Page 47 of Given to the Fae
I try not to touch her, allowing her to find her own balance, but her seat seems precarious, and I end up having to put one arm around her waist to help her steady.
‘Why did you want to ride in front?’ I ask quietly while the others are ahead.
‘My first time on a horse was yesterday, my lord. They’re...very high.’
Of course. I’m such a fool. She’ll never have ridden before. Slaves are transported on foot and in carts, not on horseback. That’s for theirbetters.
Gods, this mission needs to be successful.
We travel the road and come upon the Gate more quickly than I thought we would. I suppose that’s why Locke had us keeping to such a punishing pace yesterday. It’s a small one, sticking out of the earth beside a stream. My thirsty mount drifts toward the water, and I pull him back, not allowing him to drink until I’ve seen a sign. I hand Bryn the waterskin containing her tea and I make sure she drinks a few mouthfuls though she chokes a little on the bitter taste.
Warrior jumps down to the ground and locates the Gate box in a small hole carved into a rock. My gaze drifts over the boulders that litter the area, and I see a carved eye in the center of one.
‘Water’s safe,’ I remark, letting the horse drink its fill. ‘How much time until the Breach?’
‘This one opens three times a day, so it won’t be long.’
Just as Warrior swings himself back onto his mount’s back, the Bridge connects. This one opens in a small whoosh, not a thundering roar as so many of the others do, yet the female in front of me straightens and tenses as if terrified. My arm that’s been loosely around her in case she loses her balance, tightens without me meaning it to, but she leans into me instead of away.
Locke goes through first, followed by Morgan and then Warrior. The girl in front of me cringes as we enter the Breach. She covers her ears and turns into me, burrowing into my chest.
The Bridge itself isn’t a long one, and we walk out only a moment later into a city square lined with black stone buildings topped with spires. The stones of the road are the same hue, andeven the sky is gloomy. The sun itself seems to struggle to shine its light, and there’s a wintery nip in the air despite the season. I glance around. There are some goblins and pixies, but mostly I can see mages dressed in black robes.
‘What is this place?’ I ask Locke as I glance down to see how the female has fared during the short journey.
He doesn’t look at me. ‘Dead City. The finest of the five mage academies is here.’
‘Dead City?’ Bryn asks in a small voice.
I inspect her face, and she seems all right. Though she’s trembling against me, she doesn’t look ill, or as if she’s going to swoon.
Locke glances down at her. ‘The name is...’ He rolls his eyes. ‘The mages are a theatrical bunch, that’s all. There’s nothing dead about this place, and the black façade is merely a conjure.’
‘You’ve been here before?’
‘Once,’ is all Locke replies as he leads the way.
The black streets are quiet, though we pass a couple of markets which are teeming with mages, witches, and some orcs. Most are dressed in the blacks, the only blocks of color being copper, silver or gold pins on their collars to denote their level of experience.
Stopping at a nearby inn, we go inside and order some drinks before finding a table. I frown when I see the female kneel on the floor between Morgan and I with her eyes lowered, and my jaw clenches when the water I asked the goblin at the bar for comes in a rusty bowl that’s put on the floor in front of her as if she’s a beast.
I catch Morgan’s eye, and he looks down at her drinking thirstily from the filthy bowl without pause. I watch his jaw tighten in righteous anger on her behalf, but he says nothing.
When our meal is brought, there are only four plates. I make to stand, to ask for another, when Morgan’s great hand lands on my shoulder.
Warrior sniggers. ‘You think the slave could have her own plate?’
I cover for my ignorance quickly. ‘Of course not,’ I sneer. ‘But we’ve been tasked with ensuring she’s healthy by the time she’s sold. How are we meant to do that if we can’t get her a fucking meal?’
Morgan tuts. ‘Like this.’
He holds a piece of meat out to the human, and she leans forward and takes it from his fingertips, her small tongue darting out to lick her lip. It’s not done seductively, and yet...
My mouth almost falls open in astonishment...revulsion...and something else, which causes my cock to tighten in my breeches, which in turn causes horror and shame.
‘Gods, are you going to feed her your entire meal?’ I ask, sitting back in my chair as if I’m not as shocked as a farm boy seeing the city for the first time.
‘My plate has more on it,’ he says, feeding her another morsel, which she takes without complaint.
