'The breeding farm in the Sixth,' she says, and a woman is placed into an opposite cell.
She goes down the line, giving each woman a designation. When she gets to the males in the adjacent cell who also don’t seem to be from Halsford, she doesn't even bother having them leave their cells.
'The fighting pits,' she says, sounding bored.
'And the young, Vashelle?' one of the other guards asks from behind her, scribbling on a wooden board with a piece of parchment on it.
'The lady Fiana will choose which of the brats she would like for her experiments. The ones younger than two summers…' she shrugs. 'We have a surplus in the Seventh, don’t we?'
‘We do.’
‘The breeding farm in the Fourth for now. They had an outbreak of fever last month and half the younger stock succumbed, so that’ll help with their quotas.’
Gasps go up from the women, and she sneers out at the dungeon. 'Silence, slaves, or I’ll have your young ripped from your bosoms at this very moment!'
Many of the women from Halsford are crying in earnest now, though none of them have been sorted yet, and the fae rolls her eyes in our general direction.
'And this one?' the guard points at my cell. ‘She’s the one who was brought in by Warrior after the rest from the raid on the village in the Light.’
Her glance is dark. 'Bring her out. Fiana wants to see that one now.'
The cage is unlocked, and when I don’t come out as ordered quickly enough, the guard drags me from the cell by my hair.
I'm brought out of the dungeon and up a sparse corridor with an uneven stone floor. A wide staircase looms high in front of me. I’m hauled up it, and I suddenly find myself in an opulent ballroom. Light streams through tall, open casements high in a vaulted ceiling. There are flowers blooming everywhere, and the air is balmy and warm. Trickling fountains line a walkway with shimmering water, and there are people milling around. Many are fae, both male and female. They look wealthy and have airs of ennui about them. Some have humans trailing on leashes behind them, or kneeling in front of them with their heads bowed in subjugation.
Is this Fiana’s court? I shiver in the fae guard’s grasp, hoping that Locke, Morgan, and Jak know where I am.
I still have the tracking conjure on me from Kitore. Locke said this one would last longer. If it’s still working, they have to know where I am.
Trying to stay calm, I look around as I'm brought up a central walkway lined with the members of the court. On a dais, a dark-haired fae female dressed in red sits regally on a black marble throne trimmed with gold. As I’m brought before her, she deignsto look down at me as a practically naked human slave pops a piece of fruit in her mouth. She stares at me as she slowly chews, and then waves the man away.
'So, this is the human Kismet I’ve been hearing about,’ she says, her soft voice carrying across the huge space, clearly with the aid of some conjure. ‘You found her in the village as expected?’
She glances to her left, and I see Warrior standing there, giving her a nod. I sneer at him. The coward didn’t even fight me in Halsford, just hit me over the head.
But how did Fiana know I was going to be there, and not in Kitore?
Fiana tuts. 'Come forward, Warrior.’
‘My lady Fiana.' He sinks down to one knee.
'You’ve finally brought me what you promised.'
'I have.'
She raises a brow. 'Bring her closer.'
I'm pushed forward to the first step of the dais, and the fae queen rises, coming down to stand in front of me, over me. Her hand darts out and grasps my chin, squeezing, her nails digging into me. Her eyes bore into mine.
'Pretty little Kismet,' she murmurs.
Then, she lets go of me abruptly, pushing me away from her as if revolted.
'Take her to my private rooms. I wish to inspect her further.'
Warrior strides forward and grasps me by the scruff of the neck, jerking me toward an open door into an office-like room behind the dais with a round desk on one side. Fiana sweeps in a moment later, her eyes focusing on me.
'Well,' she says, sitting down with a sweep of her crimson skirts. ‘Show me, then.’ She says to Warrior. 'Your life might depend on it for making me wait.’
