Page 93 of Given to the Fae
At my cry, the demon’s expression morphs from sadistic glee to genuine shock quicker than he swung his blade. His mouth drops open in alarm. He’s just wounded what appears to be a fae female, a member of the freefolk. His horrified and frightened eyes dart from me to Jak still at the table, then back again.
I chance a look at the fae behind me and then everything happens all at once. Jak is on his feet and at my side before I’ve even grasped the handle of the knife to pull it out myself.
A chair crashes to the ground as the demon leaps to his feet and, casting a dark look at the whimpering human man kneeling next to me on the floor as if this is his fault, begins to stammer his profuse apologies to me.
I feel a pang of regret, not for the master, but for this male who will definitely be punished later for what I’ve done, but it’s too late to go back now.
Jak says something to me but I don’t hear him as pain begins to radiate from my hand. He grips my wrist hard and pulls the knife out of my flesh slowly. My stomach rolls and I turn into him, breathing deeply through my nose.
The knife clatters to the wood and my hand is lifted. I look at it to see how bad it is as the human lets go of the table, cradling his skewered hand and looking fearful as he cowers beneath it.
Jak is muttering to himself angrily as he pushes a white cloth into my injury and I try to forget the pain as I nudge him to get his attention. I don’t want him to miss what comes next or my getting hurt will have been in vain.
He looks up from my hand just as the demon steps closer, still prostrating himself. He trips as he does, falling against the adjacent table where his hand slips and then scrapes along the blade of a sharp sword leaning against it. It slices the length of his palm and cuts deeply into all four of his fingers at their roots. He lets out a howl and grips his hand, fumbling to get a cloth from his belt around it to staunch the sudden flow of blood.
Jak’s face is a mix of surprise and bewilderment as he ushers me quickly back to our table and sits me down. He gives me a confused stare as he hands me a small vial of healing potion, which I drink half of and then surreptitiously throw into the male slave’s lap while everyone’s still looking at the whimpering demon. The male doesn’t move to pick it up, I notice, and I hope he has the gumption to swallow it before anyone sees him with it.
Jak looks at my hand and then at the demon who’s still trying to bandage his own while a goblin female attempts to help.
‘I don’t understand,’ he says, looking from me to the demon.
‘Don’t you?’
His brow furrows and I see him thinking through what I did again, and then what happened to the demon afterward.
‘Fate Touched? Impossible,’ he breathes.
I clamp my mouth closed, suddenly too afraid to speak. What if, even after my demonstration, he doesn’t believe me? But I hold his eyes, willing him to see that I’m telling him the truth.
He looks again at the demon holding his hand and inspects my wound with a grim expression. After a moment, he lets out a breath.
‘Don’t tell the others. Not yet.’
By the time Morgan and Locke return, the potion has begun to heal my hand and the demon has moved on hastily with his human, I suppose in case someone has called for guards. Freefolk injuring each other isn’t allowed. Only slaves. The demon again apologizes and I note as they go that the slave’s hands are now in much better condition than his master’s.
Not particularly wanting Morgan and Locke’s flurry of questions if they know what happened, I wave a flippant hand, saying it was my fault for being clumsy. The slave’s eyes don’t find mine. There’s no camaraderie between us. He doesn’t even know I’m like him. I’ve been having a fine evening pretending to be free, while all around me my kind are subjugated and punished.
Plates of meat, vegetables and breads are brought to the table, but I find that my appetite has mostly vanished. I force some food down my gullet so that none of the fae ask me questions, but I’m glad when it’s decided that we’ll return to the rooms we’ve taken. My mood is low.
The walk back through the street is filled with sights and sounds, but the festival no longer fills me with wonder. I’m sad and I’m angry.
When Jak closes the door to our chamber and we’re alone, I turn on him.
‘Who decided humans were to be slaves?’ I ask, trying to contain my vitriol.
‘It’s been so for a long time in the Dark Realms,’ he answers as if he expected the question.
‘How long?’ I demand.
He sighs. ‘Long enough that no one knows how or when it began, nor who was the first to bring humans here to be worked as beasts.’
He sits down and I do as well, sighing heavily.
‘You felt guilty tonight because of that slave?’
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘But it’s not just that.’ I close my eyes. ‘Others have known what I showed you tonight. Masters have found out. Warrior realized very quickly.’
‘I don’t understand. Why would you feel guilty because of that?’
