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He pauses, perhaps weighing the wrath he might bring down upon himself. “I heard he comes from the night lands. Is that true?”
I nod a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes. He’s a warlord from the night realm. And he has a temper.” I show him my arm. “All these scars? He put them there. Whenever I displease him, he puts more. He’s not to be trifled with.”
He inspects the vampire hound marks, his too-straight nose wrinkling a bit. “He’s ruined you, indeed. But perhaps that is what makes your scent so unique.” He sniffs, his eyes closing as if he just smelled the most delicious bit of food. “Anguish and sorrow and pain—you are brimming with wild disaster.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if you take me from my master, you’ll be the one ‘brimming with wild disaster.’” I put some extra bite in my words.
He finally lets go of my arm, his movement quick and full of spite. “I’ll speak with him, changeling.”
“Right. Good choice.” I wipe my arm where he touched me.
He leans down until we’re almost pointy-nose-to-regular-nose. “But by the end of the Bazaar, you will be mine. And I can assure you that I will rather enjoy stripping you of your essence and using it to create something far more beautiful than you could ever be.”
I hope the rebels kill you first, but slowly. I somehow manage to keep that sentiment to myself as he turns on his heel and prisses away.
My shoulders slump a bit, and I wipe the fine sheen of sweat from my brow.
“Be wary,” a low, yet trilling voice says.
I turn and find the scary fish fae looking down at me. “Um, hi?”
“Keep to your master. Silmaran sees all.” Her tone is urgent, the sibilant hiss sending a shiver down my spine.
She’s in on it. Though delivered in a creepily-fanged fashion, her words almost warm me. Until I remember that Silmaran is caught. Then again, word has spread just as Silmaran intended. The slaves know she’s been taken. And if the intensity of the fish fae is any indication, they are ready to fight.
I turn to find Gareth in the growing crowd and realize I had no need to worry. Though he’s across the large room and engaged in conversation with Lord Zatran, he keeps me in his peripheral vision, glancing fully my way often. I have no idea how he kept himself from maiming Lord Longnose, but he is keeping the feral at bay.
I move toward him when a gong sounds, and Lord Zatran turns to address the assembly. “Honored guests, welcome to the Bazaar!” As his voice echoes, nude slaves file in from the sides of the room, all of them painted in silver or gold and adorned with precious jewels straight from the mines. They dance in whirling circles until all of them converge in the center of the room and lock their arms together as they stand in an outward-facing circle. Then they all bend at the waist.
Lord Zatran uses one of them as a stair, and climbs atop the slaves, his shoes marring the paint on their backs. “As you can see, we have quite the market for you this year.”
Applause rocks through the crowd of summer realm fae, their overdone outfits and painted faces garish in the daylight filtering in from above. Some of them have slaves at their sides—many of them young and beautiful, their gazes permanently fixed on the floor as their masters stroke them like favored pets.
Lord Zatran blows kisses to the audience as the applause finally dies down. “Only the best specimens from around Arin are available in this room. In the garden, we have additional slaves that are up for auction. I would say their starting bids are at a discount, since I’m a salesman after all.” He grins. The room laughs and applauds though I can’t figure out what’s funny. “But I think you’ll find they are fairly priced based on their abilities and work hardiness. And beyond the back gates you’ll find those who are more fit for the most menial of tasks—mine workers, sailors, brothel-workers.” He grins. “Also priced fairly, of course. We shan’t bother auctioning them, so I’ve had their prices written on their foreheads for ease of reference. As usual, all sales are final. If you’ve brought your own staff to inspect the goods, please have a care and don’t leave any lasting damage. A few bruises are all right, but too much blood and I’ll have to charge you a fee.”
“Seems fair,” a high fae beside me whispers to her companion.
I edge away from them, trying to slip through the crowd to Gareth.
“Soon.” A low voice in my ear has me turning. Chastain stands next to me, his eyes grim though his mouth is smiling.
I nod, then move past him.
“Though some of you may have already gotten wind of my good news, I have a big surprise for everyone.” He presses his palms together, then puts them to his lips in overdone anticipation.
“Bigger than last year?” someone calls.
“Oh, much bigger than the mermaid vivisection, though that was quite a treat.”
The crowd oohs and ahhs. Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down and continue making my way toward Gareth. Each time I look up at him, his eyes are on me. It’s comforting, as if he’s thrown out a lifeline in a rough sea. All I have to do is grab the tether and let him pull me in.
“Enough teasing.” Zatran claps and jumps down from the slaves. They disperse in neat lines and fill in the bare spots along the walls in between the pedestals.
Looking up, Zatran whistles, then steps back. The center of the hall remains clear as something above creaks, and a cage is lowered to the floor.
I know without looking who’s in it. I only hope she’s still alive, though I steel myself for her death. Zatran is utterly without mercy, and I have no delusions that Silmaran will ever leave this place while still drawing breath.
The cage is made of silver but finely decorated as if it holds a beautiful bird. Jewels sparkle along its corners and an ornate serpent fashioned from gold sits atop it.
Whispers circulate, the guests trying to figure out the surprise.
When the cage finally settles, its contents visible, my gasp is mixed in with the crowd’s, and my knees go weak.
16
Gareth
I knew it would be bad. I just didn’t know how bad. Not until that cage settled onto the tile floor. Now? Now I have to get to Beth before she collapses. All the color has drained from her face, and she can’t look away from the horror in front of her.
“Pardon.” I elbow through the gawkers.
The sound starts slowly. But then it spreads. Clapping. Before long, the room is awash in thunderous applause. I reach Beth right before she topples and help her toward the back of the room.
“Breathe.” I wrap my arm around her waist and press my lips to her ear. “She is alive. I can heal her.”
“Did you see?” Her chin shakes. “Did you see what he did?”
“I will fix it.” I stop just in front of the slaves who’d served as Zatran’s stage. Their eyes are no longer downcast. They stare at Silmaran, taking in the blood and the pain, and they begin to whisper amongst themselves.
I cup Beth’s face. “I can heal her.”
“Maybe you can heal what he did to the outside.” She stares through me, her eyes unseeing, or perhaps they’re seeing too much. “But what about the rest?”
I pull her into my embrace. “Just hold on.” Glancing around, I see the whispers are spreading, the slaves turning to each other, their voices rising.
Silmaran’s been beaten almost beyond recognition. I was a fool to think Zatran would leave her in the cage, untouched. From the looks of her, he spent quite a bit of time torturing her during the night.
“All right, all right.” Zatran’s voice booms over the applause and the whispers. “We have the traitor, the scourge of Cranthum, the killer known as Silmaran. Her trespasses are myriad, but now we will bring her to justice.”
“Kill her!” someone shouts.
“No, friend. That’s not the way.” He circles the cage. “Killing her would make a martyr. We don’t need that. What we need is an example. Grabbing the side of the cage, he vaults himself on top of it and k
