My heart aching, I climb down from the carriage. A half-circle of high fae stands ahead of me, their gazes on the three of us.
Lunarie is whispering fervently into Gwenarie’s ear, but then Gwenarie pushes her sister away.
“My goods are delivered.” Gwenarie motions to me.
Two high fae walk over. I back away but can’t move quicker than they do. They grab my arms and drag me forward to stand beside a broken tree stump. My mind flashes back to that other time long ago. The time when I couldn’t fight, when I was weak, when I was hurt. I’m there again, but this time I’m surrounded by golden fae instead of silver. Their bloodlust is the same.
I scream when one of them reaches out and touches my face.
“So pale.” He grips my chin hard. “A treat I’d like to taste.”
“Her hair.” Another steps forward and grabs a lock of my hair. “This color. Red like the flames of the Spires.”
I kick him hard in the shin.
He yelps and backs away, then Gwenarie, quick and vicious, shoves me down. I land awkwardly against the tree stump, and something in my side cracks, pain radiating through me as I scream.
“Get up, filth.” She yanks me back to my feet.
I cough and try to double over, but the other two fae grab my arms again, holding me fast. There is no way out of this. My past is repeating, and I’m just as powerless now as I was then.
“Gentlemen.” Gwenarie makes a ‘get on with it’ motion. “Please agree upon which of you is to take her. I’m ready to be off.”
“Gwenarie,” I call, pushing through the pain. “Please.”
“Shut your mouth, disgusting changeling.”
“And you’re certain the king won’t get wind of this?” another fae asks.
“She’s a runaway. Afraid the king will mete out punishment,” Gwenarie assures him. “Now make an offer.”
“Lunarie!” I turn my eyes to the weaker sister, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. “Lunarie, please.”
“Someone gag her.” Gwenarie frowns. “She keeps interrupting me.”
Fabric is stuffed into my mouth as the fae bid on me, the price rising higher as they inspect my body. When one of them finds the lash marks on my back, the bidding doesn’t slow. Instead, they seem to have a sick fascination with the scars. As if the humiliation etched on my skin is a boon. I fight, kicking and writhing despite the pain it causes. But it’s no use.
Finally, the highest bid lingers in the air for a few moments. No one else speaks.
Gwenarie opens her mouth.
“I’ll take her. Name your price.” A familiar fae steps from the trees, his eyes boring into me.
30
Solano
Something’s not right. I roll my shoulders.
“My lord?” Brock steps closer.
I close my eyes and focus on the chill parading up and down my spine. What is this feeling? Something terrible is happening.
“Keep questioning him.” I hand Brock my blade as Charen cracks his knuckles and summons a tentacle of darkness from the floor to hold the seeker in place. We’ve gotten nothing from him. Days have gone by, and we’ve done everything. Every spell, every torture, every tactic we know—and the monster refuses to speak other than to taunt us.
“A problem, my lord?” the seeker simpers. “I hope the realm is safe.” He flexes his broken wings against the bars of his cage. “I rather like it here. In fact, I think I’ll be settling here, permanently.”
“Your ashes will be thrown over the Nightlands barrier when we’re done with you.” Tristano throws a knife in the air and catches it again and again. “I’ll make sure of it.”
