Page 3 of King of Storms and Feathers

If I could make it through the low wooden door on the building’s side that I hoped led to a cellar, I could take refuge with the roaches and rats. I’d bide my time, then make my escape under the cover of night.

Where I would go after that, I had no idea, but running was better than being trapped.

Panting hard, I waited until the foot traffic worked to my advantage—not too heavy, not too light, perfect for weaving about twenty paces through to get to the cellar door. I found my opening and bolted from between the barrels, my teeth clenched and fists pumping as hard as they could with the chain rattling between them as I ran.

Nearly there… The corner of the building was a mere arm’s length away. I would make it, even if it killed me. Then bang, I slammed into a wall of leather-wrapped muscle. Cruel fingers gripped my shoulders. I looked up.

Fucking Arrow.

“Where do you think you’re going, gold eater?”

Shaking with rage, I took ragged breaths through my nose. “I’m not a gold eater.”

“How do you know? I thought you had no memories. Amnesia, the slaver said.”

“Do you usually believe what every idiot you meet tells you?” I asked.

“Not as a habit, but I’m inclined to believe a slaver over a serum-sucking human.” He slung a heavy arm across my shoulders, pressed a knife into my side, and walked us back toward the market sign.

“I’m surprised I’m not dead already,” I said, baffled why he hadn’t killed me yet.

“There are plenty of hours left in the day to deal with the likes of you.”

I shot him a surprised look, my gaze slipping along his square jaw and strong chin.

“Don’t look so shocked, gold eater,” he said. “If I were you, I would have run, too. But I’ll warn you; if you do it again, I won’t hesitate to slit your grimy throat.”

I longed to ask what use he had for a half-dead slave but decided for morale’s sake, it would be best for now not to know the answer.

“What place do you come from?” he asked, his deep voice vibrating low in my stomach.

Too tired to speak, I shrugged a shoulder. I wished I knew. It was one of the many questions currently wracking my brain.

Who was I? How did I end up in that shit-stained cage? And why the hell couldn’t I remember?

We exited the market and strode through a yard toward dirt-flecked horses and a large, covered carriage, a red mountain range visible in the distance and gold dust swirling through the foreground.

Pitiless silver eyes bored into me. “Farron is a desert market town on the border of the Light Realm and the Sun Realm, if that helps to loosen any memories.”

“I don’t recall hearing the name of the market before,” I said. “Tell me where you’re taking me. Perhaps I’ll know of the place.”

“A little bossy for a captive, aren’t you? It’s in that direction.” Halting, he pointed at the mountains and the storm clouds broiling above them. “The City of Coridon in the Light Realm of Storms and Feathers.”

“Never heard of it,” I lied. Of course I knew of the desert city of gold and the fae who lived there and maintained ruthless control of the most valuable commodity in the five realms.

They were cruel savages and rich enough to indulge in every disgusting whim and desire imaginable.

We approached Esen and the dark-haired fae. With their arms crossed, they stood frowning in front of a black, grime-covered carriage. By its size and severe boxy lines, it appeared designed for swift travel and defense. Four muscular horses stamped the surrounding ground, raising more of the throat-clogging, red-tinged dust.

Over her dark leathers, a cloth bandage wrapped Esen’s thigh, but her weight seemed equally spread between each booted foot. Other than her bruised pride, she didn’t appear to be suffering much from the knife wound I’d inflicted, which was a shame.

“What took you so long?” asked the male, his eyes crinkling with a grin.

Arrow pushed me toward the scowling girl, then sheathed his knife. “Given her shocking physical state, this one had a surprising amount of life left in her. Make sure you feed her something when she wakes, Esen.”

“Wakes? What do you mean?” Esen asked.

Arrow grimaced at me. “She’s about to pass out.”

---