Rhael dismounted first, then lifted me down with deliberate control. He had purposefully chosen a darker corner to dismount, I could see almost nothing, surrounded by shadows and the voices of humans around us.
From his saddle bag, Rhael pulled a long chord of rope, holding it in his hands as if it would poison him. I strained my eyes to see, seeing it hanging there as he moved forward towards me. His shadow took up what little vision I had.
“Just for appearances,” he whispered as he pulled my wrists in front of me, keeping them there as he wrapped the rope around my skin. Binding them together in a knot.
It wasn't too tight, but it still stung when he pulled the knot tighter. My heart beat heavily in my chest, flashbacks threatening to overwhelm me of what it had been like before. How the rope had bitten into my skin, as I fought against the men holding me down.
The only thing reminding me that this was different was Rhael's hands, his fingers lingering over my skin almost soothing where the rope touched.
I knew, like before, that this meeting would mean me staying silent. Being used as a prop for whatever Rhael needed from me.
We had to do this right, and in the silent way he gripped the end of the rope pulling me with him through the narrowed corridors I could tell he enjoyed this even less than I did.
We just had to play the game.
Chapter Twenty Five
The tavern door groaned when Rhael pushed it open, the sound breaking through the steady murmur of conversation that filled the old, small space.
The official name of the place was ‘The Traders Falcon’, but most only called it the tavern, or the trading post. It was the only place in the entire slums that I had once vowed to never set foot in again.
Warmth spilled out at first, thick, stale and heavy with bodies, followed by the smell of stale ale, damp wool and sweat. The scent struck me greater than the heat and my spine stiffened automatically in response.
The building crouched low beneath its sagging beams, the ceiling pressed down by years of smoke that had blackened the wood to near charcoal. Lanterns hung unevenly from iron hooks, their light dim and amber. Creating pockets of gold that dissolved quickly into shadows.
Conversations swelled and dipped like a restless tide depending on who walked past whichtable. The tavern was a place where people came to make deals that could not be spoken about in the open. The trading of lives like they were coins, not caring for the destruction they caused. My life had been traded here, and yet the walls did not remember me. I was nothing to any of them.
The rope around my wrists tugged gently as Rhael walked further inside, summoning me to follow him across a carpet that looked as though it had seen better days.
I kept my head down at the correct angle that all slaves used. Not too submissive, but not defiant, a careful balance I had perfected a long time ago.
Rhael’s dark cloak swallowed most of him. The hood cast deep shadows over his features, to anyone watching, he was simply another cloaked buyer from somewhere wealthier than the slums. Only I could feel the tension radiating through him, see it as he moved between tables.
The tavern quietened, not completely, but subtly as people began to track our movements. Women were not uncommon in the tavern, but one bound always signalled an opportunity for those who thought I would offer something for them to gain.
I had first come to the tavern when I was nineteen years old. My uncle had dragged me here early one morning, kicking, screaming and cursing as I fought him every step of the way. He had already made the deal to sell me to Fion, and it was finally delivery day.
There had been many girls that day. Some of them quiet and crying, others begging to be let go. None of it had a positive outcome. All of us had been sold anyway.
I shuffled forward as Rhael guided me to a table near the back wall, positioned with deliberate strategy in mind. From there we could see the entrance, the staircase leading to the guest rooms upstairs and most of the main floor without him turning his head.
We sat, Rhael positioning me beside him, close enough so that our arms brushed together. The rope remained in his hands, but he loosened it, subtly, so that it no longer pulled on my skin whilst I knotted my hands beneath the table.
The first person I noticed, when I looked around was the barmaid, her eyes flicked to me every time she was not busying herself inside the bar.
Her dress was simple linen, sleeves rolled to her elbows, she looked human, her face lighting up as she smiled to patrons across the room, creating a welcoming atmosphere as much as she could.
The barmaids gaze flicked to Rhael briefly, her icy blue eyes moving from him to me. Her honey blonde hair, falling loose around her shoulders, was quickly pushed from her face. I watched her for a moment, shifting uncomfortably as she fixated on the rope around my wrists. Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment before she looked away once more.
“People are watching,” I whispered leaning closer to Rhael's shoulder, trying to make sure no one could hear me.
“I know,” he whispered in response, two words tight with tension as he tried to sink further into the dusty upholstered seats. Like a predator waiting for his prey.
The tavern resumed its rhythm around us. Dice clattered at a nearby table, a group of Orcs sat creating noise and fuss in one corner whilst upstairs a door slammed followed by muffled laughter which held no humour. I let my gaze wander, taking in everything around me.
There were miners to my left, still coated in dust, sitting with women painted in tired rouge who lent into their shoulders. Hoping to sell themselves for something in return. The smell of salt and brine filtered through my nose.
The slum was not close enough to the sea for it to be that strong. Yet the scent still lingered, woven between smoke and sweat. Rhael noticed it too, his hand clenching into a fist. His eyes scanned faces rather than just watching the room.
