Page 39 of Given to the Fae (The Dark Realms #3)

brYN

T he festival they bring me to is full of bright colors and orbs of conjured light that float about. The entire main street is lined with stalls filled with textiles and foods, beautiful trinkets and artisan creations. My eyes widen with each new sight, and the casual use of magick has me in awe.

I’ve never seen anything like this, and now that I don’t look like a slave, merchants are polite, even kind to me.

With a small smile, I look over my shoulder at Locke, Morgan, and Jak.

All three glower at anyone who gets too close to me, and their presence at my back makes me feel protected though no one even frowns in my direction.

Is this what it’s like to be free? Is this what I have to look forward to in the Light Realm?

The thought makes me giddy, even though the tiny, insidious voice in my head tells me that not even these three fae can be trusted.

However much I want to believe everything they say, the years have taught me better and I’d be a fool to ignore my experiences.

I see Jak watching me and my cheeks heat.

Sleeping so close to him on the bed made it much more comfortable, and I must have slept for a while.

I consider him carefully. He didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want, didn’t force his touch upon me.

He just laid with me and I felt warm and secure, reminding me of when I was first brought to The Barrack and the older women kept us in the middle of them all to keep the youngest a bit safer.

That protection didn’t last very long for me, of course, because when they realized I was other , I was made to stay on the outside, but I’ll always remember that those first nights of warmth and safety, and that’s how Jak made me feel.

I look away from him. Should I tell him everything? My lungs tighten at the thought and I force a small smile at the male witch who’s showing me his wares, an array of stones he swears have magickal properties.

I place a hand over my chest and rub in small circles as I try to alleviate the fear.

Whenever anyone has found out, it hasn’t gone well and, regardless of the punishments fate dishes out, I’ve still suffered in the end.

What if I reveal the truth to him and he tells the others and they begin to see how far they can push the Kismet, how much they can hurt the Fate Touched before something bad happens?

Somehow these three fae’s betrayals would cut me more deeply than anything.

Gods, do I really care for them so much?

The stone I’m holding falls from my fingers and I mumble an apology to the white-eyed witch with the tiny lines carved into his skin as I back away. My stomach churns and my breathing quickens.

‘What is it?’ Jak asks me.

‘It’s nothing,’ I say, though I can barely hear myself over the roaring in my ears.

‘Come, let’s sit and have a meal,’ he says, taking my elbow and leading me away from the stalls to some tables which have been set up outside a tavern.

I’m urged to a chair and sit as the others do, looking down at the old wooden slats of the table.

A pint of ale is put in front of me and I drink it slowly. My breathing returns to normal by the time I’ve drunk half, though my head is now swimming a little and feels a bit muzzy.

When I look up, I find the three fae talking amongst themselves, but all of them are keeping an eye on me. Locke and Morgan get up, leaving Jak and I alone.

‘There’s something you’re not telling us,’ Jak murmurs after a moment, not looking at me. ‘I know there is.’

I don’t gainsay him.

I look at him. ‘It’s difficult,’ I whisper. ‘It gives you power over me.’

He looks rueful. ‘Don’t we already have that, Bryn?’ He looks into his cup. ‘Whether we want it, or not. The more I know, the better I can help.’

I know he’s right.

I watch him for a moment. He’s not hurt me, he’s not scared me or been cruel to me. If I were to choose someone to tell, it would be him above all others. Perhaps I’d count Morgan in that as well.

A pained cry from the next table interrupts my thoughts, and I see that a demon is standing beside it.

He’s large and looks angry, and his eyes are predatory.

With him is a short human male. I wouldn’t have thought him a bull.

He’s too small to be considered for the privilege of seeding females, and the ones like him I’ve met have been quite docile, nice even.

The male’s demon master has smashed his large boot down on the human’s bare foot.

He then makes the small man sit on the ground by the table, as all slaves must, and proceeds to order the human to grip the table edge.

A small, sharp knife is produced, and the demon begins to caress the human’s flesh with it, making shallow cuts all over his fingers.

The slave bites his lip, his eyes leaking tears, which makes the demon grin callously.

‘Have you learned your lesson, you piece of filth? You don’t touch anything of mine with your dirty hands unless I tell you to.’

‘I understand, master,’ the male human whimpers.

‘I don’t think you do,’ the demon hisses back, taking the knife and jabbing it into the human’s hand. He squeals and the demon laughs.

‘Bryn.’

I look at Jak who’s been watching the scene as well.

‘There’s nothing you or I can do,’ he reminds me, though I see his grip on his cup is very tight.

‘You’re wrong,’ I say quietly and he gives me a questioning look. ‘You wanted to know the rest.’

I stand fluidly and move around the table. He won’t believe just my words anyway. He needs to see it with his own eyes.

‘What are you doing?’ Jak mutters in a warning tone.

‘Showing you.’

I move toward the table and pretend to stumble, bringing up my arms to stop myself from falling. By design, my hand covers the slave’s just as the blade comes down again, piercing my flesh deeply as well as the male’s beneath.

At my cry, the demon’s expression morphs from sadistic glee to genuine shock quicker than he swung his blade.

His mouth drops open in alarm. He’s just wounded what appears to be a fae female, a member of the freefolk.

His horrified and frightened eyes dart from me to Jak still at the table, then back again.

I chance a look at the fae behind me and then everything happens all at once. Jak is on his feet and at my side before I’ve even grasped the handle of the knife to pull it out myself.

A chair crashes to the ground as the demon leaps to his feet and, casting a dark look at the whimpering human man kneeling next to me on the floor as if this is his fault, begins to stammer his profuse apologies to me.

I feel a pang of regret, not for the master, but for this male who will definitely be punished later for what I’ve done, but it’s too late to go back now.

Jak says something to me but I don’t hear him as pain begins to radiate from my hand. He grips my wrist hard and pulls the knife out of my flesh slowly. My stomach rolls and I turn into him, breathing deeply through my nose.

The knife clatters to the wood and my hand is lifted. I look at it to see how bad it is as the human lets go of the table, cradling his skewered hand and looking fearful as he cowers beneath it.

Jak is muttering to himself angrily as he pushes a white cloth into my injury and I try to forget the pain as I nudge him to get his attention. I don’t want him to miss what comes next or my getting hurt will have been in vain.

He looks up from my hand just as the demon steps closer, still prostrating himself.

He trips as he does, falling against the adjacent table where his hand slips and then scrapes along the blade of a sharp sword leaning against it.

It slices the length of his palm and cuts deeply into all four of his fingers at their roots.

He lets out a howl and grips his hand, fumbling to get a cloth from his belt around it to staunch the sudden flow of blood.

Jak’s face is a mix of surprise and bewilderment as he ushers me quickly back to our table and sits me down.

He gives me a confused stare as he hands me a small vial of healing potion, which I drink half of and then surreptitiously throw into the male slave’s lap while everyone’s still looking at the whimpering demon.

The male doesn’t move to pick it up, I notice, and I hope he has the gumption to swallow it before anyone sees him with it.

Jak looks at my hand and then at the demon who’s still trying to bandage his own while a goblin female attempts to help.

‘I don’t understand,’ he says, looking from me to the demon.

‘Don’t you?’

His brow furrows and I see him thinking through what I did again, and then what happened to the demon afterward.

‘Fate Touched? Impossible,’ he breathes.

I clamp my mouth closed, suddenly too afraid to speak. What if, even after my demonstration, he doesn’t believe me? But I hold his eyes, willing him to see that I’m telling him the truth.

He looks again at the demon holding his hand and inspects my wound with a grim expression. After a moment, he lets out a breath.

‘Don’t tell the others. Not yet.’

By the time Morgan and Locke return, the potion has begun to heal my hand and the demon has moved on hastily with his human, I suppose in case someone has called for guards.

Freefolk injuring each other isn’t allowed.

Only slaves. The demon again apologizes and I note as they go that the slave’s hands are now in much better condition than his master’s.

Not particularly wanting Morgan and Locke’s flurry of questions if they know what happened, I wave a flippant hand, saying it was my fault for being clumsy.

The slave’s eyes don’t find mine. There’s no camaraderie between us.

He doesn’t even know I’m like him. I’ve been having a fine evening pretending to be free, while all around me my kind are subjugated and punished.