Page 10 of The Sun God’s Prize (Child of Scale and Fire #3)

Vunoshe leads all of us into the other cabin, quickly crowded by the two hulking fighters, let alone me and the small slave master.

But he doesn’t seem to care, guiding the sunburned giant to sit on the captain’s bed, his companion next to him, then has me perch on the end before stepping back to admire us with his hands clasped under his chin and a giant, childlike smile on his face.

“You’re gorgeous ,” he breathes. “I’m going to make so much ranan from you.”

It’s clear to me that the Sunnish warrior is just as pleased with his situation as Vunoshe. “I won’t disappoint you, masterre ,” he says with a nod, voice deep and rumbling.

“Fight good,” the other man says in a rough accent. As I guessed, he’s from the Overkingdom, likely a captured soldier who has found himself in the same situation as me.

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” Vunoshe pats the blond on the head before exhaling a big, happy breath.

“Hanso certainly knows his manflesh.” He spins on me, eyes narrowing.

“I really wanted him to see your talents. Two hundred.” He snorts.

“ Please . Still, he’ll hear of my triumph soon enough.

” Ah, so he’s less proud of his mate’s assignment than he appeared, jealousy blooming on his clever face.

“We’ll see who has the best story to tell when we again meet. ”

“You will, of course, masterre ,” the Sunnish man says with a flashing grin before boldly looking the small man up and down. “Once you sample the merchandise yourself, that is.”

Vunoshe’s pupils flare, filling his dark eyes to black. He leans in and kisses the big man on the lips, and the warrior answers with an equally eager mouth. When the slaver leans away, he’s flushed and breathless.

“Even better,” he whispers. “I’ll have to take full advantage of the day’s travel then, shan’t I?”

A day. I pretend to watch as the masterre pulls his robe open and guides the big man’s mouth down to his cock, the small, thin thing barely a stick poking out from a thick mat of curling black hair.

But the massive warrior falls to his knees, full mouth latching onto the three-finger length, licking and rolling his tongue around the tip barely bigger than the cap of a mushroom.

Vunoshe leans into the attention while I fight the squint of concentration that’s trying to surface. I ponder over his moans of eagerness, the sucking sounds of the warrior’s greedy mouth. One more day. And then… will I be where she needs me to be? If so, I have to be ready to break free.

The Sunnish fighter is clearly talented, because the masterre comes again after only having orgasmed a short time ago. Vunoshe thrusts his little hips violently, almost comical in his extravagant climax, but I’m not laughing. I have to be ready to escape when we make landfall.

One thing is certain. I will not be sold. No matter what the dragon wants.

The Sunnish warrior is kissing the slaver’s stomach now, tongue lingering in the trail of thin hair that climbs toward his belly button.

Vunoshe steps back, tucking his robe around him, smile languid, though he does nothing to help the warrior who struggles, still shackled, to rise and sit on the bed again, awkward and uncomfortable as it appears thanks to the heavy weight of chains and bindings.

“You will do,” Vunoshe says.

He binds us all to the rings on the floor, one at a time, starting with the Sunnish man and finishing with me.

None of us fight back or complain, though the collar is tighter than usual as he secures me firmly, running a thick chain through all three of our restraints, binding us together with a heavy pin and a bulky lock.

When he’s done, he leaves us there in the stuffy, humid air of the small cabin, the dull sounds from outside barely reaching us.

The Sunnish man is the first to speak. “We’re almost there,” he whispers. “You’re doing well. Once we’re in the arenas, we’ll have more freedoms. I promise.”

The blond is squinting at him, concentrating, then nods. Struggling to understand, is my guess, the pair touching fingers despite their bindings. The simple, soft caress surprises me, not in its kindness, but for the fact that they’ve somehow found caring in this terrible process.

I’d meant to hold my own counsel and distance, but I’m driven to speak. “Where are you from?” I ask that of the blond who sits up abruptly, jerking against our mutual chain to do so, his pale eyes widening in surprise and near-delight. Or as close to it as he can get in this situation.

“You’re from the Overkingdom,” he says in a baritone voice that barely rises in the heat.

I nod as the Sunnish man frowns at me and then at his companion.

“You can understand her?” His confusion has me wincing internally.

“I can,” his companion says, frowning then.

“As can I.” They both exchange a look that has them turning toward me again. “I am Onu, once of Mino,” the Sunnish man says.

“Carrigan,” the blond says, “of Sarn.”

“Remi of Heald,” I say, falling short of my full name. There’s no love lost between my country and Sarn, after all, and though I admit to my homeland, Carrigan doesn’t need to know everything.

“Heald,” he says, eyes widening further. “I’m sorry, soldier.”

It’s a genuine apology, a kindness I’m not expecting, and I nod in return. “And you,” I say. Then turn to Onu. “You seem content with your fate?”

“This path is my destiny,” he says. “My mother fought, my father. I was born on the sands. But they only dreamed of the Sun God’s city, Remi, the Dominae far from the Domes of home.

” I have no idea what any of that means, but he’s visibly excited by it.

His dark eyes sparkle as he smiles, white teeth even and bright.

Someone’s taken care of him all this time, made sure he kept his appeal, handsome and charming.

“I have fought and proven myself finally worthy of the destiny I was born for.”

“I tried to tell him he’s worth far more than dying for someone else’s pleasure,” Carrigan says with tenderness that reminds me of Atlas.

Then, speaks again. “Fight for you,” he points at Uno.

“No masterre .” How strange that I hear both the same, though the second is heavily accented.

It’s the dragon’s magic at work, but I’ll never explain it, I don’t think.

“And I’ve asked you,” Onu laughs, “what’s the difference between dying for a king on a battlefield compared to fighting under the eyes of the Sun God for glory and ranan ?”

“He’s not wrong,” I have to admit, and even Carrigan grins.

“He’s not,” he sighs. “Still, I’d like to think it was my idea instead of being forced to it. How did you…?” He doesn’t finish asking the obvious because he doesn’t have to.

“Betrayal,” I say with a stiff shrug. “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.” Portuk better hope he’s dead in that water. If not, his days are numbered, and his end won’t be easy. Then I’ll deal with Vivenne. “You?”

He shakes his head, sad suddenly. “We were ambushed at the edge of Lake Duranthis,” he says.

That has me cold despite the humid room.

Heald ends at the waterfall and deep chasm that swallows the river of the same name, our sliver of a country bordered by larger kingdoms like Sarn.

The lake marks the return of the water’s flow to the surface just outside our border.

“Near the mouth of the South River.” He nods at the porthole over my head. “The very one we’re on now.”

Of course, we are. How had I not guessed as much?

And while it’s not helpful in the moment to know we follow that large and mysterious waterway that begins at the southern border of Sarn, it brings me comfort nonetheless.

“My company was decimated, most of them killed.” Carrigan doesn’t try to translate for Onu, most likely has already attempted as much in his little bit of Sunnish.

It must be a relief to be able to speak to someone, so I let him go on without interruption.

“The few who survived were taken, chained, loaded on that ship.” He shrugs.

“They were sold along the way, or died of their wounds.” His jaw jumps as he looks down at Onu’s fingers softly stroking his as though knowing he needs comfort, even if the Sunnish man can’t understand him.

“I was the last of my patrol unsold. I knew they had a plan for me, but I didn’t know what.

Until Onu was brought on board. He taught me some of their language.

” His eyes turn to me again. “Is it common in Heald? To speak Sunnish?” His cheeks are already flushed from the heat, but darken further under his sunburn.

“I know your soldiers comingle with them sometimes.”

There’s that arrogance Mother always hated. I shake my head, trying not to judge him for it, too. “My grandfather,” I say, leaving it at that.

He nods then, forehead smoothing out. “I see. Well, I wish I’d had you all along. It’s been…”

Difficult. “You survived,” I say. “Not many would.” Or had, in fact. It’s a small comfort to offer, but he takes it anyway.

“As did you, sister,” he says.

“An odd term for a daughter of Heald from a son of Sarn.” I don’t mean to be sarcastic, but it’s hard not to be cynical, considering our countries' mutual animosity. I think of his tiny, blonde princess, Vae, and her hate—for the first time in what feels like an eternity—as he speaks again.

“I’ve found that I’ve shed my countrymen’s views of the world,” he says with his gaze turning to Onu, who smiles back, even if he can’t understand what we say to one another. “Life is simpler now. And, hopefully, Onu is right and the life we come to will have its own rewards.”

“The arena,” I say. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs. “Ask him.” Carrigan shifts languages again, still odd in my ears that he’s not speaking the same at all, apparent in his accent and halting speech. “Remi want arena talk.”

“Of course,” Onu turns to me. “What do you want to know, little sister?”

Maybe it’s a bad idea to confess ignorance, but these men appear to be at the very least honest, if not trustworthy.

I don’t know them well enough for trust yet.

But I’ve been too long alone, and without someone I can speak to without heavy reservation or having to guard against response, so I give in to admitting my lack of knowledge and offer a little grin. “Everything.”

Onu’s laugh is deep and satisfying. Even more so when he begins to tell me what I want to know.

***