Page 41 of Given to the Fae
The wind picks up as the day wears on, and, though my soaked wool dress dries a little, it’s still wet to the touch by the time Locke calls a halt in a small hollow that gives a bit of shelter from the elements.
Warrior gets down from the horse, and, though I hate him, I miss the heat his body provides when my teeth begin to immediately chatter. He plucks me off his mount, setting me onthe ground gingerly and I'm reminded that this fae, despite his nasty words and comments, is afraid of me. I’m still cold, but that thought warmssomethingin me, at least.
The fae busy themselves with making a fire and Warrior buckles the collar from before around my neck. A rope is attached to it. He tethers me to a lone tree by the camp, ordering me to find whatever kindling I can for the fire.
I pick my way through the long grass and thick, cold mud to find dry pieces of wood and sticks. There’s not much, though, and when I come back with my meager armful, Warrior takes it with a sneer and tells me I’m pathetic and so inadequate that no wonder Bere decided my only possible use was to be sold to the arenas for the pit winners to fuck me to death.
The reminder of my fate leaves me even more unsettled and anxious. But, given nothing else to do, I can only huddle by the tree out of the wind, and think about what awaits me after I’m sold. By the time Morgan comes to me with a bowl of stew and a piece of bread, I’ve worked myself into a state that I have to hide.
‘This is for you,’ he murmurs.
I take the bowl with shaky hands, both from cold and dread, and I don’t look at him.
He glances back at the others. Locke is staring at the flames seemingly lost in thought, Jak is counting out the supplies from their packs and Warrior is whittling a piece of wood, or bone.
‘I’m sorry.’
I don’t look up and I don’t say anything to him. If his apologies changed anything, perhaps they’d be more important to me.
‘If I could have stopped it, or changed Locke’s mind I would have.’ He hesitates and takes another look over his shoulder to ensure that no one is listening. ‘Locke has ordered that you be cared for by all of us, not just me, until we meet with Bere and the others in the First Circle.’
I nod and begin to eat, not because I’m hungry. I’m not. But I should try to keep my strength up.
Why? To last a few extra days in the pits?
I put the bowl down after the first spoonful, suddenly not wanting any more. What’s the point?
Morgan sighs and holds his hand out. I give it to him, and his fingers brush mine.
‘You’re frozen,’ he hisses. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
Now, I look up at him. ‘Say what?’ I ask.
‘That you were cold.’
I frown at him, not sure I understand. ‘Why?’ I mutter.
Instead of answering me, he reaches down and grasps the skirt of my dress.
His lips thin in anger. ‘The rain this morning?’
His voice is cold. Dangerous. I heard this tone when he spoke to the troll at the inn. He’s furious. He sounds like a master.
All I can do is nod and huddle closer to the tree, hoping he doesn’t hurt me badly because I know fate won’t stop him.
‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ I whisper, hoping my apology and the healer’s orders will be enough to avoid a beating.
His fury evaporates almost instantly and his brow furrows at my obvious reaction. He swears colorfully as he turns back to the fire and stalks away.
I let out a sigh of relief.
‘This is ridiculous,’ I hear him snarl low.
I watch him go to Locke and nudge his foot. When Bere’s second looks up, Morgan’s lips move, but I can’t hear what he says. Locke shakes his head and Morgan looks angry. He walks around Locke, purposefully stamping hard on his hand as he does.
Locke hisses in pain and sits up, scowling at Morgan.
I think he’s going to go after him, perhaps give him a lashing, but instead he looks at Jak and Warrior.
