Page 17 of The Demons in the Deep: Extended Edition
“Kestra.”
“And where are you from?”
“Meroa.”
“Ever sailed before?”
“A little.”
“Where was the shipwreck with the treasure?”
“I—it was—” Kestra glanced at Flay and tightened her hold on his arm.
“No, no, dear, don’t look at him. Look at me.” Feral came closer still, peering into her eyes.
“Back off,” Flay growled, planting a hand on his brother’s chest.
Working at The Three Cherries, Kestra had endured drunken louts who occasionally put their faces too close to hers. Feral was power-drunk, and deserved the same treatment.
She drew herself up to her full height and let all her disgust and anger flow through her voice. “As you may have overheard, Captain Flay rescued me from a bad situation. I was in no mood to track our route. I’ve heard wonderful tales of this city and its amusements, and I had hoped to enjoy some of them while I’m here. But so far I’ve only been threatened and mistreated. It’s a disgrace!”
She threw the last word like a dagger, glaring between Feral and the Magnate.
“Disgrace?” spat the Magnate. “My son’s a disgrace.” He marched back to his desk. “You’ll get your chance to pay me what you owe, Flay, but keep this woman far from me, you hear?”
“But the party tomorrow night, Father,” said Feral. “The contestants’ ball. Surely Flay can bring his new pet to that?”
“I suppose,” growled the Magnate.
“Then it’s settled. And now, brother, you can go. Graves will register you for the contest, while I show Father the fantastic inventory I brought him. It’s quite the parade. Most of the stock is downstairs already, but I have one of them here. You’ll appreciate this, Flay—remember the legends our nurse used to tell us of the winged folk, the Sky-born of the western isles? Well, I found them. And I caught a few.” He stepped to the doorway again. “Bring him in.”
Two sailors entered the room. Between them walked a chained figure—a man, but not human. He was unnaturally slim, with a wide chest and a tapered waist and hips. Every bit of his olive skin was bare, from his melancholic features to his fine-boned feet. He hadn’t been granted so much as a loincloth.
But neither his nudity nor the chains at his wrists were as shocking as the pair of flame-colored wings at his back. Their orange feathers stirred lightly as he walked forward. The arches of the wings had been pinned together and clamped in place.
The Magnate clapped his broad palms. “Well done, Feral, well done! This one will fetch a handsome price.”
“I have another that’s a personal gift for you, Father.” Feral winked. “Small breasts, like most of her race, but a lovely specimen nonetheless. You’ll enjoy taming her, I think.”
Kestra made a tiny sound of horror, and Flay gripped her hand, a warning squeeze.
The winged slave looked up, black hair tumbling back from his forehead, and his eyes met Kestra’s briefly. Sadness and despair flooded from those eyes into hers, and Kestra’s heart pinched, because that look reminded her of Rake.
She compressed her lips, struggling to keep all her indignant rage inside. She and Flay could not control his family’s choices, or the moral compass of an entire city. All they could do was keep their own hands clean and get out of this wretched place alive. She felt as if another moment in that office would suffocate her.
“A fine specimen,” Flay said in a strained voice. “We’ll be going now. Father, I thank you for your mercy.”
The Magnate only grunted and said, “Dress well for the ball. No more embarrassments from you.”
“Yes, Father. Come on, Graves.” Flay jerked his head toward the physik. “Feral—always a dubious pleasure.”
Graves slipped out of the office first, and then Flay guided Kestra past the winged slave, through the doorway, and into the open corridor beyond. She drew a shuddering breath, but before she could explode with all her thoughts, she felt an unfamiliar hand on her shoulder, brushing aside a lock of her hair.
When she turned, Feral stood there, much too close. He glanced back at the office doors, which the uniformed steward was closing. Through the gap Kestra could see the Magnate coming forward to inspect the new slave.
When the doors had shut, Feral said, “I hope you’ll forgive my father’s earlier outburst. He’s very protective of his profit margins. Family business, you know. Can’t play favorites, or it all goes to shit.”
Kestra backed away from him, her fingers itching for the comfortable handles of her cook-knives. She ached to fillet this slave-hunting monster like she’d cut apart the mermaids of the Realm Below.
