Page 29 of Kingdom of Chains

‘The fact that she was homeless in a dangerous region with two dependent children and a rich lord was offering her a safe home? Yes, that was a factor.’

Blackmane was silent for a minute. ‘How did the house burn down?’

Isabel edged her horse closer, her leg brushing his. ‘Lord Hodge was at his father’s side throughout that campaign. He was staying at the house and woke to horses. Most likely rebels. They rode away when he went outside to investigate, and when he returned indoors, the kitchen was ablaze. It spread so quickly.’ She reached up and touched her throat, as though she were breathing the smoke in once more.

He normally avoided these conversations because the risk of empathy was too high. The only reason he was able to function and perform at such an elite level was because he had done away with every emotion except loyalty. But the question came out anyway. ‘Did everyone make it out?’

She shook her head, and he felt the weight of the silence that followed.

‘Lord Tompkin withdrew his men shortly after,’ she said when she could speak again.

Blackmane nodded slowly. ‘And the wastelands were born.’

‘And the wastelands were born.’

He edged his horse away from hers. Their knees brushing every second stride was proving distracting, which was never a good thing when travelling through rebel territory.

Hodge looked over his shoulder. ‘Beloved, come see the crops.’

Isabel looked to Blackmane, as though seeking his permission.

‘Fairly sure he’s talking to you,’ the defender said. ‘Go ahead. I’ll ride behind you.’

She made her way over to Hodge, and he followed.

‘All these crops you see before you are ours.’ Hodge made a sweeping gesture with his arm. ‘Wheat, barley, cabbages, carrots, turnips. You name it, we planted it.’

Isabel looked around. ‘When you say ours—’

‘I mean England’s, of course. This project benefits everyone.’

Blackmane was immediately suspicious when he said that. Food should benefit the region in which it was grown. He looked out at the fields, eyeing the uniformed guards patrolling the fence line. There were a lot of them given the size of the area. He glanced at Tatum, who looked equally as perplexed.

Alveye rode up beside him. ‘What the hell is this?’ He kept his voice low. ‘The farmers look ready to fall down.’

Blackmane returned his attention to the fields, spotting workers in the distance. These were not your typical farmers. They moved with stooped heads and rounded backs. These were people weighed down by exhaustion, fatigue, and… He narrowed his eyes.

Chains.

Each worker wore a shackle around one ankle, a chain running between them.

Isabel stopped her horse and lifted a hand to her brow. ‘What is that around the farmers’ ankles? Are they… are they chains?’

Hodge pulled up his horse, and the rest of the group stopped also. ‘We had a few teething issues in the beginning, people disappearing. The chains simply ensure the same number of people who go out to work in the fields at the beginning of the day return at the end of it.’

All eyes went to him.

‘Why would they want to leave?’ Blackmane asked. ‘Why would anyone flee a camp offering food and safety?’

‘I have wondered that many times’ was Hodge’s reply. ‘You would think they would be grateful.’ He pushed his horse into a walk. ‘Though flight risk is less of a probleminsidethe camp. The majority work without need of weights. Or, as I like to call them, thegratefulmajority.’

Blackmane and Alveye exchanged a glance.

‘You look tired,’ Hodge said, eyeing Isabel. ‘We are about a mile from the camp now. Let us continue so you may rest.’

They forged ahead in total silence, eventually reaching a ten-foot stone wall with drawn wire atop it, confirming what Blackmane already knew.

This was not a camp. This was a prison.

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