Tilleo stands with a large contingent of guards and house slaves at the front of his massive desert manor. Layers of towering square sandstone peaks loom behind him as though the manor rose from the sand itself and formed solely because Tilleo decreed it. Rows of small rectangular windows are cut out from the collection of towers that somehow all come together to form one big building. I’m sure there are house slaves sneaking glances out of them to spy on what’s going on down here.
Tilleo’s astute gaze misses nothing as it slides from the convoy to us and back again. The first of the carriages stops in front of him. Slaves hurry to open the doors, and out step four stunning female fae dripping in jewels and dresses that are more extravagant than anything I could ever dream up. Tilleo kisses hands and smiles roguishly at them as they all greet each other like they’re old friends. Taria and Sennet move closer, waiting to be called on as needed, and I connect that these women are from the Order of Vulpi, which Taria and Sennet are assigned to watch over while they’re here for the Bidding.
Panic starts at the base of my throat as I suddenly realize I don’t know how to identify who the Order of Scorpions are. I look over at Harsh and hope Tilleo told him while I was off having my face fixed and my future ruined. The masters explained that each of the Orders will be wearing some level of glamour during the entirety of the Bidding. They hide who they are from each other either by wearing a face that doesn’t truly belong to them or cloaking themselves in the mascot of their Order, but I don’t know how hard or easy it will be to tell who is who.
Trunks and cases are whisked away from the carriage by house slaves, and then another carriage is pulling up in front of Tilleo as the Order of Vulpi are escorted into the massive sandstone manor. Six huge males pour out of the doors of the next carriage. A snarling bear head is stitched on the back of the vests they wear over their tunics, marking them as the Order of Bruins. Orit shivers behind me, reminding me of the warning we received from one of the masters about the Bruins’ brutal nature. Yotta and Taur, two male blade slaves, move closer to the Order. As they do, it dawns on me that Tilleo didn’t assign a female blade slave to the Bruins’ care, further supporting the Order’s bad reputation when it comes to the female sex.
My mouth drops open before I quickly snap it shut when the next carriage presents three large fae that are half wolf, half man. They stand on two feet, wear suede trousers, and that’s it as the rest of them is covered in thick, coarse fur that leads up to a wolf’s head. I don’t envy the Order of Wolves in this forsaken heat. Unsurprisingly, I watch as several house slaves immediately start fanning the three members as they greet Tilleo just as exuberantly as the other Orders have.
More carriages pull up and empty out, and I track Harsh closely for signs that our Order has arrived. Two carriages are left, and the sand stags stomp impatiently as they wait their turn to unload their cargo. I watch the curtained windows of the second to last carriage as it passes, wondering who’s inside, but the fabric covering the windows is still, no one inside curious enough to push it aside and peek out.
Another light breeze moves through the open gates, cooling the sweat that’s collecting at my nape. I want to wipe it away, but I have nowhere to wipe it other than the silk strips I’m wearing. I can picture Figg watching from the ludere and making a note to have me caned for daring to defile this ridiculous dress with my tainted perspiration. I silently beg the wind to blow a little harder, in desperate need of a little relief from the heat. Suddenly, Harsh moves toward the stopped carriage.
Trepidation makes my chest feel tight as I rush to fall into step with the male blade slave. The side door of the carriage opens, and I watch carefully ready to take in the members of the Order Harsh and I are charged with serving, when my feet and my heart simultaneously stop. Tilleo bows to the three individuals that step gracefully down to meet him. His carob gaze fills with apprehension as he looks over the three glamoured skeletons.
Bloody bastards.
They’re male, dressed in onyx suits that look far too regal for anything this deep in the desert. They stand stiffly, only their heads swiveling slightly as their black eyes scan their surroundings. I realize I’m standing and staring. All at once my survival instincts kick back in, restarting my brain and forcing my feet and legs back into motion. In a few strides, I catch up with where Harsh has stopped, waiting to be called on for any assistance.
Shock and fear pound through my pulse like war drums in the dead of night as I stare at the three skeletons exchanging stilted pleasantries with Tilleo. In all my time here at the ludere training for the Bidding, it never occurred to me that the three males who slit Dorsin’s throat and then stole something from a hidden safe in his room were members of an Order. I feel utterly stupid in this moment for never having made that connection. I don’t know why I thought I’d never see them again. I don’t even know if these three are the same skeletons who appeared out of nowhere that night, but I fight back a tremor of apprehension all the same.
When I first arrived at this living nightmare, my memories of Dorsin and waking up in that cage haunted me. I expected they would always be memories I would battle against. All too soon though, new horrors shoved those old ones far from my mind. It wasn’t long before I stopped bothering to work out how I ended up here altogether. What was the point? Trying to figure it out only whipped up taunting memories and too many questions that I could never answer. None of it did anything to change my position here as a blade slave. There was no escaping this place, and ultimately I needed to focus on surviving Tilleo, the masters, and the other savages.
Tilleo signals for me and Harsh to come closer, and one of the skeletons’ black gazes lands on me. All at once, I can smell the potent rot of orcs’ blood mixed with the tang of Dorsin’s death. I feel the bite of boots against my ribs and hips as Dorsin kicked the last of the air and hope from my frail body. The ghost of an orc’s tongue moves up my thigh as Harsh and I stride closer. Brutally, I shove those recollections from my mind. I work to focus on what’s actually happening all around me, unwilling to give Tilleo any reason to take notice of me no matter how stunned and afraid I find myself right now.
Thankfully, my steps don’t falter as a realization reaches up and slaps me across the face. Does Tilleo know? Does he know about the hunt the Order of Scorpions executed against his boss? Washethe one who purchased Dorsin’s death? I quickly study Tilleo while he’s not looking, and suddenly find myself questioning everything.
No. I reassure myself as Harsh and I stop near Tilleo, once again forgotten like the silent wraiths we were trained to be. Why would Tilleo have brought me here if he’d known who truly killed his master? Dorsin was supposed to be ransoming me to someone, so if Tilleo had known about that plan, he’d have picked up where Dorsin had left off before he’d mercilessly had his throat slit. I don’t think Tilleo knew then. Which leads me to wonder if somehow he knows now?
Is that why I’ve been tasked with murdering one of the Order members attending this Bidding? Is it payback for unknowingly keeping the Order of Scorpions’ secret?
Silently, I observe the three fae in their skeleton glamour. They’re once again exchanging pleasantries with my master, and I begin to wonder which one of them I’m going to die for after I violate the sanctum and slittheirthroat. Tilleo has to be after revenge. Killing two birds with one stone is a favorite pastime of his.
“Follow my people to your tent. They’ll set up baths for you and help you freshen up. There’s time to rest before the celebrations start tonight,” Tilleo tells them merrily, and it’s all I can do not to clench my hands into fists at his friendly, easygoing tone.
What is wrong with me?
I want to slap sense back into myself. Normally, I’m more controlled than this. I don’t slip. My thoughts don’t wander. I don’t get caught being off my game. I want to shake my head, force my frenzied thoughts to settle into the cold, calculating rock that I am, but I can’t. It seems evenIam not immune to the worries and distractions the Bidding brings. Neither can I run from the ghosts of my past I thought buried and long gone.
I watch the three skeletons as they nod and exchange temporary goodbyes with Tilleo. I wrap all of my distraction in a tight ball and stow it deep in my mind. The Bidding has started. I’m now surrounded by the best hired blades, one of which I’m supposed to kill. Now’s not the time to get lost in questions and unsolvable mysteries. Now is the time to prove I’m not that frightened little girl who was found chained in a corner and surrounded by terror and death. Now is the time to show all of them the monster they created.
“I’m giving you two of my best,” Tilleo informs the skeletons, gesturing over to where Harsh and I stand as still as the manor house at our backs. “Feel free to use them however suits you,” he further instructs nonchalantly, and the representatives of the Order of Scorpions turn to look us over.
I breathe through the panic that hammers through me as I once again wonder if these are the fae from that night. Will they recognize me? Will I recognize them? I try to look past their glamour and fix on the features beneath the black and white painted across every inch of their exposed exteriors, but it’s hard to focus. Their eyes slide down my body, and it feels as though it’s their hands caressing over my skin instead of their pitch black gazes. Their onyx stares don’t even bother to set upon Harsh before they turn to follow the house slaves now leading them to their tent.
Trunks of the Order’s possessions are lifted high above the leading slaves’ heads as we move away from Tilleo and the manor. I watch the Order of Scorpions’ backs as we go. It’s as though the skeletonscarvea path instead of merely walking as they make their way through the sand to their lodgings. Harsh and I follow like we’re water flowing through the ravine they leave behind in their wake. Power radiates off the trio like capes billowing in the desert wind. They’re dark and dangerous and, for some reason, incredibly enticing.
Maybe it’s the small part of me that’s still hoping for answers about that night, but even if these three are the assassins that murdered Dorsin, they wouldn’t know anything. They didn’t want to help me then, and I doubt anything is different now. Harsh looks over at me like he’s checking to see if I also feel the venom steeping in their power, but I keep mygood savagemask in place and ignore his probing gaze. Internally I scoff at myself for shutting Harsh out. We’re not exactly friendly, but it’s more out of habit than anything else. I typically run on the side of too serious and cautious here, but really there’s no point in reinforcing the protective barriers I usually have in place. I’m going to die before I ever see beyond these walls; maybe it’s time to shake things up and live a little before I do.
The group approaches a gargantuan cream-colored tent that’s been erected in the west quadrant of the stronghold. There’s another matching structure in the south quadrant, but I don’t look to see who’s headed in its direction as the flaps of the enormous tent in front of me are pulled open by two guards who have been waiting for this very moment. House slaves pour into the mouth of the split-hide entryway, hurrying to place trunks and to find a home for everything the Order of Scorpions have brought with them. They stride into the tent like the honored guests they are, and the thick flaps drop closed behind me and Harsh as we follow closely behind.
We both take up position on either side of the entrance, and I try hard not to marvel at the luxuries revealed inside. Tall lamps containing bouncing fairy light softly illuminate the spacious interior. Lush carpets in all kinds of colors and patterns layer the ground as though it would be a sin for the skeletons to set foot on anything other than the softest of surfaces. Three inviting pallets are spaced out against the back wall of the tent. I suspect each of them is stuffed with the finest of feathers and padding. They certainly have the fluffiest blankets I’ve ever seen draped all over their surfaces, as well as piles of pillows arranged on top. I’m surprised Tilleo didn’t add a flesh slave or two to each of the exquisite surfaces, their bodies spread enticingly in a special welcome I’d expect these fae would embrace wholeheartedly.
The temperature inside the tent is magical. I have to swallow down a moan of approval as we stand in the cool, crisp air, waiting to be ordered around. There are no fans in sight, and I can only guess what it would take to spell this space to remain so deliciously cold and comfortable. Slaves position trunks at the end of three pallets, while another goes to magically heat up the water sitting in the three separate gold baths to my right. She must be a conduit, and I itch to ask her how her magic works as she hurries from one gilded tub to another. I keep my mouth shut, but the strange urge to rebel and do what I want feels warm as it settles just under my skin.
I’ve never fed the angry beast inside of me. Never allowed the fires of rage and frustration to be stoked too high. Tilleo and the masters would simply beat it out of anyone who dared to defy them. I’ve worked hard to deaden my recalcitrant urges over the years, but I find myself hesitant to continue the practice. What purpose does it serve to continue to bite my tongue and scour my every action ad nauseam? I’ve spent endless hours calculating what could make me a target, get me beaten, call too much attention or too little. What was the point of it all now?
I look around me at the audacious opulence slapping me across the face over and over again. Tilleo has all of this at his fingertips, and yet I’ve lived a life of starvation, stone surfaces, and brutality. I run my gaze over the three skeletons, who are examining their new quarters thoroughly, and I dare to wonder what makesthemso deserving of all of this and not me? Are they not hired killers just like I’ve been honed to be? Were they blade slaves too at their genesis, or did death’s calling find them some other way?
