jerks her chin toward the cluster of guards. “Like those, but with their faces covered.”
“How long ago? ”
She shrugs. “Days and nights kind of bleed together here, so it’s hard to say. Maybe two years.”
“Gods.”
“Some of these people have been here their whole lives.”
“Doesn’t seem like a life worth living.”
“Hope is a wondrous and horrible thing.” She gives me a tight smile. “I’m Jael, by the way.”
Jael. Why does that name sound familiar? “Oh, there was a man looking for you earlier. He thought I was you.”
She rolls onto her back, hands on her chest. “There’s always someone looking for me. I let it slip a while back that I was a healer and now any time someone gets so much as a headache, they come to me.”
“Seems like you’d get a lot of headaches in a place like this.”
“Exactly.” She turns to look at me and stops cold, her eyes widening so much you’d think she saw a ghost. “Roll over. Arm over your face. Quick.”
The panic on her face leaves no room for argument. I throw my arm over my face and roll onto my belly.
The crackle of footsteps over gravel pricks my ears. The steps are getting closer as someone—presumably, a guard—moves down the line of sleeping women.
Please gods, don’t let this be what I think it is.
The air is still, deathly silent, fifty plus females trying to disappear into the rough-hewn fabric at their backs. I don’t dare breathe or move. My muscles are beginning to ache from holding myself so rigidly, and the thrum of blood in my head grows louder with each passing second .
He stops briefly, just short of where I lie. My belly churns. I think I’m going to be sick.
“There’s my girl,” a gruff, deep voice whispers. I peek out from beneath my arm. One of the guards, notable mostly for the puckered scar dissecting his cheek, leans over a woman with close-cropped black hair and smooth onyx-like skin. Her lips are full, with just a touch of pink, her eyelashes so long they fan the crest of her cheeks.
What a curse beauty must be in a place like this.
She doesn’t try to hide her face or close her eyes. She stoically glares up at him, forcing him to look at her. He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed, though. If anything, his smile grows larger. He begins unbuttoning his pants.
I turn my head away, unable to watch any longer. If I ever figure out how to use that mind control magic again, he’s the first one I’m going to kill.
A small squeak of protest is all I hear before the sounds of grunting and slapping skin fill the quiet, like a foul smell you can’t escape.
Jael’s lower lip trembles and silent tears rain down her face.
I don’t cry. I simply shut my eyes and imagine what it would sound like if his neck snapped over and over and over.
“What’s wrong?” Aemon asks for the twentieth time this morning. He doesn’t know what happened last night. I considered telling him, but knowing Aemon’s temper, I don’t think that would end well for anyone. So, I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I know he thinks this is about our argument yesterday, and while I am still unsure of what to believe, I have too much else weighing on my mind to devote any more mental energy to figuring out the enigma that is Aemon Cregg.
“I just had a rough night,” I tell him, keeping things as vague as possible. I’m sitting on the floor, sorting the sythra and rock. My arms gave out a while ago, so now I’m trying to do whatever I can to appear busy, hoping I won’t get whipped or worse.
We’re pretty far down the shaft, so I hear, rather than see, the ruckus at the entrance. I barely give it a second thought until a group of guards grab Aemon and me and drag us back through the cave.
“What are you doing?” Aemon asks, though I doubt the guards even understand what he’s saying. “Why are you taking her? I’m the one you want.”
I sigh. I appreciate that he wants to look out for me, but I wish he’d just stop trying to be the hero for once and be quiet. This isn’t helping.
As soon as we’re out in the open, the guard holding me lets me go. Not so for Aemon. He grapples with three males while a long-haired fae, with a hooked nose and the peak of one ear missing, watches, a bemused expression on his face. Hooked nose turns to me then. He cants his head and smiles at me like I’m a cute puppy. “I can see why he’s so protective. You are lovely, dear.”
“Let her go,” Aemon says again.
Hook Nose tuts at him. “I understand this might be difficult for you to comprehend, boy, but you are in no position to negotiate. Now, be a good little slave and do as you’re told, or I may have to use more…” He pauses for effect. “Extreme measures.”
“Fuck you,” Aemon shouts.
“Ahhh, so poetic. Truly, I’m moved.” Hook Nose presses a hand to his heart in mock appreciation. “Take him to see Maridon,” he says, wiggling his fingers at the guards. “If he continues to fight, knock him out and drag him there.”
The guards respond with the requisite “yes, sirs,” and Aemon and I only get to share a glance before he’s hauled away. I don’t like the expression on his face. That’s the way a person looks at you when they’re afraid they won’t ever see you again. My mother gave me that look before I left for Ranook and see how well that turned out.
Hook Nose claps his hands together and turns to face me. “Well, now that that pesky business is resolved, we can move on to bigger and better things. Come along,” he says, like I have any choice. Then he spins on his heel and heads toward the docks. I follow, albeit reluctantly, the guard hovering over me providing plenty enough incentive for me not to make a fuss.
I hope Aemon’s all right. It’s his instinct to fight back, but this is a situation where he’d be better off going along with things, or at least faking it for a time. Then again, he’s been faking it for years with Troi, so maybe he’s better equipped to deal with this than I give him credit for. I hoped to see Aemon when we reached the docks, since he left only a little ahead of us, but the river is quiet and there are no boats in the water for as far as I can see. When I reach the edge of the dock, Hook Nose unlocks and removes the manacles from my ankles and tosses them in the boat before holding out a hand to help me step inside. I consider telling him where he can put that hand, but the words that come out are, “Where are you taking me?”
“I am bringing you to be evaluated.” Hook Nose helps me sit, then positions himself directly in front of me. We’re so close, in fact, that our knees bump from where we’re sitting crisscrossed. “It’s something we do with most newcomers, but the past couple days have been especially busy, so we’ve come a bit later than intended.”
“And Aemon? Where are you taking him?” I’m trying to keep my voice steady and my emotions in check because nothing good is going to come from me getting upset, but the way my voice cracks on that last word gives me away.
The corner of Hook Nose’s lip twitches as if trying to hide a smile. “Your companion is fine.”
“Promise?”
He cants his head again—maybe he’s got a tic—his brows raised and lips pursed, as if to say, “How stupid are you?” Instead, he simply replies, “No.”
Alright, then.
I pretend to study the moss growing along the edge of the river because I really don’t want to look into this guy’s weirdly pink eyes anymore. Unfortunately for me, it seems his mother didn’t teach him that it’s rude to stare because he keeps those eyes locked on the side of my face the entire ride. By the time the guards steer us to another dock, I’m so uncomfortable, I contemplate jumping overboard and swimming the rest of the way .
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Hook Nose says, as though reading my mind. “Dangerous things lurk in the waters of Wayl.”
I turn to look at him then. “What?”
“Wayl.” He spreads his arms, palms up, indicating the area all around us. “Your new home.”
Something splashes in the water next to me, making me jump.
The boat finally bumps against the dock, and I am on my feet and climbing out before they’ve even secured the darn thing.
Hook Nose chuckles and climbs out after me.
There aren’t nearly as many crystals lighting this area as there were in the city, lending an air of foreboding to the already imposing building the guard pushes me toward. The structure stretches the entire height of the cavern, its spires so tall they merge with the ceiling overhead. It reminds me of some of the ancient doms I’d seen in books in the Duje library, except whereas those were inviting, covered in depictions of the gods and goddesses doing good deeds or blessing their devotees, this is sinister. The figures that climb these walls claw at the air, as if attempting to pull themselves free from the stone still encasing their lower halves. They look down on us, their distended faces locked in an eternal scream, their arms stretched thin like putty. My hands have begun shaking, and I clasp them together, squeezing hard to muffle the tremors. I’m led up the wide staircase and onto a landing to stand before double metal doors, at least twice my height.
I’m wondering if Hook Nose is going to knock, when the door swings open, and we’re greeted by a human man with dark skin and even darker eyes. He doesn’t say a word, simply leads us through a massive foyer and into a hallway with more glowing crystals fixed into sconces on the wall, lighting our way. I’m drawing a makeshift map in my head, just in case I get an opportunity to escape.
But what about Aemon? Could I leave without him? Why does that feel like a betrayal? He’s my captor, not my friend. But he let me go. He let me go and tried to fight off all those fae to save me. Not to mention how he protected me from that man. That has to count for something, right?
We head down a set of stairs that, judging by the narrow walls and lack of ornamentation, I’m assuming is for the servants. The air grows hot and clammy as we descend, and with every step my panic builds, like a tightening spring, about to snap. I try to focus on slowing my breathing, the way Jael showed me, but this is feeling a lot like when I was taken to the palace dungeon. Hook Nose opens another door and gestures for me to step through. I hesitate a moment before I notice the steam wafting out of the doorway. Not really something I’d expect from a dungeon—unless they’re boiling people alive, but that would most likely be accompanied by a great deal of screaming, so I’m fairly certain I’m not about to be tortured. Even so, my steps are cautious as I approach the threshold and poke my head through. It’s a long room filled with interconnected pools of various shapes and sizes, brimming with steaming hot water. The rocks surrounding the pools are various shades of white, cream and brown, so different from the dark gray stones that have dominated the landscape since we were brought here.
“Take off your clothes and wash up,” Hook Nose says. “You’ll find soap and scented oils set out around all of the baths. I expect every inch of your body scrubbed clean. Your clothes are hanging on the wall.” He gestures to something that looks like a white slip dangling from a hook embedded in the stone.
“Where is the rest of it?” I ask, fearing the answer.
“That is the rest of it. Now get moving. We can’t leave him waiting.”
I’m about to ask who “he” is, but the words die on my tongue as Hook Nose looks me up and down, his lip curled up in distaste. “Leave those rags on the floor. A servant will collect them later.” And with that, he pivots around—military-style—and heads back the way we came. The door shuts behind him with a resounding thud, and I’m all alone.
The stubborn part of me wants to sit here and do nothing, just to irritate the crotchety bugger, but there are three days’ worth of dirt and sweat coating my body, making me itch in places you don’t want to scratch in mixed company, and I’m so achy every movement is a chore.
I need this bath desperately. So, with a little twisting and a lot of cursing, I manage to get my corset unlaced, and I peel—literally peel because it is stuck to my body—off the rest of the dress. I dip a toe in to test the water. It’s borderline boiling, but unless it’s going to literally melt my skin off, I’m getting in, so I sit on the edge and slip into the water. Good gods, that’s hot, but also amazing. It stings my skin and is turning me an alarming shade of pink, and the steam is so thick, I have to feel around the edge of the pool to find the soap and oils Hook Nose was talking about. I should probably learn his real name before I slip and call him Hook Nose by accident. Something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate that.
When I’ve completely scrubbed off all the sweat and dirt—and possibly my first layer of skin—I get out, dry myself and pad over to the dress that was set out for me. Snatching it off the hook, I hold it out to arm’s length, so I can take a good look at it.
I’m not exactly sure how to even make sense of what I’m seeing. It looks like a child’s slip with little bits of golden thread woven into the smoky gray fabric. I hold it against myself, noting how the hem barely reaches the top of my thighs. There’s no way this thing is going to cover my big butt. There has to be more, right? I scan the walls and floor, even though I already know this is all that was set out for me.
The door squeals open and I crush the dress against my breasts to hide my nakedness, but it isn’t Hook Nose who enters. It’s an elderly human woman with rheumy blue eyes and gray hair pulled into a severe bun. In her hands, she carries a mass of what looks like golden rope, but as she draws closer, I realize that isn’t quite right. The material is flat and thick like leather but covered in golden scales that resemble a snakeskin, and it isn’t all one piece but two. There’s a hoop that could be a belt and a long length of rope I can’t even begin to discern the purpose for.
“What is that?” I ask, hoping she understands Ferinees because I still haven’t given away that I can speak their language. But she doesn’t respond, not a peep. Even worse, she doesn’t look me in the eye, which is terribly unnerving. Why won’t she look me in the eye? The old woman takes the fabric from my hands and motions for me to lift my arms. When I do, she slips the dress over my head. The material is exquisitely soft—I’m guessing silk, but so thin the outline of my nipples is plainly visible. It does cover my backside, barely.
Just don’t raise your arms, Katya .
I lay an arm across my breasts and tug the hem of the skirt in a pitiful attempt to cover myself.
The old lady chuckles and shakes her head. “Poor, stupid girl,” she says in ümbrian.
"Fuck you,” I reply, too angry by the insult to remember that I’m not supposed to know what she said.
She draws back, brows knitted in question. Finally, meeting my eyes, she asks if I understand her, but I’m not stupid enough to make that mistake twice. I give her my angriest glare, then stick my tongue out for good measure.
She rolls her eyes and wraps the belt around my waist. Then, she clips the other length of rope to a golden hoop dangling from the front.
It isn’t until she tugs the rope, forcing me to stumble after her, that I realize it isn’t just a belt. It’s a leash.
The old woman brushes out my hair and adds a little rouge to my cheeks and lips before leading me back up the stairs to where Hook Nose is waiting. I cross my arms over my chest, but he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he shows no emotion at all, as he circles me, assessing my practically naked body like a mare at auction. That’s all I am to him, a commodity, something to be used. My belly churns in disgust. I know what they’re dressing me for. I may have never had sex, but I’m not stupid. I’d always had this na?ve, romantic idea that my first time would be this beautiful coupling with a man I loved. And now that will probably never happen. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I refuse to show weakness. Finally, Hook Nose quits his inspection, and taking my leash, tugs me back down the hall and out into the grand foyer. There, we turn left and enter through a set of double doors into some sort of study.
It’s the first time since arriving that I’ve seen anything besides boats made out of wood. But here it’s everywhere—the warm mahogany giving the room a homey feeling I hadn’t seen since I left Duje. Strangely enough, there are no windows, only bookcases overflowing with texts. They line every wall, while in the center of the room, chairs with red-stuffed cushions surround a circular table. Behind that, sits a massive desk carved with flowers I’m certain only exist on the surface, but it’s the blood fae seated behind the desk that draws my attention.
He’s not what I would call conventionally large. He’s actually a bit thin and probably not much taller than Aemon when standing, by the looks of him. But his presence is enormous. It fills the room. A combination of arrogance and grace that makes him seem almost otherworldly. His long, pure-white hair is pulled into a ponytail that is so long it disappears behind his back and his eyes are a cobalt blue. Much darker than I would have expected, since most of the blood fae we’ve seen up to this point have had pink or extremely light blue eyes. His thin lips curl into a smile that sends a shiver down my spine. Something tells me this isn’t a fae to be trifled with.
“This is the girl you asked for, sir,” Hook Nose says, shoving me so I stumble forward .
The fae male must have heard him, but his eyes are only for me. They scour my face, then travel up and down my body in a way that makes me feel dirty, even though I’ve done nothing but stand here. “That will be all,” the fae male says, finally. He waves a pale hand, his boney fingers topped with obscenely long dark-red nails. Hook Nose bows so deeply I’m shocked he doesn’t just tip over face first into the floor. Gods is Hook Nose shaking? If he’s that afraid of this fae, what does that mean for me? Hook Nose skitters back the way we came, quickly shutting the door behind him with a click that tells me I’m locked in with this powerful blood fae.
And suddenly, I’m wishing for Hook Nose to come back.
“Please. Sit down,” the fae male says, pointing to a chair positioned in front of his desk. It hadn’t really hit me before how much trouble I could be in, but it’s certainly hitting me now. My chest is tight and the muscles in my legs are weak, like they’ve completely atrophied in the past five minutes. I cross the space between us, grabbing every piece of furniture along the way for support and sit.
“Do you know who I am, girl?”
I’m afraid to say no, but I have a feeling this is a fae who can smell lies. “No—uh—sir.” I tack that last part on there since it always seemed to placate Leodin when he was angry at me.
Leodin. Gods, I haven’t thought about him at all since I ran off. He could be dead by now. I shake my head to dislodge the thought. One catastrophe at a time, Katya.
“I am Master Raiden, and you are?” He tips his head to the side in question, reminding me a lot of Hook Nose, but I doubt he’d appreciate the comparison, so I keep that observation to myself. “Katya,” I say. “Katya Valstrad. I’m from Ferridas in— ”
He raises his hand to silence me. “Katya. You may call me sir or master, understand.”
“Yes, sir.”
His smile widens to something slightly less terrifying, and his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners. “You’re quick. Good.” Uncurling from his seat, he steps around the desk so he’s directly in front of me. “Stand.”
I push to my feet, grateful they’re staying under me. I have to look up to meet his eyes. I’m so close to him now, I can feel the heat wafting off his body. He places one finger under my chin and lifts and turns my head, studying my face from every angle. “Hmm,” is all he says.“ Now, take off your clothes.”
Now? Already? “Please, no. Uh, sir.”
That nerve-wracking smile drops so fast I don’t even have time to digest it before his hand is wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air supply. Now I’m well and truly terrified. The blood pools in my head, heating my face and pounding in my ears. My legs go weak, and I might have fallen into a bawling heap on the floor if Raiden’s hand wasn’t holding me up,
“My orders are not to be questioned,” he says, that civil voice giving way to something rough and harsh. “I give you a command and you follow it or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”
I nod, or as close to a nod as I can get with his hand around my throat. He releases me, and I do, in fact, drop to the floor.
“Get up,” he says.
Again, I obey.
“Now, undress. ”
My hands are shaking so badly, I can hardly hang on to the slick fabric. I watch his face for any sign of irritation, but he gives me nothing—just a flat stare. Finally, I get the dress over my head, and I’m standing bare in front of him. I’ve never been exposed to anyone like this in my life.
Aemon’s face pops into my head, and I toss it back out again. I can’t think about him right now. I don’t even want to wonder what he’d think about this.
He’d tell you to do what you need to do to survive.
I hope so because, as silly as it sounds, I hate the thought of disappointing him.
“Hands down,” Raiden says when I instinctively raise my arms to cover my chest. He pushes the chair out of the way and walks around me. I keep my arms at my sides, face forward, afraid any sort of movement will be seen as disobedience. When he comes back around, that terrifying smile is back, and I think I prefer him angry—at least I know that’s real. “Yes. You’ll do nicely.” He hands me my dress. “Put it back on.” I rush to throw the slip of fabric over my head and breathe a sigh of relief when it glides down my body. I may feel exposed in this dress, but it’s a heck of a lot better than being naked.
Raiden takes my hand, lifting it like I’m some debutante at a ball, and walks me over to a chaise longue stuffed into the corner of the room. “Sit. Relax.”
Easy enough for him to say, he’s not the one about to get raped or whatever it is he’s planning to do to me. I sit, but relaxation is another matter entirely. I’m stiff as a board and there is no way around that. Raiden doesn’t seem bothered by it though. He sits beside me, still holding my hand. “Do you know what a thrall is, Katya?”
“No—uh—sir,” I stammer.
“A blood fae’s magic comes from the ingestion of blood. As a thrall, it will be your blood we ingest.” There’s a flash of metal as he pulls something from his pocket, then he places a long, silvery cylinder threaded with ornate filigree and bearing a wickedly pointed tip, over his index finger—like a metal claw. It’s beautiful, yet terrifying, and I shrink back.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I say. Gods, I sound so pitiful. Where’s that girl from Ranook who fought off Fredrick and his soldiers, dammit?
Raiden lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners again. “This is an ashari. It is what we use for bloodletting. It’s sharp but doesn’t penetrate too deeply. You’ll barely feel it. Actually, most thralls rather enjoy it.”
Enjoy being cut? I highly doubt that. And why exactly do I have to be practically naked for this? I don’t get the chance to respond before a sharp pain pierces my forearm.
Fuck. He stabbed me. Blood beads atop the puncture. Raiden wraps his lips around it and draws it into his mouth. At first, it just feels like some weird male sucking on my arm. Then, something changes.
Warmth begins to pool in my belly, then it expands up my ribcage and down my thighs. My nipples peak and my breasts grow heavy. Arousal floods between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together, rubbing them back and forth and moaning as tiny explosions go off in my sex.
What’s happening to me? I’m panting and sweaty and I want… I need…
“Please stop,” my mind screams, but my lips only let out a groan. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s overwhelming. I’m dripping with arousal, and gods, I need to be touched. I would do anything, anything to feel his fingers inside of me. The word “please” falls from my lips, and I clamp my mouth shut before I beg this stranger to de-virginize me right here on his ugly chaise. I’m completely out of control, this need overtaking any rational thought. I drag my free hand up my ribs, first just brushing the underside of my breasts, then cupping and squeezing, but it isn’t enough. I pinch the hard bud of one nipple and a bolt of electricity shoots through my midsection and straight to my clit. Yes, my body screams, even as my mind reels from humiliation. I continue pinching and tugging and rolling my poor abused nipple, but it isn’t enough. Gods, when will it be enough?
Raiden watches me suffer, his eyes dancing as he drains me dry. He takes a hard pull, and another shot of electricity has me arching my back and sliding my hand down my belly, but I manage to stop myself just short of pushing it between my legs. I bite my lip against the moans threatening to spill out of me. I’m spiraling higher and higher, my core growing tighter and tighter, and right at the point when I think I can’t take it a moment longer, I shatter.
Pleasure bordering on pain explodes in my sex and spreads in waves through my belly, chest and extremities. My body convulses as each wave crashes through me over and over. I’m screaming, tears streaming down my face, and still Raiden’s stuck to my arm like a leech. Finally, the sensations begin to dim, explosions turning to aftershocks turning to tingling. Raiden releases my arm and drags a hand across his mouth, wiping up a bead of blood clinging to his lower lip. I’m completely wrung out, my eyelids drooping as exhaustion attempts to pull me under. A wide grin spreads across Raiden’s face. Bits of blood pool in the recess of his teeth, giving him the look of something sinister and otherworldly.
“Yes,” he says. “You will do nicely.”
I thought, after that humiliating experience, I’d be taken back to the slave camp.
I thought wrong.
I should have known something was up when Raiden joined me on the boat instead of having his guards handle it on their own. We paddle through the center of town, and when we pass the mines, my heart sinks. I never thought I’d look at hard labor as comforting, but at least I knew what to expect. It’s the unknown that frightens me the most.
We pull up to a dock set in front of a massive monolith hovering approximately ten meters above the river, with offshoots of stone connecting it to the cavern walls on either side. It’s like an inverted mountain made up of what must be thousands of long stalactites merged together—their surfaces sleek and bulbous as though liquid stone had been collecting there over thousands of years—and culminating into an underside reminiscent of a porcupine’s back. Looking at this behemoth, I can believe King Khalmos’ tale of how the fae came to these caverns because this is something that could only have been created by the hands of a god.
We climb a set of stairs carved into the cavern wall, then cross the stony arm, which is surprisingly flat and wide up close. There we stop at three sets of double doors, each etched with the ümbros insignia. Raiden opens the door and motions me into a giant arena cut directly out of the stone, with levels upon levels of seating rising so high, I feel nauseous just looking up at them. Raiden rushes off to do who-knows-what, leaving me with a baby-faced soldier who I think may be purposefully lowering his voice to sound tough, when he says, “Come with me.” He escorts me up a flight of stairs to a walled off area in the stands, overlooking an oblong floor covered with sand. There, I’m left with four other girls dressed in the same barely-there slips of fabric, and looking, for all intents and purposes, like they’re going to a funeral. One of them I recognize as the woman the guard raped last night. She’s quiet, docile even, her head bowed, hands clasped at the waist, but her amber-brown eyes burn. At least they haven’t broken her.
The women stand shoulder to shoulder facing the entrance, and with no instructions to go by, I follow their lead and move to stand at the end of the row beside the amber-brown-eyed girl. A few minutes pass, but nobody comes to collect us. I glance down the line of women. None of them have so much as budged, so figuring they know something I don’t, I remain still.
A few more minutes pass. Fae—males, females and children—are now beginning to fill the seats. More time passes, and directly across the arena from where we stand, King Khalmos enters his own personal box section—nearly twice the size of this one—and sits his pampered butt on a big cushy chair. Still, we wait. I’m getting stiff from standing in the same position for so long, so I surreptitiously wiggle my fingers and toes, bounce on the balls of my feet and stretch my neck from side to side. Morgana, take me, how much longer are we going to have to stand like this? Are they testing us, or have they simply forgotten we exist? I want to ask the girl standing beside me, but her eyes are glued to her feet, and I certainly don’t want to do anything that’ll get her, or myself, in trouble. But I’m seriously starting to get anxious now. More time passes and finally, I’ve had enough. I move to step forward but am stopped by a hand clamping down on my wrist. The brown-eyed girl shakes her head, the movement almost imperceptible, and lets go. She’s helping me. I don’t know that I deserve her help after the nothing I did for her last night, but I’d be a fool to ignore it. I quickly resume my position just as Raiden steps into the box.
It was a test, and I almost failed. Idiot.
Following behind him are five males similarly dressed in colorful silks that remind me of pajamas, their long nails lacquered to a high shine and that same metal cylinder with a pointed end—the ashari—decorating their index fingers. The five of us are not introduced to the new arrivals. We aren’t even given leave to move or speak. Raiden gestures for the males to cluster in front of us while he proceeds to walk down the line of females, listing our attributes and inspecting us like livestock.
“This human, as you can see,” Raiden says, gesturing to the first woman in line—a brunette with dead brown eyes, “has highly symmetrical features. Turn around,” he says to the girl, and she obeys. “Her skin is flawless, and her hair is a rich golden brown.” He moves on to the next woman in line, leaving the brunette with her back to the males, then the next. When he reaches the brown-eyed woman standing beside me, his tone changes. His pitch goes a tiny bit higher, and his words come fast, as though he’s excited. “Ah, this one is a rare gift indeed. This beautiful deep brown covers every inch of her body besides her teeth and the whites of her eyes, and don’t let those rounded ears fool you, she’s half-fae.”
The males murmur in appreciation, and I just want to slap each and every one of them. It’s disgusting. I feel like screaming, “She’s a person, not a pig.” Not that it would help. In fact, I’m fairly certain a move like that would end very badly for me, but my blood is boiling at the arrogance of these people. Who do they think they are to treat others this way? You’d think, given their history, they’d be more sympathetic to the plight of the powerless. Instead, they reduce us to chattel.
“And I’ve saved the best for last,” Raiden says as he moves toward me, his hand extended like a salesman presenting his prized product. “Not only is this one fae.” Half fae, but I’m not going to correct him. “She is half magi witch.”
Now the males are really getting excited. There’s more murmuring and nodding, along with salacious smiles that make my skin crawl. Raiden directs us to stand against the back wall and the males all crowd around him before we’ve even had a chance to move. I can’t get a handle on what they’re saying, but the frenzied look in their eyes is discomfiting, to say the least. My head’s beginning to hurt, and I realize it’s because I’ve been clenching my teeth so hard this entire time. I make a point of relaxing my jaw and wiggling it back and forth. It doesn’t help in the least.
Thinking this is my chance, I lean toward the brown-eyed beauty. “Thank you,” I say .
The corner of her lip quirks. “You don’t need to thank me. We have to watch out for each other to survive. I’m Leina, by the way.”
“Katya.”
“I know.”
Oh. right. I guess it makes sense she’d know who I am after Aemon and I made such a scene the other day.
The males are still talking animatedly, passing gold coins back and forth, and paying zero attention to us, so I chance another question.
“Why are they so interested in our bloodlines?”
She rolls her eyes, and I can’t tell whether it’s in response to my question or simply an act to preface what she’s about to say. “It’s a bunch of nonsense.” Definitely not the question. “They believe things like youth, beauty, magical bloodlines and what-not makes a person’s blood more potent. They also prefer females, though I can’t say why.”
So, now I’m a valuable commodity. Every girl’s childhood dream.
“I can’t look,” says the brunette at the other end of the line. She’s turned her head away from the arena floor, where two lines of people enter from arched tunnels on opposite sides. They’re mostly blood fae, judging by all the white hair on display, but some humans and surface fae as well.
“Just breathe,” says the woman standing next to her. “Close your eyes if you have to.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Leina, noting the way her lips have pressed into a thin white line, and her eyes pointedly avoid looking at what’s happening on the arena floor.
“An execution. ”
I examine the people walking out onto the sand. They aren’t simply walking in a line, their wrists are cuffed to long poles. I do a quick head count. There have to be twenty people down there. “All of them?” I say, a little too loudly. Leina sucks in a breath, and I quickly check Raiden to see if he heard me. Fortunately, he’s too entrenched in a discussion he’s having with a male in green pajamas to notice.
“All of them?” I ask again, softly this time.
She nods.
I let out a long breath. “Gods.”
It would be easy to call these people monsters, and maybe some of them are, but I have a feeling this is less about depravity and more about political strategy. It makes sense in a twisted sort of way. You entertain the masses, while simultaneously reminding them of what will happen if they step out of line.
Black-clad guards flank the prisoners as they cross to the center of the arena. Then, one by one, the prisoners are released from the poles and led to points along on the surrounding wall—like numbers on a clock—where they’re shackled to dangling metal rings. All of a sudden, my mind starts going through the possible horrific scenarios: disembowelment, setting on fire, whipping to death, limbs amputated. My stomach churns with disgust. I don’t want to see this. Why would anyone want to see this? At the same time, I can’t look away.
A pudgy male in red walks into the arena to shouts ranging from “Move it along fat ass” to “We love you, Bene.” Bene stops in the middle of the ring and waits for the crowd to quiet, his expression oddly serene given the current situation. “Fellow ümbrians,” he says, arms spread wide, “we gather here to enact justice on those who would have the good and law-abiding people of this great city live in fear. Our benevolent King Khalmos…” The crowd cheers as he gestures to the box where Khalmos is watching the display from his stand-in throne, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, chin resting in his palm. The king oozes boredom. Not regret or excitement even, but complete and utter indifference. How could someone be so cold and unfeeling? He’s having these people killed. That’s supposed to affect a person, dammit.
I’m so distracted by my own outrage, I don’t realize the announcer started talking again until he’s waddling back into the tunnel and shutting the gate behind him.
What now?
I don’t have to wait long to find out. Somewhere, a gong clangs, alerting the crowd to quiet down and pay attention. All the gates except the one Bene, the announcer, just exited through open and out of each steps a creature of nightmares.
That’s when the prisoners begin to scream.