Page 11 of Given to the Fae
When the camp is set, the door to the cart is opened. Bell clambers out first, followed by Ila. I’m last and I look around the clearing slowly as I stretch my stiff limbs. I hear an order to strip and I do it without thought, taking off my woolen shift. I ignore the eyes that follow us, the way that Bell struts a little when she notices the leader’s gaze.
We’re lashed together loosely by our ankles so that we have to stay together and can’t run off, and then we’re told to wash in the stream as the bulls did.
The water is cold but clear and I submerge myself as the other women do, all of us gasping at the freezing water that makes our lungs tighten. I stay upstream from Bell and Ila so I’m not bathing in their filth, and I wonder how long it’s been since I was washed by clean water all at once.
I’m surprised when one of the slavers throws us a piece of soap that Bell fumbles to catch and we all share a look borne of experience. We’re not friends, but all of us know that no good comes from masters wanting us properly clean.
We share it, each of us washing our hair and bodies well in the frigid water until we’re told to get out. On the shore, the second in command who helped choose us and another, a huge fae who must be part something else, inspect us properly now that we’re clean. Thankfully, it’s an impersonal appraisal and neither of them actually touches us.
But it’s only a matter of time. I errantly wonder what would happen if enough of these fae hurt me or at least tried to. Would all of them be punished at once? Would we be able to get away?
I look at our darkening surroundings.
And go where?
I’ve heard more than one slave in the dead of night over the years speak of far-away lands, of places where humans are free, but if they do exist, I don’t know how to get to them. I’d be caught and chained before I could get far, I’m sure. Then I’d be lashed a few times before fate balanced its books and they learned to leave me be.
Three human slave garments of various colors are thrown at us, long dresses that give the illusion of modesty. I’ve never worn one, but I’ve seen others come to The Barrack dressed thus. The bright cloth is easily ripped, doesn’t keep out the cold, and is translucent when it gets wet. It tends to snag on even the most innocuous of branches or splinters. These clothes mark us as slaves from five-hundred paces. They make us stick out.
Bell wears her purple one with something that looks like pride. She laces the bosom tightly so that it’s nowhere near so demure as it’s meant to be at first glance. She draws herself up and throws back her shoulders, murmuring something about howthesemasters know how to treat human females properly.
Ila, now looking to the slightly older Bell for her thoughts, does the same with the yellow. She doesn’t see Bell’s answering sneer, and I pretend to ignore it while I don the blue one.
We’re lined up and this time, the leader, Bere, and his second, Locke, look us over. Bere nods when Locke remarks that, now that we’re clean, our conditions aren’t as bad as he feared they’d be under all the grime.
‘Aye,’ he murmurs, his eyes stick firmly on Bell’s ample chest, ‘we likely won’t need a healer after all.’
He glances at Ila and they discuss their plans. I don’t make the mistake of looking at them, or even making it apparent that I’m listening, letting my eyes lose focus as I stare out at the rapidly darkening forest.
‘Of course, we’d get more if they were clearly breeding by the time we came to sell,’ Bere remarks.
Locke nods in my periphery.
My heart picks up speed, remembering what he said when he was touching me, that I was fertile for the right bull.
‘But then we’ll need to waste time while they were rutted, keep them until their bellies were showing. It’s such a hassle.’
Again, Locke nods.
‘Give them food. Make sure the bulls are tied up inside the smallest tent. I don’t want them seeing anything and getting riled up.’
I feel relieved, but my stomach still sinks. What are they planning? The soap comes to mind, and I glance at the others. Ila looks blissfully ignorant. Bell is blatantly staring at Bere, batting her eyes and looking to the ground demurely when he catches her.
‘And what’s your name, girl?’ he asks.
She puffs up a little at his regard and answers breathlessly. ‘Bell, milord.’
Bere waves at one of his men without looking. ‘Untie her from the others. You’re going to sit next to me.’
‘Yes, milord,’ Bell simpers.
I watch as she follows him to the fire and begins to feed him meat from a plate with her fingers. I see that he allows her to take every sixth piece for herself.
‘If I call you a cunt, will fate punish me?’ Ila mutters.
I shrug and one of the others takes us to a smaller fire, telling us to stay. The large one comes a moment later, going out of his way not to look at us as we’re handed a piece of bread each and given a ladleful of water.
‘Why does she get meat?’ Ila mutters.
