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I want to tell her that she’s not an interchangeable part in some great machine, that no one should ever be a slave, but words like that are dangerous, especially when there are so many ears to hear. “Come, changeling.” I give a half-hearted tug on her rope.
She shoots me a grateful tip of her head and follows obediently.
The sun sits low on the horizon when we reach the market. A long line of slaves enters a small door on one side, each changeling or lesser fae being inspected closely by a couple of high fae before being sent inside.
I wind around to the left, intending to pass by all of it. But the rope goes taut in my hands, and I stop.
Beth stands behind me, her gaze on the upper reaches of the market. Her mouth is slack, and an echo of horror ripples down the thin bond.
My feral jumps to attention, my instincts attuned to every threat. “Beth, what is it?”
I follow the direction of her gaze to the top of the stadium where the flags wave in the light breeze. But then I realize what Beth sees … They aren’t flags at all. They’re bodies, each of them with a placard at its feet that says “runaway,” the word scrawled in blood. The slaves have been impaled at intervals, their clothes waving like flags, and their dead eyes dried up from the heat.
A strangled cry wrenches free from her throat, and I back up until I’ve blocked the macabre view. The rope goes slack between us.
I’m about to turn and tell her not to look when the same high fae from horseback dismounts and walks around us, his eyes on Beth. “Buying or selling?”
“Passing through.” The feral is desperate to burst free and shred the fae responsible for all of this horror.
“Nonsense. You must sell her to me. What’s your price?”
“Not for sale.”
“Every slave is for sale. Business is business.” He taps the edge of his hat and stands in front of me. “Ten gold.”
“I said no.”
“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Twenty.”
I step to him, and he has to look up just to meet my gaze. “I have another offer. In this one, I rip your worthless tongue out, pour sand down your throat, then impale you up there.” I lift my finger toward the murdered slaves, but don’t break eye contact. I want him to know I mean every word.
He steps back, the color fading from his face. “There is simply no need for such barbaric talk when discussing a business transaction.”
“Call her a business transaction again,” I growl. “One. More. Time.”
He swallows hard and slinks backward until he’s hidden by the sheer volume of slaves.
This place, these disgusting fae—they need to be wiped from the face of Arin. Something must be done. I don’t care if it means war between the realms. Slavery must end. And it must end now. If Leander knew about this, he would have called a conclave with Queen Aurentia long ago. Hearing about a slaver city is one thing. Actually being here and seeing others treated as nothing more than lowly beasts—I glance up at the bodies—and killed with impunity, is something else entirely. It cannot stand.
Another high fae darts from the crowd, his silver eyes shrewd as he grabs my attention. “Might I trouble you for a word about your slave?”
“She’s not for sale.” My hands curl into fists. I will beat this male into the sand before I go through another discussion of my mate as chattel.
“Of course not.” He glances behind me to my left, then gives me a slight bow. “My apologies.”
That was … easy.
He coughs, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “I’ll just be on my way.” With a tip of his white hat, he melds back into the crowd. Good choice.
“Come on, my beloved. Let’s keep going.” I don’t want her to spend another minute in this pit. I pull on the rope to continue our journey, but the line never goes taut. My heart falters. Whirling, I find a severed rope and a street full of faces, but none of them are Beth’s.
