Page 15 of WarBride

My blood goes cold. I’d never stopped to consider the fate of those whose lives I spared. “And what will happen to them?”

“Most will be transported back to Noxaur,” Ruvaen replies. “Human slaves are valuable, you know. They are generally more malleable than other species and extremely hardworking if properly motivated. A well-treated human slave can last a long while in Eledria. But, ah! What is this?”

Even as he speaks, the priest is dragged from the platform, and the crowd parts to make room for the next captive. She steps into the glow of the three floatingincantisglobes, and my heart seems to lodge between my ribs.

It’s her.

It’s the girl, the one who sang to me in the temple, freezing me in place. The ferocious young woman who fought so hard to defend her fallen sister. I’d sent them to be gathered with the other captives, hoping to keep them from being slaughtered and burned with the rest of the temple inhabitants. In truth I’ve not thought of her since; my mind has been plagued by too many other concerns. But there she is, standing under that glaring spell-light, her shoulders back, her head high. Even clad in tattered, blood-stained garments, her hair snarled around her shoulders, she looks fierce and proud. Like a queen.

“Well, this is certainly unexpected,” Ruvaen says. “I thought you said it was a temple full of moldering old priests? How did this lovely flower end up in the fray? A little nun, perhaps?”

My mind flashes back to the vicious way she went at me with both knife and nails. “I think not.”

Ruvaen grunts. “No matter. Nun or not, underneath all that grime is a trophy indeed. She’ll make a fine warbride.”

“A what?” I turn to the prince sharply, studying the side of his face.

He offers me a small, mirthless smile. “Did you not know? Any female captives are sold as brides, not slaves. The men get lonely on these long campaigns, you see. It’s a way to keep their spirits up and might encourage alittleless random slaughter of the peaceful populace along the way.” At my horrified expression, he lifts an eyebrow. “A brutish practice, I know. What would you have me do? I maintain control here by a thread. I am not king, after all.”

“What happens to these warbrides?” I demand, my throat tight, my mouth hard.

Ruvaen grunts. “It’s best not to ask.”

I stare down at that horrible scene—the red lights, the leering shadows, the hungry faces of the Noxaurian warriors, still stained withviruliumresidue. I know what will happen to the girl. I know what her fate will be this night and, should she live to see them, all the nights to follow, for the rest of her life.

The bidding has begun. Harsh voices sing out in quick succession, eager to claim this choice prize. The auction master grows agitated, clearly not hearing the sum he seeks. He barks at the crowd, even throws a knife into their midst. They back away slightly, looking at each other, and for a moment, the bidding ceases.

Then a stir of movement in the back of the throng. I rip my gaze away from the upright little figure under the lights, trying to see who has come. To my horror, Lurodos strides to the base of the platform, his leering face bathed inincantisglow.

“Fifty silver heds!” he declares, his voice carrying up to the spire window. “Fifty,” he repeats, and licks his lips, “for this toothsome human morsel.”

7

ILSEVEL

As I stand here on this auction block and listen to these hideous voices bidding for my life and body, I find myself wishing suddenly—distantly, stupidly—that I’d understood before what the alliance with the Shadow King meant: a shield. To stand between me and all the evil forces of the fae realm. For who among these monsters could match the monster bridegroom my father picked for me? He could hew any one of them in two with a single swing of his right arm. I, and all Gavaria, might have been spared, as the troll king and his terrible horde sent these creatures howling back to whatever dark realm would claim them.

I may not have loved my intended husband. But perhaps he would have offered me that protection I never received from any man in my life. Not my father—his only protection was to keep me unsullied to serve his ultimate purpose. Certainly not Artoris. He sought to claim me, to possess me, and I mistook it for something else entirely.

Now I stand unprotected before this teeming mass. No father, no lover, no husband to shield me. I have nothing but my own tattered courage between me and the horrors this night will bring. In a few moments one of these monsters will drag me away into the dark, and then . . .

“Come on, you gremlin scat-stains!” the taloned man standing behind me rumbles, rolling his eyes in mock disgust at the crowd. He waves a hand at me, a sweeping gesture that curves to mimic the lines of my body, no longer hidden beneathmy cloak. “Twelve, fifteen, twenty heds . . . Is that the best you can dredge up from your miserable asses for this lithe and lovely female? Or do you want me to put her aside and bring out another priestling instead?”

“Twenty-five!” someone shouts at once.

The auction master groans and flings something sharp into the crowd. Monsters part ways, whooping with laughter, as a nasty, curved blade vibrates in the ground beside the boot of the offending bidder. “Let me hear fifty, or I’ll send the next one through your eye!” the auction master cries. “Do I hear fifty? Fifty heds, or I send her back to the cage.”

The staring eyes blink up at me, the leering mouths murmuring to one another, but no one answers the auction master’s demand. For a moment hope swells. Sure, the cage is not exactly freedom, but it’s better than the alternative, isn’t it? Perhaps I can work out some means of escape, find Aurae, and—Oh gods. Was Aurae sold as a bride as well? No, I can’t think about that now. I’ve got to be sharp, got to watch for my chance and be ready to take it. I’ve got to—

“Fifty silver heds!”

A ripple of movement stirs the shadowy mass before my eyes. I blink against the glare of light overhead, struggling to see. A new figure appears among the rest, dwarfing the others with a bulk that is absolutely staggering. Long hair of pure, shining silver flows to his waist, and his skin is dark with a strange, purple sheen under the otherworldly glow of those orbs. Muscles bulge across every exposed inch of him, from his thick neck to his powerful calves. It’s almost grotesque, yet I find it impossible to look away from him. Perhaps it’s glamour.

But there are those telltale streaks of black tears marring his cheeks, just like the rest. I know the moment I set eyes on him that it was he who led the attack on Ashryn Shrine.

“Fifty,” he says again, drawing close to the edge of the platform. He’s so tall, his head is almost on a level with my feet. He smiles up at me, a hungry expression. “For this toothsome human morsel.”

My stomach drops. My knees turn to water. Of all the monsters who might claim me, somehow I know this is the worst. If he takes me, I will surely die . . . but not tonight and not soon. I see it in his eyes, like a promise, like a vow. He will keep me alive for a long, long while, and, when death finally comes, I will praise the gods for even the most painful release.

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