Page 49 of Given to the Fae
Warrior snorts, but I see him glance over at the cityscape for a moment to see if he can spot it, and I have no doubt he’ll be leaving us to explore this evening, just as we want him to.
We each choose a room of which there are four, not five, and it again strikes me that Bryn is seen more as a pampered pet than a sentient being, that when Morgan told the orc in the courtyard that we were keeping the slave with us, he was only humored because this is a fine establishment.
I wonder if they’d have refused to allow her into one of the other, cheaper inns, and instead made her sleep unguarded in a pen by the horses.
‘Unpack.’ Warrior slings his pack at Bryn, and she only just catches it before it hits her full in the face and the force makes her take several steps back.
‘Yes, my lord,’ she murmurs meekly and staggers into the room he’s chosen under the heavy bag.
I turn away, my fists clenching. What is wrong with me? We’ve been out here for months, and the treatment of the slaves has never upset me this much. I was able to forget them, I realize. The slaves were bought and sold within a matter of one or two days. But Bryn’s been with us for longer than that. Almost a week now that I think on it. And we still have another two to go.
I run my hands through my hair, pulling it a little in frustration. When I turn around, I find Locke out on the balcony and Morgan and Warrior nowhere to be seen.
I don’t care where Morgan’s gone, but my eyes narrow at Warrior’s door that’s now closed, and I approach it very quietly, putting my ear to the door.
‘...but you wouldn’t be able to help with that, would you.’
‘No, my lord.’ Her voice is more subdued than usual.
‘And why is that, girl?’
‘Because I’m a useless, ugly slave, my lord. I’m fit only for the arenas I’m to be sold to.’
‘That’s right, but you forgot filthy and vermin infested. Gods, look at your flesh, so flayed and maimed. It’s a wonder any bull would mount you. What bull could stomach it? Even the most desperate would have to be blindfolded to get hard enough to stick it in. Do you think if you were a better slave, you wouldn’t have been thrashed with the rod so hard that it left such deep scars or burned quite so many times with pokers?’
‘I don’t know, my lord.’
My stomach turns, and I step away, trying to think of an excuse to get her away from him and his vicious words.
I rush to the middle of the room. ‘Slave!’ I bellow. ‘Why aren’t you sorting the packs as I told you? How am I to know what to buy at market if I don’t know what supplies we have left?’
‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ I hear her call.
She tears open the door, and half runs from Warrior’s room a moment later. I’m relieved to find that she isn’t bruised and battered. Her eyes, however, are dull and blank and her hands are shaking a little as she begins to unpack the bags, sorting everything into piles.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t do as you ordered, my lord,’ she says quietly a little while later as she unpacks the last of the bags.
I let out a sigh. ‘I didn’t order you to do anything, Bryn,’ I say in a low tone.
She looks up sharply. ‘Then why...’
‘I heard the things he was saying to you.’
She stares at me. ‘I don’t understand. Why would you care what he says to me?’
She shakes her head a little as if she can’t fathom a reason and goes back to her task in silence.
I hear Warrior leave the rooms via the main door and watch as Locke follows a moment after, intending to trail him to wherever he goes to ensure he won’t be back for a while.
I glance at Bryn, not stopping what I’m doing. ‘When we got here, you took a vial. The one to make sure you weren’t carrying vermin.’
‘I don’t have vermin, my lord,’ she mutters somewhat stiffly.
‘I didn’t think you did,’ I say. ‘But I did think it was foolish of you to drink that potion when you didn’t know what was in it. This is a city of mages. They’re tricky and clever. Gods only know what it might have been.’
She whispers that she’s sorry, seeming smaller next to me now under my chastisement.
I let out a sigh. ‘Just ask before you do anything. I don’t want you to be hurt, Bryn.’
