13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alena stumbled over a rock, and the iron chains tied to the cart yanked her sore wrists.
One of the slavers shoved her forward. “Keep moving.”
He was a tall brute with scars criss-crossing his arms and legs. His knee-length tunic was streaked with dirt and blood, and the hem was fraying. A sword hung from his belt on one side and a whip on the other. He’d been the one to escort Alena back to the slavers’ camp while the warrior who’d bested Katell had carried her over his shoulder.
Her sister’s body jostled back and forth in the cart among amphorae and clay vessels propped against the wooden planks. The right side of her face was bruised a dark purple. When she finally woke up with a groan, she was quick to recover and pull at the ropes tied around her hands.
The slaver chuckled. “Don’t waste your strength, pretty girl. Kurush can dampen magic. Your strength is useless here. And the moment you try anything, Orthrus will be on you at once.”
He jerked his head at the two-headed black beast prowling beside the cart and laughed some more. Other slavers joined in.
Alena strained her neck to catch Katell’s eye and gave her a reassuring nod.
“Time to go join her, pretty girl.” Two slavers grabbed Katell’s arms and pulled her down from the cart. “You’ll fit right in.”
The scarred man shoved her in the line of prisoners behind Alena and attached her hands to the iron chain hooked to the cart. He checked her wrists were securely fastened then walked away. Katell glared daggers at his back.
Alena waited until he was out of earshot before turning around. “Kat! Are you all right? Your face looks terrible. Does it hurt?”
“I’ll be fine.” Dipping her head, Katell strained to raise her chained hands to her bruised temple and winced. “Where are they taking us?”
“I don’t know,” Alena whispered. “They’re dressed like Achaeans and speak Koine, but the bearded man looks Parthian. He’s the one they called ‘Kurush’.”
Katell nodded. “A lot of the prisoners look Parthian too. The slavers must be working together to bring slaves from the east to Achaea.”
Alena bit her lip. “Not Achaea. We’re heading west, not south.”
Her sister cursed under her breath, and Alena couldn’t help but share her concern. Heading west brought them closer to the Rasennan Empire and a slave market, or worse.
Where would the slavers’ caravan take them exactly? Dozens of men, women, and even children walked in chains behind wooden carts filled with goods and pulled by aurochs with elongated sharp horns.
Alena blinked at the huge beasts harnessed two by two to the wagons. They could gore a man or even a horse, and were too dangerous to be used as draft animals. It couldn’t be done. Not without magic.
Behind her, closed wagons similar to cages and fitted with iron-shod wheels followed the prisoners. Alena had yet to catch a glimpse of the cargo inside.
The slavers travelled alongside the prisoners, some on foot and some on horseback, but all of them were armed with swords, daggers, and even whips. The hound’s master with the beaded hair, the Parthian, and the Gifted blond warrior all rode up front while the monstrous two-headed black hound circled the lines of slaves, snapping its teeth at any who fell behind.
Among the crowd, a male prisoner towered above the others, his broad frame wrapped in a dark blue cloak. The aloof expression he wore among a sea of subdued slaves caught Alena’s attention. When she turned to face him, her breath hitched in her throat. Sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline greeted her beneath unruly black hair that gleamed in the sunlight with an intense sheen, like a raven’s sleek plumage.
A wagon passed between them, and when Alena glanced again, the prisoner’s dark gaze bore into hers. A tingle spread through her, and she found herself unable to look away from the intensity of his stare.
Heat flared up her neck. By the Moon, he was handsome.
“Alena, where’s your satchel?” Katell’s voice jolted her. “Where’s my sword?”
Alena quickly averted her gaze. “They took all our supplies. They’re on the wagon behind us, and one of the slavers took your sword.”
If Katell noticed her flushed cheeks, she didn’t say anything. “Did they find the necklace?”
“Not yet. They barely glanced inside the bags and only saw the leftover food.”
“Good.”
Ahead, the trees gave way to grassy hilltops and rocky outcrops without a lick of shade. It was going to be a harsh journey if the slavers intended for them to walk under the sun’s heat all day.
They needed an escape plan. And soon. No doubt Katell was already thinking of one.
Alena risked a peek over her shoulder. “How’s your strength?”
Her sister held out her bound hands, opening and closing her fists. No matter how much she pulled on the chains, they didn’t budge. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “During the fight, my strength disappeared. That Parthian—Kurush—he took away my magic somehow. I can’t feel it anymore.”
“Maybe it will come back with rest.” It was a feeble hope, but they had nothing else. Without Katell’s strength, there was little chance of escape.
Her sister remained silent behind her.
A slaver rounded on them and shoved Alena forward. “Keep moving!”
She gritted her teeth but marched on, one foot after the other.
The slaver named Titus pushed Alena down, forcing all the prisoners to sit in a line on the muddy forest floor. He sneered at Katell, his nose still grossly swollen from their fight.
After an afternoon through grassy terrain under the baking sun, the slaver’s caravan had reached the shelter of woodlands. Kurush had ordered the carts and wagons be placed in a tight circle around the prisoners. Small animals were roasted over an open fire for the slavers while measly scraps of food were distributed among the hungry prisoners.
Alena caught a hard roll of bread thrown her way, its sharp edges biting into her skin. Katell broke hers into small pieces between her hands and chewed on them. Alena struggled with hers, and Katell reached over to help her. Titus chose that moment to tug at their chains, and the roll fell into the mud.
The slavers roared with laughter, and Katell shot them a dark look. “As soon as my magic returns, I’m going to take great pleasure in stabbing those sons of—”
“Kat, lower your voice.” Alena picked up the bread and wiped off the mud using her tunic. The slavers had already taken her sister’s Gifts away and knocked her unconscious. Who knew what else they would do to her? None of them had a shred of kindness in their bones. “Let’s just bide our time. While you were sleeping, I overheard one of the slavers say we still had over a full moon to travel.”
“I don’t trust anything they say.” Katell chewed on her bread while the smell of roasted meat wafted through the air. The three masters sat around a campfire, sharing cooked rabbit and wine. “It’s those three on horseback that are making all the decisions.”
The two-headed beast lay beside its master, its heads resting on its paws as the three men talked amongst themselves. The Gifted warrior, whose hardened face was no longer hidden behind a helmet, bellowed orders to the slavers. They paid no mind to the lines of famished slaves around them, nor the children’s cries or women’s laments.
And certainly not to the nasal sounds that came from the caged wagons.
“I don’t recognise any animal that makes that sound,” Alena whispered. “I noticed the other prisoners avoided the cages. Some mothers told their young to stay away from them, and the slavers never get too close.”
An older woman with sleek grey hair sitting beside Katell jerked on the chains to catch their attention. She passed a wooden cup half filled with water.
The slavers had provided a single cup for the entire line of prisoners—almost a dozen men and women.
Careful not to spill a drop, her sister passed it straight to her.
Alena gawked at the measly amount of water inside the cup. “By the Moon, we need more.”
Beside them, a young child with sunken cheeks lifted his cup to Titus, begging for more. The man promptly backhanded him, knocking the cup out of his hand, and the child fell to the side, his arms yanked back by the chains. The other slavers chuckled. Although the boy’s eyes brimmed with tears, he didn’t make a sound.
A torrent of outrage surged through Alena’s veins, drowning out all other emotions. Before Katell could stop her, she sprang up from her seat. “We need more water!”
Her strong voice resonated throughout the camp. All the prisoners fell silent at once. Even the three leaders paused their conversation and turned to her.
Her cheeks heated, but she refused to look away, meeting their stares head-on. They had a duty to the dozens of men and women they’d enslaved. Without more water, none of them would reach their destination, and the caravan would have no ‘goods’ to sell.
“Alena!” Katell hissed, pulling on the chain that linked them.
Alena ignored her, staring straight at Kurush instead. “We won’t make it another day if you don’t give us more water—none of us will.”
“Alena, don’t.”
Red-faced and nostrils flared, Titus grabbed her by the tunic. “Shut your mouth, slave!”
He shoved her forward, and a cry escaped her lips as her knees hit the ground hard. The scarred slaver stalked towards them, pulling the whip from his belt. The leather lash tumbled from his hand.
Katell shot to her feet, tugging at her chains. “Don’t touch her!”
Titus charged at Katell, kneeing her in the stomach, and she stumbled, wheezing. Her wide eyes fixed on Alena. “No!”
The slaver raised the whip.
Ears ringing, Alena was still on her knees, unable to breathe, to speak, to think. On instinct, she shielded her face as best she could, but the sting of the whip never came.
“I’ve told you more than once, Scorilo,” a deep voice hissed. “Each slave gets two cups of water a day.”
Alena opened her eyes to find Kurush holding the slaver’s arm, his bearded jaw set in a hard line. His voice was soft yet filled with an unmistakable threat. “How many times must I remind you of your duty? Next time, I’ll send Orthrus as my messenger.”
His words carried through the camp. The scarred slaver, Scorilo, turned a deep shade of red.
“There’ll be no whipping today. Redhead girls are worth a high price, but not if they’re scarred. The journey ahead is trying, and we need enough merchandise to survive it if we are to make a profit. Or would you rather not get paid?”
Scorilo snatched back his arm and rolled up the whip, attaching it to his belt without a word.
The Parthian man narrowed his eyes. “Two cups of water a day, each. I won’t repeat myself. And make sure the Non-Humans are fed and given water too. If any of them die, it’ll be on your head.” He gave Alena a brief glance before striding away.
Scorilo walked back to the cart of supplies in a huff, and Titus followed suit.
Heart pounding, Alena pivoted towards Katell, still bent over in the mud.
“Kat! I’m so sorry—”
“Sit down, and don’t say another word.”
She fell silent, and Katell sat back down with a hiss, her dark hair falling out of its braid and into her bruised face. The slavers returned with more water for everyone, and the camp soon came back to life. Whispers filled the air as men and women grasped for the cups.
Scorilo towered over Alena, a sharp glint in his eye. “It’s your lucky day, sweet girl. Drink up.” He spat in the cup before handing it to her.
Concealing her emotions, she accepted it in silence, and he left with a grunt.
Katell held out her clean cup. “Let’s swap. With my healing magic, it doesn’t matter what they put in the water.”
Alena shook her head. “Your face hasn’t healed at all since yesterday. That man, Kurush, countered all your magic, not just your strength.” She poked at the cloud of spit in her cup. “It’s fine. I don’t care what they do to my water.”
“But I do. Come on, pass me your cup.”
It was clear by Katell’s tone that she wouldn’t let it go. She took their father’s words about family to heart and had always protected her, ever since they were little. Although Alena was grateful, her sister’s protective nature could be overwhelming at times.
She gave Katell the cup, and her sister gulped the foul water without a word.
“That was incredibly foolish.” Katell raised her chained hands, trying to fix her braid to no avail. From afar, Scorilo watched them with narrowed eyes. “By the Moon, you could have been whipped! Next time, keep your mouth shut.”
Staying quiet and keeping her head down made sense, yet deep within her gut, Alena didn’t regret speaking up. “Everyone has more water to drink thanks to me. If opening my mouth saved some of these people’s lives, then getting whipped is a price I’m willing to pay.”
Katell’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I won’t let that happen. I promised Damocles I’d take care of you. Always. What would our ancestors say if you got whipped within a few days of being captured? I won’t let any harm come to you, little star. So next time, keep your mouth shut, and let me speak instead.”
“I’m not useless.” Alena glanced down at the cup in her hands, unable to meet her sister’s gaze.
“I never said you were.”
Katell might not have said it, but without a doubt, Alena had a feeling she thought it.
They sat in silence and the camp grew quiet, the prisoners settling down for the night. The starry sky stretched above them, and a breeze picked up, rustling the leaves and cooling their sweaty skin.
Alena turned her head, sheltering her eyes from the wind. The cloaked prisoner from before sat close by, leaning against a tree trunk, one arm propped on his knee.
His hood was pulled down, revealing the perfect planes of his face. Up close, he seemed younger than she’d expected, perhaps similar to Katell’s age. Once again, his nonchalant demeanour stuck out among the crowd of prisoners, as if his capture were a mere inconvenience. His face was pale in the moonlight, all sharp lines with tousled black hair. The few rebel strands falling into his eyes only added to his striking appearance.
He looked more like a warrior than a slave.
Surprisingly, once the slavers had retreated, he shifted closer to the sisters, as far as his chains allowed. “That was a brave move, but it could have ended in tragedy.”
He spoke Koine with a lilt of the tongue that reminded Alena of her father. His eyes, dark and deep like polished obsidian, slid to Katell. “The slavers said you were Gifted.”
Katell tensed. “What do you care?”
“It’s not often you meet Gifted female warriors.” He spoke in a cool and collected manner. “Especially from Achaea.”
“We’re not Achaean, but our father was,” Alena said, gauging his reaction. “We were headed there before the slavers caught us.”
Katell shot her a disapproving glance for revealing too much information again, but if Alena’s instinct was correct, the dark-haired stranger was Achaean, too.
He regarded Alena with a cryptic expression, his emotions hidden. “Is that so?”
“Who are you?” she asked.
A short beat before he answered, “Leukos.”
An Achaean name.
The sisters exchanged a glance. Common courtesy demanded they offer their names after the stranger had shared his own. Or so their father had taught them.
“I’m Katell, and this is my sister, Alena. We’re daughters of Damocles.”
His demeanour shifted at their father’s name. “Strong Megarian name.”
Without warning, a slaver passed by, bellowing for everyone to stand. The other prisoners obliged, some quicker than others, and the lines were marched into the forest, disappearing into the darkness.
“What are they doing?” Katell asked.
“It’s the only chance you’ll get to relieve yourself before sleep.” Leukos drew back, his face guarded once more. “Make the most of it.”
Alena helped her sister to her feet, ignoring the pain shooting through her bruised knees and the cold breeze nipping her face and arms. The slavers didn’t want their merchandise to soil themselves throughout the trip, and she was almost thankful for their small consideration as she trailed behind the other slaves into the forest.
Her skin prickled in warning, and she turned. Scorilo, the scarred slaver, stood among the trees, watching her like a hawk.