Page 253 of Blade of the Nightking

Arms shot into the air, clutching ivory tokens of different shapes and sizes. Each gesture prompted another cry from the man on the platform, louder than the last, until the square dissolved into a blur of competing voices and raised bids.

The male pointed into the crowd and a ripple of applause broke out as an older Fae stepped forward.

The faerie lowered her head as he climbed the platform and produced a small leather pouch. The auctioneer accepted it, then unclasped the chain from the post behind her and placed it in the male's hand.

The Fae gave it a single, brisk tug. Without protest, she stepped down and followed him into the crowd.

“Pelaga has the finest skin market in all of Elantis.” Thalassis watched me with quiet amusement.

“Skin market?” My gaze searched the square for the young female, but she'd already disappeared. Another faerie climbed onto the platform in her place. Without ceremony, the auctioneer fastened the bronze collar at his throat to the ring set into the post behind him.

“Slaves, Elowen.”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

His brow furrowed. “What did you think the collars were?”

“I thought…” I looked back at the platform, struggling to reconcile what I was seeing. “I thought they were servants.”

He barked out a laugh, slapping a hand against his knee. “I suppose, in a manner of speaking, they are.”

The male upon the platform stood perfectly still, his expression vacant, as though whatever spark had once lived behind his eyes had long since been extinguished.

“Many of the Courts rely upon slaves,” Thalassis continued easily. “They maintain nearly every aspect of society, particularly here in the Tidelands. They staff our households, tend our farms, harvest the reefs, repair our roads, maintain the barrier, and perform the labor High Fae are neither suited nor inclined to do.”

“They're... faerie?” Lesser species of Fae.

“Of course.”

The auctioneer unclasped the male's chain from the post and handed it to the Fae who’d won him.

Another figure immediately took his place. A wispy female climbed onto the platform, a scrawny boy no older than six shadowing her every step. The auctioneer secured both collars to the same ring.

“Ah.” Thalassis leaned forward with open appreciation. “This pair will fetch a fine price.”

My eyes flew to him. “That's a child!”

He smiled at me with indulgent affection, as though I were the one being unreasonable. “You have such a delightfully soft heart. Don't worry, Elowen. Families are sold together. Children aren't separated from their parents.” He chuckled softly. “I'm not a monster, you know.”

My hand tightened around the fan.

“If you find Pelaga harsh, never visit the Stonelands,” Thalassis said, reclining against the cushions. “Their slaves are worked to death in the mines. And they're not merely faerie, who are hardy enough to survive such labor. They sell humans there as well.”

The mother didn't reach for her son, but they stood so close together they might as well have been touching. Around them, the bidding grew increasingly frantic, voices rising over one another as hands shot into the air. The female closed her eyes for the briefest moment, her exhaustion plain to see. Beside her, the boy's webbed fingers reach for the threadbare fabric of her skirts before curling into a shaking fist.

Revulsion settled heavily in my chest.

People were buying other people. And no one around us seemed to think there was anything wrong with it.

“The Flamelands don't keep slaves,” I bit out, unable to tear my eyes away as the auctioneer unclasped the pair's chains from the post and placed them into the waiting hand of a tall, radiant female. Applause erupted throughout the square as she led them away.

Thalassis gave an amused snort. “You've seen Dheren, have you not?”

A knot tightened in my stomach. I remembered the endless darkness beneath the mountains, the Vein roaring through the depths like a river of molten fire, and the vacant-eyed soldiers with swirls of raised runes etched across their faces.

“The Court of Flames enjoys presenting itself as civilized.” His gaze drifted back toward the square. “Yet every faerie born there is conscripted into military service. Vein-tempered beads are driven beneath their skin, and with them, obedience. A command is given, and they have no choice but to obey it. Their bodies are no longer entirely their own.” He looked at me. “Wouldn't you call that slavery?”

I had no answer.