Page 59 of Fae Trials

Blinking, I looked around to find us standing in the middle of what appeared to be a giant amphitheater. Covered stalls stood on over a dozen concentric circles, each spreading out to increasingly higher levels. Beyond the tiers, mountains stretched into the distance with a view of the palace on one side and the academy on the other. This made no sense.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought the Mound would be—”

“Dark?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

“The Mound is underground, isn’t it?” I tracked the movements of two topless hobgoblin females strolling by with skirts that barely covered their goat legs.

A pair of blue-skinned pixies flew past on bumblebee wings. Each held buckets of water that splashed and sloshed in its container without spilling a single drop. I tilted my head to the side and wondered if the bucket contained some sort of water-based creature.

“The wards that separate each level provides a view of the outside and ambient lighting.” She walked ahead on her horse and beckoned. “Come on. Our first port is the auction house, then we’ll find you a blacksmith.”

“Right.” I stared up ahead at a podium, where a male faerie with leathery, black wings stood beside a trio of pixies wearing ragged and stained togas.

This male seemed more like an emaciated bat compared to the four warrior-types who had taken Sicily. Around the faerie, several high faeries shot sparks of light in the air, presumably bidding on the little creatures. My heart sank at the sight. Nobody had told me the pixies were enslaved.

“There he is!” cried a shrill voice.

The sounds of feminine giggles distracted me from the auction, and I turned to find a crowd of female faeries gathered around a specific individual.

He was a single, beaming male dressed in the Royal Fae Academy uniform with cerise hair, high cheekbones, twinkling forest green eyes, and a mouthful of perfect, white teeth.

“Shit!” I slid off the horse, raced around its back, and yanked on Helen’s arm.

Her eyes widened, and she jumped down without a word. Perhaps it was the recent ambush, or she could feel another grisly murder attempt in my future, but she ducked low and followed me around to a stall that sold pig carcasses. We stopped behind two ogre females yelling negotiations at the tops of their voices.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Prince Rory’s here.” My gaze darted toward the crowd of admirers. “If he thinks I’m trying to escape the trials, he’ll have me decapitated!”

Chapter 17

As Helen and I cowered behind the ogres, I told her about my last few encounters with Prince Rory. Faeries of all shapes and sizes bustled around us, a few doffing their hats because of our high fae appearance. The auction came to a close with a round of polite applause for the faerie who had purchased the trio of pixies.

I turned to Helen, whose face paled to the color of snowdrops. “Do you think he knows we’re here?”

Helen grimaced. “If the academy’s wards told Aster and Gala our location…”

“Right,” I said, my heart sinking into my stomach. “Then Prince Rory would also know.”

Her gaze darted to the horses, which had wandered to a stall opposite the walkway to graze on vegetation growing between the paving stones. “If we leave now, we could return to the academy before him.”

I gulped hard. It might save my neck, but after having my hopes of finding Sicily revealed to be a sick joke, I couldn’t leave the Mound.

What if my sister was next on the auction block, and I missed her just to save my own neck? Last night, I was so happy. Elijah had supposedly found Sicily and proven his bravery and devotion, but my elation had turned to shit the moment his spunk had washed away the glamor.

A little voice in the back of my head wondered if he had done me a favor, but I dismissed it. Elijah only looked out for himself.

“No.” I squeezed Helen’s hand. “If I leave now, I might never get a chance to return.”

Her chestnut eyes turned solemn. She and I both knew what I had left unsaid. That the Fated might succeed in their next attempt at assassination.

“Alright,” Helen pointed at a series of tents at the far end of the market. “That’s the blacksmith’s stalls. Tell them you want some weapons fashioned and that you’ll be paying in iron.”

I patted the metal bulging out of my blazer pocket. “How much?”

“Shop around and see if you can get the best deal,” she said. “I’ll check the auction houses for human virgins. How old is your sister?”

“Nineteen,” I said. “My height with mousy-brown hair, and her name is Sicily.”