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“Don’t worry.” She slows her pace to trail behind me as wagons and other travelers line up to enter the city. “This is the safest way. If one of these slavers saw me running loose, they’d snap me up.”
The road becomes crowded, too many wagons converging on the northernmost gate to Cranthum. Murmurs about the biggest auction of the year reach my ears.
“I know, but I don’t like treating you this way.” I refuse to pull her roughly like the other masters around us who frequently shout and threaten their slaves. “It’s wrong.”
“It’s wrong, but look around, Gareth.”
I do. I see hundreds of slaves, some walking, some packed tightly into wagons. All of them with their eyes downcast, their spirits broken. Changelings and lesser fae herded like common beasts. My gut roils at the injustice of it all. And the dishonorable high fae who crack the whips and yank their slaves along by chains or thick ropes? I want to strike them down and let their blood bake on the sand.
“Play your part. Be your usual gruff self, and we’ll get through just fine.” She lowers her gaze and shuffles along. “Act your age, wizened one,” she adds.
“I never should have told you my age.”
“What’s a few thousand years between friends?” She shrugs.
The crack of a whip catches her attention, and an elderly changeling falls to his knees before his master yanks him up and pushes him forward, the red stripe on his back adding to the lattice work of scars.
“Bastard,” she says under her breath.
I want to pick her up, to cradle her against me and protect her from the harshness of Arin. But she’s already been through so much. The marks on her body are only a hint of what she’s had to endure. And the slaves around us? They have similar stories, and some are perhaps even worse. How can the summer realm allow this to continue? Why doesn’t Queen Aurentia act?
The sun heats the stolen shirt on my back, the scent of horse and sweat heavy on the material. Beth finally came through on her thieving promises, but I kept a close watch on her and only allowed her to take easily grabbable items from the back of the last wagon. So, we wound up with some dirty clothes, a length of rope, a bent fork, and a moldy hunk of bread.
A slaver walks close by, his high fae features somewhat hidden by a wide-brimmed hat, but his silver eyes are still visible. He stares a little too long at Beth.
I pull at her rope. “Faster, slave.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says under her breath.
“Intending to sell at the auction, friend?” The slaver smiles in greeting.
I want to remove his teeth with a solid punch, but instead I nod. “Won’t get much for her.”
He gives her an appraising look that has me itching to shove the bent fork in his eye. “Skinny, dirty, but young enough to work. You’ll get a bit of gold for her.”
“I’ll clean her up first. Should go for more that way.” The words are like salt in a wound.
“Could be.” He shrugs. “But they aren’t traded for their beauty down here. It depends on how hard and long she can work. You must be new to the slave game, eh?”
I give him a hard look.
“I mean no offense. It’s just that we don’t see winter realm fae down this way very often, especially given your king’s lax rules on the mortals and the lessers.” He yanks the chain wrapped around his wrist, and the line of a dozen slaves behind him stumble against each other. The very last one, a small girl with broken antlers, falls with a cry. Beth moves toward her, but the woman ahead of the girl helps her to her feet and dusts her off.
“I expect a nice sum for this lot.” He shrugs.
“Where did you find them?”
“Some were cast off from Byrn Varyndr. The others were part of a settlement on the edges of the western farmlands.” He leans over conspiratorially. “We have to break up that sort of thing, you realize. Can’t have them claiming high fae land for themselves.”
“Of course.” I smile, but only because I’m imagining how he’d look disemboweled.
He grins back. “If you’d like any auction pointers—”
Someone up ahead whistles, and he turns. “Looks like my partner got us passage through the gate. Nice chatting with you.” He shoots Beth one more glance, then quickens his pace, yanking his line of slaves behind him.
When the small girl passes, Beth leans over and hands her the skin with the last of our water.
The girl takes it, surprise lighting her brown eyes, but then she’s pulled along with the others and lost in the crowd.
I look back at Beth, the pain in her face like a blade through my heart. “Beth—”
“No.” She shakes her head and looks at the ground again. “Don’t. Just keep going.”
My desire to comfort her wars with the need to keep up the charade. Ultimately, her safety comes first, so I turn and pull her along until we reach the gates.
By the time the guards let us through, the sun is high and the populace a mass of sweaty, dusty faces. Food sellers and others offering their wares line the side of the main road, their voices calling over the crowd. The scent of roast meat hits me, and I can imagine that Beth’s stomach is rumbling right along with my own. But we need money to buy food.
Cranthum is a city of low buildings, each one the same color as the baked sand outside the walls. The roofs are often made of canopy, enough to keep the sun out but let the desert breeze in. Designed on a grid, the streets stretch straight out from the gate. Far ahead, a great circular stadium rises from the ground. The only curved structure in the city, it stands above every other building with flags flying above it at intervals. The slave market.
The multitude thins out as some travelers shop along the side streets, enter the taverns, or herd their slaves down the wide lane to the market.
“So many.” Beth stares at the multitude of lesser fae and changelings in chains. “I had no idea.” Heartache laces her voice.
Appearances be damned. I turn and pull her into my arms.
“Don’t,” she says, but presses her cheek to my chest.
“Shh.” I stroke her back while more than a few slaves and masters gawk at us.
“It’s worse than I ever knew.” She clears her throat. “But I have to keep it together. For Clotty.” Pushing me away, she cries, “I’m sorry, master. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“Give it to her good or she’ll disobey from here on out.” A high fae yells the unwanted advice as he passes by on horseback. “Mark my words.”
I want to rip his throat out. Instead, I trudge faster, intent on getting Beth away from this horrible town as soon as possible. We can steal some water and supplies on the way out, then figure out how to traverse the Abyss. Once we have Clotilde, I’ll form a new plan for our return trip—one that doesn’t include a stop here.
The rope goes taut, and I turn. Beth is peering down a shadowy alleyway, her body tense as she stands on her tiptoes.
“What?” I can’t see much where she’s looking. Just a few market baskets stacked on top of each other.
“I thought I saw …” She shakes her head and goes flat-footed. “Nothing.”
“Beth?”
“I thought I saw someone. A girl that Granthos sold to the mines three years ago.” She rubs her eyes. “But these are just playing tricks on me. There are so many slaves, so many faces. I suppose I see myself in a lot of them. Clotty, Emily, Silmaran, Taura—all of us are here in one form or another.” She shakes it off and keeps her voice low. “Okay, play your part. Let’s go.”
