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The house is even more flamboyant on the inside. I hate it. I hate the tapestries, the chandeliers, the fine furniture, the gilded walls. It reminds me of Granthos’s estate: too pretentious, just like its master.
Slaves hurry about, preparing the rooms for the upcoming Bazaar. From the pedestals they’re setting up, I can tell the finest slaves will be exhibited inside the house. The rest will be on display in the huge back garden I glimpse through the open windows as we pass.
Gareth keeps me under his arm as he adopts a cocky swagger. The slave ahead of us walks with a limp as do many of the others in this house. I can guess why. When I was a young changeling, Clotty told tales of masters hobbling their slaves to keep them from running. I thought she was just cautioning me to never run. But her cautionary tales were based in truth. The limping slave ahead of me, his shoulders curved forward, his head down—he is just one of many that Lord Zatran has bent and maimed.
Gareth leans over and speaks into my ear. “Calm, my beloved. I feel your rage like a cloud of hornets charging down the bond. Don’t let it show.”
He’s right. I loosen my shoulders and give my hips a bit more sway. Playing the harlot as best I can, I like to think I’m doing the role justice. Given the way Gareth can’t seem to keep his hands or eyes off me, I’m succeeding.
We continue down a long hall, the walls covered with paintings of Lord Zatran, most of them with him sitting on a golden throne. He’s painted larger and more beautiful than he already is. Some of the works are of him in bed with his harlots in various stages of sexual exploits. His member is drawn as a long, thick battering ram, his harlots’ mouths open in utter pleasure. All that tells me is he’s likely lacking between his legs and as a lover in real life.
The slave stops and turns, gesturing us into a large suite with a soaring ceiling, a golden fountain, and a bed twice the size of the one we had at Chastain’s home. A bathing room adjoins with a window open onto the wide back garden.
“If this is to your liking, I will let Master know.” The changeling slave doesn’t look up.
Lash marks snake from under his collar, and his arms are littered with more scars than I bear on my entire body.
I take a chance and grab his hand. “Silmaran sees all.”
He finally lifts his eyes, their depths a crystal blue.
“Take heart.” I squeeze his fingers, then release them. “You will be free one day.”
A spark of surprise flashes across his face as he glances quickly at Gareth, but he responds to me in a near-whisper. “Silmaran sees all. Thank you.”
He turns and shuffles down the hall.
Gareth closes the door and grabs me, lifting me up until we’re at eye-level. “That was foolish.”
“I know.” I nod.
His eyebrows bunch in the center. “Did you just agree with me?”
“Yep.” I rest my hands on his golden shoulders. “I just sort of acted without thinking. He needed it, though.”
“Needed what?”
“Hope.” I twirl a lock of his dark hair around my index finger. “And I gave him just enough.”
“If he tells his master—”
“He won’t.” I press my forehead to his.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been a slave long enough to know which ones to trust and which ones run to their master with a wagging tongue.” I pull the gauzy fabric away from my face. I’m glad to be rid of it. It tickles.
His furrows lessen a little. “I suppose you would be able to tell, yes.”
I drop my voice even lower. “This place is worse than the Spires.”
“I have to agree with you there.” He crushes me in a solid embrace. “You should have never suffered as you did.”
“Hopefully, when we’re done in this cursed city, no one else will have to.” I sigh and let myself relax in his arms. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt safe enough to let go, to give in and simply enjoy the warm touch of another.
“Your bath is prepared, my lord.”
He spins as a nude female walks from the bathing room, her lithe body covered in a fine sheen of sparkle.
Gareth looks away, his gaze on the ceiling. “Ah, well, yes, thank you.”
I don’t look away. Her lineage is likely a mix of fae and some sort of pixie, though judging by her normal height, some strong magic was at play in her creation. Even though she possesses an ethereal beauty, her arms still bear slave bands, but hers are done in gold filigree.
“Would you like me to see to your needs as you bathe or after?” She stops in front of us, her eyes downcast. “Perhaps you would like me to service your needs before?”
Gareth coughs. “My … needs?”
She opens her arms, her body on display as if she’s nothing more than a doll. “I am skilled at seduction, my lord. Any desire of your heart, I shall grant it. I am yours to command.”
“You are beautiful.” I reach out and lightly touch her silver hair.
She keeps her arms out. “My master paid a great deal for me.”
“Are you from the forestlands?”
“I come from the Blackwood.”
Gareth keeps his eyes to the side. “But that’s in the winter realm.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Were you stolen?” His heart beats faster, and I swear I can sense the anger swelling inside him. Is it the bond?
“No. I was … lured to the summer realm by a high fae male who made promises.” I didn’t think her chin could fall any lower, but it does. “Once I crossed the border, he captured me and sold me to Lord Zatran.”
“Bastard.” I want to raze this entire place to the ground and have half a mind to ask Gareth to use his magic to do just that. “Who was he?”
“I believe they call him the Catcher. But I didn’t know that then. I was so young, you see? I didn’t realize …” Her eyes mist for a moment, but she blinks it away. “W
hen he wooed me, he called himself Dartinian. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Her eyes finally lift all the way to mine, the faint purple shade of her irises confirming her pixie lineage. “Do with me what you will.”
“When I find the Catcher, I am going to rip him to pieces and piss on the parts.” I shake my head. “I take that back. I am going to have Gareth do it for me … Well, except for the pissing. I’ll be doing that.”
The faintest hint of a smile crosses her sad eyes. “I would like to see it.”
I wiggle until Gareth sets me on my feet. “You can piss on him, too. It’ll be a party.”
She glances up at Gareth who still won’t look at her despite her blinding loveliness. A wave of pride rises inside me and rolls gently to shore. This male. I shake my head. He’s too good, like a rule-following gift from the Ancestors.
In a protective move, she wraps her arms around her middle. “Forgive me for speaking of a master with such language, my lord.”
“Nothing to forgive,” he says. “Ripping him limb from limb has long been high on my priority list.”
“Oh.” Her gentle eyes round.
I can’t stop beaming at him with pride even though he’s still not looking in my direction. “Don’t be afraid. He’s with us.”
“Us?”
“Yep. Don’t worry.” I dart to the bed and pull off a small blanket lying along the foot. “Here.” I drape it around her. “We can’t talk with Gareth looking every which way but at us.” Once she’s covered, I tap his arm. “You can stop inspecting the roof beams.”
“Is she dressed?”
“Dressed enough.” I smile up at him as he meets my gaze. “Have I mentioned how much I love your sense of decorum?”
He scoffs. “No, certainly not. In fact, I’m sure you’ve cursed that very decorum many a time.”
“What can I say? I’m a complicated changeling.” I shrug and turn back to the slave. “What’s your name?”
“Raywen.”
“I’m Beth.” I hitch a thumb at Gareth. “And you know who this big guy is. We don’t need you to do any servicing, okay? But if your leaving here now gets you into trouble—” She presses her lips together. Trouble is a definite. “Then stay. Have a seat right here on the bed. We’ll go in there and bathe. Then once we’re done and enough pleasuring time has passed, you can be on your way. Just tell your master that we wore you out with all sorts of inappropriate sexual requirements. Get creative. But I promise you won’t be touched. Right, Gareth… err, I mean ‘master’?”
