CHAPTER 1
GWEN
I standon the auction platform, dizzy from hunger and thirst, as leering male faces stare back at me. There must be a hundred men in the crowd, mostly human, though I spot a few orcs and fae. I don’t even know the name of this remote mountain village, yet I’m about to be sold to the highest bidder, like the other poor souls who have stood here before me.
It takes all my willpower to remain upright. My legs tremble, and with my wrists bound tightly behind my back, I can barely keep my balance. Sweat trickles down my temple, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me, making me wonder if the cuts on my wrists have turned foul. I’ve never felt so unwell in my life.
The auctioneer’s voice carries over the boisterous shouts and laughter of the crowd, and I flinch at the sums being offered. Six pieces of silver. Eight. Eventually, twelve.
Is that truly what my life is worth? A bag of silver?
I shudder to think what the winner intends to do with me.
Gods, please help me.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink quickly, not wanting to cry in front of the watching crowd. As the bids climb higher, my thoughts turn to my family… and to how I ended up in this mountain village.
After the Winter Court army conquered my home city of Braemar, each household was ordered to pay a tribute of ten pieces of silver to the fae. My family didn’t have enough. And so, on Tribute Day, I was taken in place of payment. Taken as a slave.
My throat tightens as I remember my mother’s mournful cry when the burly fae guards dragged me away.
I had expected to remain with the fae, among the Winter Court army, forced to labor in their war camp and perhaps even be used as a plaything by the soldiers. Instead, I was separated almost immediately. Along with two other enslaved humans, both young men, I was marched into the mountains under the watch of three fae soldiers who had pulled us from the dungeons of Braemar Castle. None of us knew where we were being taken. At first, I thought we were being sent to one of the new fae settlements recently established in human and orc lands.
But now, after more than a fortnight of travel, I can’t help but wonder if the fae who took us were not loyal soldiers of the Winter Court at all. Perhaps they were outcasts or deserters scheming to make a quick profit from a few tribute-cursed slaves before vanishing into the realm.
My gaze drifts beyond the crowd, and I finally notice the snow-capped mountains in the distance, set against a vibrant blue sky filled with billowing white clouds. The vegetation covering the mountains glimmers with ussha, the life force of fae magic that has started spreading into human and orc lands. At the base of the nearest mountain, the ruins of a massive temple lie half-swallowed in sparkling, ussha-blessed vines. Despite everything, I find the sight beautiful.
Before the fae took me, I used to dream of escaping Braemar, of going on grand adventures and seeing such exotic sights for myself. I used to sit on the city walls and stare longingly at the road that disappeared into the forest, aching with all my heart to follow it.
But now that I’m far away from my home city for the first time, all I want is to return to Braemar and never glance over the walls again. I would give anything to be sitting at the breakfast table with my mother, my stepfather, and my younger siblings at this very moment.
If only.
A man with cold blue eyes suddenly pushes to the front of the crowd, pulling my attention away from the mountains. He stares at me with undisguised hunger and shouts his bid. Fourteen silver pieces and five coppers. My stomach drops. It’s a massive sum.
I murmur another quiet prayer to the gods, desperate for help. I don’t want the man with cold blue eyes to win. I don’t want to belong to any of the men in the crowd. I just want to go home.
More sweat trickles down my face, and as my nausea deepens, I know it’s not the morning sun making me overheated. I have a fever. I’m certain of it. The deserter-soldiers kept my wrists bound too tightly during the journey here, causing rope burns that eventually broke open and bled. I haven’t bathed since Tribute Day, so it’s no surprise the wounds have started to fester.
What if my new master, whether it’s the man with cold blue eyes or another male from the crowd, doesn’t treat my wounds?
I think of my older brother, Corran.
He died from a festering wound when I was six years old. A young soldier-in-training, he’d taken an arrow to the shoulder during a skirmish with orcs. My mother did everything shecould, but there was no saving him. I remember the foul stench of the wound and the heat of his fevered skin. Mama had gone to buy more medicinal herbs, and I was left to watch him.
He stopped breathing before she returned.
His chest fell, only to never rise again.
I watched and waited, willing him to take another breath, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Will I suffer the same fate as Corran?
As my gaze sweeps over the leering crowd again, part of me thinks death might be kinder. I swallow past the dryness in my throat and blink back more tears. Regret swells in my chest.
I had a nice, quiet life in Braemar, one I sometimes thought was dull, perhaps even stifling on occasion, which was why I dreamed of adventure. Money was tight, and we didn’t have much, but we always made it work. I helped my mother and stepfather keep the household running as best I could. I cooked, helped with chores, and looked after my four younger half-siblings.
Most of all, I was loved, and I was safe. It was a far cry from the early years of my childhood, which were spent under the iron grip of my birth father, a man whose passing I never grieved.
