Page 35 of Bound By Darkness

Ellia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not blind. What’s in your pocket?”

I slowly pulled out the metallic locket, dangling the silver chain in front. “It’s a necklace my friend gave me. A gift of strength and resilience.”

“It’s lovely.” She grabbed it between her fingers and held it close to her eyes. “I had one like this. My mother gave it to me. It was my favorite until I lost it.”

Something knotted in my stomach, the acid bubbling and churning. A quiet, nagging filled my ears. It was her voice, screaming in the dark?—

“Then it is yours.”

“What?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.” More like before I snatched it back from her fingers, but a frail part of me knew she needed it more. She deserved a reminder of her home… of her mother. Thalia would have done it. Maybe that’s why her voice echoed in my head now.

Ellia smiled, but it didn’t light the depth of blue swirling in her eyes.

Wrapping a tender hand around the chain, fever shut her eyelids and lips as she succumbed to its potent effects.

The line moved at a kelpie’s pace.

It didn’t help as hunger bit into my stomach, further churning the acid or the fact I planned to steal a water pouch.

Ellia needed water. She needed it desperately, and with her strength fading, who knew when she’d be able to trek down the mountain for it?

The line ebbed and flowed as men and women shuffled forward, their feet kicking up dirt and rock. My hands were bogged down from the weight of iron, my shouldersslumping from hours toiling in the tepid air as my eyes flicked above to the archers.

They were positioned at every high vantage point, providing them with an aerial view. Any weird movement, any step out of line, and you’d take an arrow through the throat before the realization of death hit.

How did I know?

I’d already seen their impressive aim twice, just as another guard dragged a young woman’s body. He tossed it into the mist, her body plummeting from the heights of Galar.

I averted my gaze as my feet shifted in one solid conglomerate. I liked my blood where it rested.

“You!” the woman behind the table shouted as I neared the worn oak table. Her fingers directed me to the large pot in the middle of it. “Number.”

“207,” I answered.

The woman scribbled against her clipboard as I reached for the metal tray. “Wait.” Her finger traced the parchment paper, and I could hear the smile in her wicked voice. “You’re Moria Feyron. I knew I recognized you.”

I took a step as my fingers twitched toward the tray. I couldn’t afford another skipped meal, not as my stomach echoed its disapproval.

The woman’s hand was clammy as she grabbed the slender part of my wrist, yanking me against oak as it yawned in protest.

Her hand struck fast.

It met the bruised part of my flesh, my jaw cracking and splitting where she’d struck. I yelped as I stumbled, my hands instantly cradling my jaw as I blinked back saltwater.

“That’s for your father.” Her hand patted the unblemished side of my cheek, her fingers pausing. “Maybe think twice before outselling your own,” she spat before digging herfingers into my wrist. She twisted it over, illuminating the fresh ink stamped there. “You’re forever marked, slave.”

I averted my gaze and held my hands out for the metal tray—a coward.

I’d always be one.

Her fingers released my wrist with a push. “Next!” she screeched as the male beside her thrust the tray into my hand.

His gaze lingered on mine as he sneered. “High Fae trash.”

Avoiding his gaze, I hurriedly sat at an empty table. I shoveled brown mush into my mouth, the texture coating my tongue in a layer of wax as I hung my head low, fearing taking an arrow between my brows.

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