Page 1 of Feral Gods
1
KAIA
The sweet, cloying scent of rirzed wine fills my nostrils as I carefully pour another goblet for Lord Vathren, whose glazed eyes follow the movement of my hands with predatory interest. Tonight marks the Festival of the Serpent, the most important celebration in Liiandor, when even the lowest dark elf nobles become so intoxicated they forget to watch their slaves.
"More," Lord Vathren commands, his silver-white hair cascading over shoulders draped in midnight blue silk. The ruby red liquid sloshes dangerously close to the rim of his goblet—crafted from the skull of some unfortunate creature—as his long, gray fingers brush against mine.
I lower my eyes immediately. "Yes, my lord."
In the six years I've served in his household, I've learned that eye contact is an invitation. And tonight, with the palace of King Kres Ennarmis teeming with drunken nobles celebrating their patron deity, I cannot afford to be noticed. Not when freedom whispers its temptation in my ear.
The grand ballroom of black marble glitters with neptherium-powered lights that cast eerie blue shadows across faces that appear carved from stone. Hundreds of dark elvesmingle beneath vaulted ceilings adorned with scenes of conquest and subjugation—a reminder of what happens to those who defy their rule. Slaves like me move among them, silent as ghosts, refilling goblets and collecting empty platters.
Lord Vathren turns away to join a conversation with another noble, his attention momentarily diverted from the human serving him. My heart thunders in my chest as I realize: this is my moment.
I back away slowly, keeping my head bowed as I edge toward the servants' corridor. The heavy silver pitcher weighs down my arms, but I dare not set it aside—a slave without a task would be questioned immediately. Three more steps to the arched doorway. Two. One.
The corridor beyond is dimly lit and blessedly empty. I quicken my pace, bare feet silent against the cold stone floor. The rough fabric of my gray serving dress scratches against my skin as I walk, reminding me of six years of indignity.
"You there! Girl!"
My blood freezes. I don't turn around, pretending not to hear as I duck around a corner. The voice belongs to Overseer Malthis, Lord Vathren's cruelest taskmaster. I've seen him flay the skin from a boy's back for spilling wine on a noble's boots.
Heavy footsteps follow me, and I abandon all pretense of calm. I drop the silver pitcher with a deafening clang and run, no longer caring about stealth. The noise will bring others. I have moments, not minutes.
I dash down the corridor, my mind recalling every twist and turn of the palace from years spent scrubbing its floors. Left at the kitchens. Right past the guards' quarters. Straight through the narrow passage that leads to the servants' exit near the eastern wall.
Behind me, shouts echo through the corridors. The alarm is raised. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I push myself harder, ignoring the sting of my feet against the rough stone.
I burst through the scullery and startle two kitchen slaves scrubbing enormous cauldrons. Their eyes widen at my wild appearance, but neither moves to stop me or raise an alarm. The unspoken solidarity of the oppressed gives me a precious few seconds of advantage.
The east door looms ahead, guarded by a single dark elf soldier whose attention is fixed on the celebration he's missing inside. I slow my pace, hunching my shoulders as I approach, head bowed as if on an errand. Twenty paces away. Ten.
The guard turns, violet eyes narrowing as they fall on me. "Halt! Where are you?—"
I don't let him finish. I seize a heavy iron ladle from a nearby hook and swing it with all my strength at his head. The impact sends vibrations up my arm as he staggers, momentarily stunned but far from incapacitated. Dark elves are not so easily felled.
"Little vermin," he snarls, reaching for the sword at his hip.
Panic surges through me as I dive past him, shoving the door open with my shoulder. The guard's fingers graze my hair as I tumble outside into the biting cold of a Liiandor winter night. The city sprawls before me, a jagged silhouette of obsidian spires and gray stone mansions against the starlit sky.
I run.
The lower city streets are narrow and winding, designed to confuse and trap invaders—or escaping slaves. The chill air burns my lungs as I navigate through shadowed alleys, keeping to the darkest corners. Behind me, whistles and shouts signal the beginning of the hunt.
Memories flash unbidden as I run—the day I was brought to Liiandor, chained in a caravan of captured humans. My mother'sface, tear-streaked and desperate, as we were separated at the slave market. The first lash of the whip against my back when I spilled Lord Vathren's morning kaffo.
I push the memories away. The past cannot help me now.
The city wall looms ahead, thirty feet of impenetrable stone with guards posted at every gate. No slave has escaped Liiandor in living memory. But I have something they don't expect—knowledge. For three years, I've emptied chamber pots in the eastern guard tower, noticing the crumbling section of wall hidden behind the tanner's workshop where the stones have begun to separate just enough for a small human to squeeze through.
I dart between buildings, using the shadows as cover. The tanner's workshop appears ahead, its windows dark. The foul smell of curing hides provides perfect cover—dark elves with their sensitive noses avoid this area when possible.
The gap in the wall is just where I remembered, concealed behind a pile of discarded hides. I drop to my knees and begin pulling them aside, my fingers numb with cold and fear.
"There! By the tanner's!" A voice calls out from too close behind me. A sentry has spotted my movement.
I abandon stealth and claw desperately at the hides, exposing the narrow fissure in the base of the wall. It seems impossibly small now that freedom depends on it. I lie flat and push my head and shoulders into the gap, feeling the rough stone scrape against my skin. For a terrifying moment, I think I might be stuck, but with a desperate wriggle, I push forward.
