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The breath goes out of me as Silmaran, her face bruised and her outfit torn, is dragged into the dining room.
13
Beth
I pick at my food as some of the most beautiful females I’ve ever seen surround me. They chat amongst themselves, some of them shooting me hard glares while others watch me with open curiosity.
“Food’s good.” I hold up the roasted leg of some sort of bird, then take a bite.
One of the slaves scowls at me, though a few giggle behind their hands.
“You know—” I lean back on the cushions, taking my food and wine with me. “If it weren’t for all the rape, this wouldn’t be a bad gig.”
“We aren’t allowed to use that word.” Raywen settles next to me.
“Gig?” I shrug. “The summer realm has weird rules.”
She smiles. “You are a clever one.”
“Some would say too clever.” I drink my wine but spill a little on myself in the process.
“Some? Like your master?”
“Sure. But he’s grown accustomed to my ways.”
“I could tell.” She gracefully puts a grape to her lips. “There’s so much more going on between you than what is shown.”
I tap the side of my nose. “Ain’t that the truth.”
She smiles again, though her eyes are still sad. “I wish I’d been a bit more clever. Perhaps I wouldn’t have fallen for Dartinian’s lies.”
“Sweet words from a handsome face can trick anyone.” I hate to admit the Catcher is handsome. But he is. Ugly as the Spires on the inside, but a pleasing countenance. That, somehow, makes it worse. “Stop chastising yourself.”
She sighs and scoots closer. “I will never stop regretting the choices that led me here.”
“Want to know a secret?” I whisper.
“Of course. The harem runs on secrets. I could sell yours for quite a high price.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Well, when you put it like that …”
Her bright eyes turn serious. “I swear I will not break your confidence. May the magic seal it.”
A flash of blue echoes between us and fades. “You, um, you just went all out.” My brows hit my hairline.
Her cheeks color a perfect peach. “Apologies. I thought my little joke about selling secrets would be funny.”
“It was.” I pat her hand. “But I’m only good at creating dark humor, not interpreting it from others.”
“Oh.” She cants her head to the side. “I see.”
“Okay, enough about me. Here’s the secret.”
“Yes?” She rests on her elbow on the pillow next to me.
“Silmaran is coming.”
She glances around and leans even closer. “Here?”
“Yes.” I take another gulp of wine.
“When?” The edge of excitement in her tone lifts my heart.
“I don’t want to say, but rest assured, the fight for freedom is here.”
“I can’t believe it.” She gazes past me, her eyes fixing on nothing in particular. “I’ve waited for this moment, the chance to escape. I even considered ending it all just to make it stop.”
“Me too.” I’m not a fraction as beautiful as Raywen, but I still see myself in her. “It’s okay. When things are bleak, it makes sense.”
“Bleak. That’s a good word for this.” She waves her hand at the extravagant harem, then turns back to me. “Will there be fighting?”
“Definitely. But the slaves will rise and overwhelm the masters.”
“We will?”
“Sil has promised that the slaves will come when she calls.”
Her sparkle dims just a bit, and she stares at the distant point once again. “I’d like to think we all would fight. But most are scared, some broken, and a few warped so badly that they want to serve the masters. How can she be sure they will fight?”
I chew over her question. I assumed that all would want their freedom, even the slaves that paid lip service to the masters. But Raywen makes a good point. And the slaves here are different. Worse off than most in Byrn Varyndr, and some of them have been maimed and tortured into ultimate submission. Will they rise?
The harem door bursts open, and one of the slaves rushes inside, her face pale.
I sit up, the wine and food forgotten.
“They have her.” She collapses on one of the feathery pillows, tears already flowing down her painted face. “They have her.”
“Who?” I wipe the remnants of my dinner off with the back of my hand as dark foreboding streaks through me.
Raywen puts one hand to her mouth as some of the others begin to cry. “Silmaran.”
The bedroom door finally opens, and Gareth strides in.
I rush to him. “What happened? How did she get caught? Is she all right? What are we going to do?”
He puts his hands on my shoulders. “We aren’t going to do anything right now.”
“Why not?” I can’t stand still. Ducking under his arm, I walk away, then back to him. “We have to free her. We have to—”
“We can’t.” He steps in front of me, stopping my motion.
“We sure as the Spires can.” I
run a hand through my hair and yank on the ends. “You can bring this place down. I’ll rally the slaves and get them out of here before you go all ‘master of magical destruction’ on the place. We can’t just sit on our hands while Zatran does only the Ancestors know what to Silmaran. She deserves better than this.”
“This is what she wanted.” He says it so softly I almost miss it.
But I don’t.
And my mind quiets as I retrace the steps that led us to this desolate place.
Chastain’s fist in the wall at his home. The argument he was having with Gareth. The uncharacteristic emotion in Silmaran’s eyes when she parted from Chastain.
The pieces click into place and create a heart-wrenching image. “She planned this, didn’t she?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“And you knew?” I press a hand to my chest over my heart, but it doesn’t quell the ache. “You let her do this? And you didn’t tell me?”
“It was her choice to make. As much as I didn’t agree with it, I had to let her make it. And she begged me not to tell you.” Sadness colors his words in dark tones.
“Why?” My eyes don’t water. They’re already overflowing, the droplets running down my cheeks and dripping from my chin.
“Because she knew you’d try to stop her.” He says it as if that answer is obvious. As if I should know that I can’t be controlled, can’t be reasoned with when it comes to the people I love. And maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Why would she do this?” I stagger back, but Gareth grabs my arms and softly sits me on the bed.
