Page 13 of Given to the Fae
Bere leaves them in the circle together and returns to his seat by the fire.
‘Stay inside the markings or you’ll be lashed,’ one of the other fae calls.
‘Begin!’ Bere roars, looking gleeful as he gulps wine from a skin beside him.
Ila’s attention is on the leader for too long and she doesn’t see Bell’s fist until it’s too late. She lets out a cry, clutching her cheek and staring wide-eyed at her ‘friend’. Before she can do anything, Bell hits her again, this time in the stomach.
She doubles over and staggers back, skidding to a halt just inside the crude marks in the dirt that show the circle’s barrier. I already think it’s over, but she grabs up a handful of said dirt and throws it in Bell’s face.
Bell snarls, swiping at her face angrily. ‘You bitch!’ she snarls. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
Ila doesn’t speak, but she straightens and follows Bell across the circle, pushing her to the ground, but Bell grabs her dress as she goes down, pulling her down with her.
They roll around in the dirt, squealing, clawing and biting to the roars and loud wagers of the fae before Bell takes Ila by her hair and uses it to keep her subdued just long enough to get the dirt from her eyes. Her vision restored, she pushes Ila away fromher and then hits her across her cheek hard enough for her head to snap to the side.
Bell doesn’t give her the opportunity to do anything else. Without an ounce of remorse, she pushes Ila from the circle into the waiting arms of two of the fae. They whoop and haul her into their laps. She struggles as they pull her dress off and I look away, locking eyes with Bell as Ila begins to squeal.
Her eyes don’t leave mine. We don’t look at what’s happening to Ila. Bell will be next and she knows it. She thought it would be Ila and I who fought. Perhaps she thought I’d go easy on the girl. Maybe I would have. Even if I’d lost... I’m not like Ila.
I hear a slap harder than Bell gave, and Ila cries out in pain. We don’t look.
‘You!’ Bere yells.
I walk forward, ignoring the jeers of two of the other fae. There were nine of them before, but now there are just six plus Bere, I realize, not letting my eyes drift to the left where I can hear Ila’s pained whimpering, and the dual grunting of the fae who grabbed her.
I step into the circle, my eyes trained on the tricky woman in front of me.
Her lips are thin. She’s panting, dirt smeared over her face, and her short curls full of bits from the ground. Her dress is ripped.
If she hits me, fate will punish her. If she loses, she’ll suffer Ila’s fate. I regard her. There’s no real choice, but I can help and I can see in her expression that she’s thinking the same. She gives me the barest of nods and I stride forward, balling my fist tightly. I hit her in the face as hard as I can. Pain courses through my knuckles, hand, and up my arm, and I know it’ll hurt for days. But she falls backward and hits the ground hard, knocked out.
Silence pervades the camp, and Bere stands. I lower my eyes as I cringe in front of him, wondering if he’ll throw me to his men or beat me himself. I’m sure he wanted his entertainment to last longer. But he laughs loudly.
‘I told you she’d do well for the pit fighters!’ he calls into the darkness. ‘I know you can hear me, Locke!’
Bere, still chuckling, strides into the circle. ‘Have the loser if you want her,’ he laughs as he kicks an unconscious Bell out of his way. ‘Though you might find there’s not much fight in her at the moment!’
He stands over me, trying to use his height to make me feel small. I pretend it does. Makes things easier.
‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I didn’t think I hit her so hard.’
‘Come,’ he takes my arm and pulls me toward his tent.
‘My lord?’
His smile is cold. Vicious. ‘Did I forget to mention the winner would have the pleasure of sharing my furs tonight?’
I go with him meekly into his tent. It has its own brazier, I note as he takes off his thin cloak and throws it on the ground.
‘Stay still.’
I do as he says, standing frozen and clenching my jaw when his fingers caress my breast over the thin cloth of the dress, making my nipple pucker.
For one brief, harrowing moment, I’m afraid that he’ll be gentle. No touches have ever been gentle. That’s one thing Ogdan and Sio thankfully never tried. Gods, if he pretends kindness, what if nothing stops him? But then he pulls his arm back and slaps me with the back of his hand.
I crash into the table behind me hard and he’s on me, turning me and folding me over it, pulling up the skirts of the dress and fumbling with the laces of his trousers. He holds me so easily even when I struggle. I begin to panic.
And then I hear a low clang, and he collapses on top of me before sliding to the floor with a muffled thump. In the low light, I see that a metal rod has come loose from the tent roof and hit him in the back of the head, and I let out a sigh of relief.
