41. Liath
LIATH
They’d pulled a bag over my head. The rough fabric scratched against my face every time the van hit a bump. Darkness pressed close around me while the engine droned beneath the floor.
Somewhere in the van, a girl was crying. Not loudly, just soft, broken sounds she was trying and failing to swallow. Another girl sniffed back tears. Another whispered a prayer under her breath.
They were moving us. But where?
I already knew the answer. I just didn’t want it to be true.
“Dervla?” I whispered.
For a moment there was only the sound of tires on the road. Then, from my left, came a reply. “Liath?”
Relief hit me so hard my eyes stung.
A hand found mine in the darkness and I grabbed it immediately. Dervla’s fingers tightened around mine, and neither of us let go.
The van slowed, my pulse jumping as gravel crunched beneath the tires. Then the engine died.
The crying stopped in a forced gulp. The prayers cut off. It felt like none of us even breathed in the silence that followed.
The doors opened and cold air rushed inside. Orderlies began hauling us out. I stumbled as my shoes hit uneven ground.
Wind brushed against my bare arms and branches rustled overhead. We were outside.
Then I heard stone moving, low and grinding. A second later a single minor chord echoed through the darkness, low and familiar enough to send a chill through me.
The Deirdre and Naoise fountain at Ravenwood.
This was their secret entrance.
My mother hadn’t been killed here by coincidence. She’d discovered it and had painted it into a portrait as a clue.
And she had paid with her life.
A hand shoved my shoulder. “Keep moving.”
The orderlies guided us forward and down the steps in a group, my hands gripping on to Dervla with one hand and the stone wall with the other. Through the weave of the bag, I could see the light disappearing as we were forced underground.
My stomach knotted tighter with every step down, panic threatening to choke me.
Four days ago, I had watched Lorcan kneeling in the gravel. Four days ago, I had watched the doors close between us. And I still didn’t know whether he was alive or dead.
Now I was being led into the Sons’ headquarters through the same hidden entrance where Alistair had drowned my mother, and somewhere below waited the auction.
When the bag finally came off, I blinked against the sudden light.
Torch flames flickered along stone walls and cast wavering shadows across a vaulted ceiling.
The dressing room, laid out with rows of makeup tables and colorful clothing racks, was larger than I had expected and colder than any underground space had a right to be.
Guards wearing gold masks and black suits immediately began barking instructions.
The Sons.
Every one of them.
We were ordered to strip. There were no curtains, no screens, no privacy. Just silent masked men watching.
Around me, girls obeyed with shaking hands. Fabric rustled. Shoes struck stone. No one spoke. The humiliation settled over the room like another layer of cold.
Once we were all naked, we were lined up in front of a severe-looking older woman. She assessed each girl in turn, her gaze moving over bodies with clinical efficiency before she slapped a hanger into waiting hands. The process continued down the line until she reached me.
Her eyes traveled over me, calculating and assessing.
Then she selected a hanger holding a crimson lace teddy and black stockings and thrust it into my hands. “Next.”
This was what we were being forced to wear for the auction. Nausea churned in my stomach as goosebumps raced along my arms.
I moved into the same corner that Derval had taken and I quickly changed. They’d put her into a royal blue lace two-piece with matching garters.
The crimson teddy sizing was perfect. Of course it was. They had already prepared for my arrival when they came for me. The thought made my skin crawl.
Then came makeup. Rows of mirrors had been set up along one wall, surrounded by brushes, powders, and lipsticks. Every girl was made to do her own face. Our instructions were ‘sexy but not too slutty.’ The madam moving between us, critiquing our looks as we applied our makeup.
Like merchandise being prepared for display.
Afterward, the guards lined us up and golden chains were snapped around our wrists in one long chain, metal clicking through the room one after another until every girl stood connected to the next.
Like a human fucking necklace.
The chain hung heavy between us. I tested the weight subtly, not pulling, just feeling it. Measuring it.
An idea began forming.
I waited for an opportunity.
Several guards were called away. Only two remained at the door. I guessed girls that were all chained up were less of a risk. Or that’s what they thought.
I leaned toward the others. “Girls, listen up.”
Several girls flinched. Others glanced at the guards before sliding in so we were huddled together.
“The chains.” I kept my voice low. “If we move separately, we’re just fighting each other. But if we all move at once, they’re weapons, not restraints.”
A silence came over the group.
One of the girls frowned. “What are you saying?”
“They’ll assume we won’t fight back. They’re counting on it. Which is why we all have to fight at once.”
“No.” Rua’s voice cut through the circle. “If we fight, we die.”
I nodded, even as reality twisted like a knife inside me. “Yes, some of us might get hurt if we fight back. But we’ll all be sold if we don’t.”
Several girls went pale, the implication settling heavily between us as we all looked around at each other.
Every girl here had a family, people who loved them, a life before they’d been sentenced to Magdalene. Some of them would never see those people again, their lives ending here, whether in death or in slavery, no matter what we did.
Rua glared at me. “Why do you have to be so much trouble?”
I looked at her for a long moment, taking in the exhaustion in her eyes and the fear she tried so hard to hide.
Then I answered quietly. “They only taught you to call it trouble because that’s how they control you.”
Rua’s jaw tightened. Something moved across her face. Then she tore her eyes off me and refused to look back.
We could still make it work if Rua was the only one who didn’t rebel.
I turned back to the others. “If you asked the girls who stood here before us what they wished they did, what would they say to you?”
I looked down the line, holding every set of eyes in turn. Eleven sets of eyes peered back at me.
“Maeve didn’t get to choose,” I said. There were a few gasps, a quiet sob from the girls who had obviously known her, too. “We do.”
A weighted silence spread down the line. Every girl heard the choice. Every girl understood it.
Dervla’s hand found mine and squeezed hard enough to hurt. “I’m in.”
Emotion lodged painfully behind my ribs. I squeezed back, our blood-pact scars pressing together.
I looked down the line again, waiting and hoping.
No one spoke. No one met my eyes. Heads lowered and shoulders tightened as fear won the battle on every face.
A guard stuck his head in. “They’re ready.”
Shit. I was losing them. And I’d run out of time to convince them.
The guards began moving us again, out of the dressing room in one long line, the chain rattling softly between us. I looked down the line one final time.
I didn’t know if they would stand with me when the moment came. I didn’t know if they would freeze or if they would side with Rua and do nothing at all.
All I knew was that when the chance came, I had to take it.
With them or without them.