The Bazaar (Fae's Captive #6) - Lily Archer Page 0,1

from the girl even though I renew my fight against my captor. She returns to the shallow pool beneath the fountain and jumps in, the other children going back to their fun. I can’t even be mad about it. Not when I can see the lash marks across some of their backs. They deserve joy, no matter how they come by it. Even if it’s at my expense.

Shouts ricochet off the close buildings, and I know Gareth is causing more than just a little trouble. I know he’ll find me. And that thought alone soothes me in ways I’ve never known were possible. Being soothed isn’t something a slave is offered, especially not in Granthos’s house. The only one who ever came close to giving me comfort was Clotty. And look where that got her. I can see her laboring in some dark pit, her pale skin streaked with dirt, her hair in filthy tangles. Thin, tired, maybe sick. It should fuel me to fight harder, but instead I let the slightest tendril of grief wrap around my heart. Because even though I’ve set out to save her, some dark, angry part of me whispers that she’s already dead. That she couldn’t survive. That maybe she died on the road where I just walked. That maybe she’s one of the bodies hung on pikes above the slave market.

“Silmaran sees all.” The brute pushes through a narrow wooden door, and he turns sideways to enter.

Two changeling guards jump to attention, their arms permanently marked with black slave bands though they don’t move like slaves. Their backs are straight, their eyes clear. Free. That’s the only word for their bearing.

“Did it work?” One of them, his hair in blond ringlets, looks me over.

The brute grunts.

“I guess it did.” The other, a dark-haired female, smirks. “Silmaran’s caught her bait. Now we wait for the tiger to come for it.”

My eyes grow accustomed to the dim indoors, and I see we’re in a store room. Pots and baskets line the shelves, and I can smell spices and dried meats all around. How can ex-slaves afford such fine fare?

The brute carries me past the guards.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Silmaran wants her treated well. So, I’m treating her well. She needs a bath, food, and water.” He jerks his chin at the golden-haired male. “Nemar, make food.” Then at the female. “You, bathe her.”

“What are you going to do?” she snaps back.

“Stand guard.” He finally puts me down and pulls his giant paw away from my face. I thought he was large before. I was wrong. He’s enormous with keen eyes in a squarish face the color of sun-baked sand, shoulders broad enough to hold up a house, and hands like oven mitts on top of other oven mitts that mated with even larger oven mitts.

“You idiots!” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Gareth thinks I’m his mate. He would have come along if you’d only asked me instead of hauling me off to Spires knows where while he tears the city apart. He’s going to find me. It’s only a matter of time.” Pushing past the giant, I reach for the door.

He grabs the back of my shirt and easily holds me in place. “Then that’s all the better. We won’t have to do the ransom nonsense.”

“You won’t be doing anything because you’ll be dead.” I say it matter-of-factly. “Have you ever seen magic that can disintegrate someone? Because I have. Gareth has it.” He won’t actually use it, but they don’t need to know that little fact.

“Magic like that doesn’t exist.” Blond fae, Nemar, doesn’t sound too confident.

“It certainly does.” I kick against the gritty tile floor. “And if he thinks you’ve harmed his mate …” I whistle. “Not good.” I turn to look at the giant. “Why do you want him, anyway?”

“Eldra, take her to the bath.” The monster shoves me to the dark-haired female. “We do what Silmaran says, not what this one utters. Besides, she’s covered in filth and smells like a unicorn’s arse.”

“Hey!” I flail out to smack him but come away with an aching hand. “Youch. Are you made of stone?”

His sandy brown eyebrows jump in amusement, but he doesn’t actually smile.

The female takes my elbow. “Let’s go.”

“This is a bad ideeeaaaa,” I sing-song.

“Maybe.” She pulls a knife from her hip sheathe. “But it doesn’t matter. Walk.”

I shrug. “Tried to warn you.”

“We appreciate your kindness,” she deadpans and pushes through a door on the other