Sold to Serve by Kyra Alessy

 

Chapter 1

It was hot for the time of year. The midmorning sun beat down on her fair skin, making her squirm in the ropes that held her to the wooden slaver’s pole. If she survived the day, whatever wasn’t covered would be well and truly burnt by this evening. She glanced down at her body. Her robes and shift were long gone, but thankfully some of her smallclothes remained. The wrapping around her hips provided at least some modesty, though her chest was bared to all. A good portion of her was still caked in dried mud from the night before. That might at least help with the sun, she thought.

A bead of sweat trickled down her scalp under her hair, leaving an itch in its wake. She pushed herself up onto her toes, but it was no use. Her wrists were bound too high to reach. The best she could do was to rub her head on her arm, spreading the wetness and dirt alike.

She scanned the busy street of Kingway, a typical market of trinkets and foodstuffs in a bustling town, large enough to get lost in, but certainly nothing like the mammoth cities in the north she’d heard about. She and two others, an unfriendly old man with a nasty cough and an equally hostile youth, were the only slaves for purchase, it seemed. Neither of them had spoken to her since she had found herself chained alongside them in the wagon.

Her lip quivered. Only yesterday evening she was saying the final rites, beginning the three-day ritual that would see her cast off her old life and step happily into the priesthood. Being a Priest of the Mount was – well, if she was honest, it wasn’t as if it had been her fondest dream. She admitted to herself that she did not feel the call to serve the way the other novices professed to, though she had never spoken those thoughts aloud. For her, a life in service to the Mount was a means of escape and of safety. Complete and irreversible. Or at least it would have been in three days’ time when she said her vows and swapped her grey novice’s robes for the black ones of the priests. A tear tracked its way down her dirty cheek. For the thousandth time, she hoped to the gods that this was a dream, just a silly nightmare, and she’d wake up a bit late for morning prayer and be chastised as usual. But as she heard the tell-tale jingle of the coin purse at the portly slaver’s belt, she knew it wasn’t so.

She had been stolen last night as she slept in her narrow cot in the long room with the other novices. A tall, cloaked figure hefted her up easily, covered her mouth and threatened to kill her if she struggled. She was frozen; heart thundering, ears roaring. Her life had not prepared her for anything like this. It wasn’t until she felt the thud as she landed on the ground outside the walls of the cloister that she finally came to her senses. After her months of hiding, they had found her … she couldn’t go back! She pushed him as hard as she could, but he didn’t let go. He grunted in pain and slipped in the mud instead, taking her with him and covering them both in it. He recovered his balance first and slapped her hard.

When she awoke, she was chained in the wagon and her abductor was gone. Her angry demands, questions and, finally, pleas were pointedly ignored by the other slaves and saw her gagged by the slaver; the smelly rag was still tied tightly around her head and jammed between cracked lips she wished she could moisten. She’d realised then that she’d been wrong. He hadn’t taken her to bring her back to her family, nor to Blackhale, her betrothed. It had simply been to sell her. She’d never had to worry about this before. She knew it was done, especially here in the south, but the estate had been guarded and no one stole freewomen with property. She had been taken for no other reason than that she was nearest the window in the dormitory and she was no one. A part of her had been relieved – at the time.

Now, the slaver approached her, the wisp of a licentious smile on his face from the attention her semi-naked body was garnering, filthy though it was. He didn’t seem interested in her except for the money she would bring him, thank the gods. He looked past her, into the crowd, and she jumped as he suddenly bellowed, ‘Flesh auction! Midday!’

Flesh auction.She closed her eyes rather than see everyone’s on her. She’d heard of such things, but of course never been to one. And now she was to be the main attraction.

She was left to braise, and after a while she couldn’t help but drift, half-dozing and pretending she wasn’t here, that this wasn’t happening. The voices, noise and frenzy of the marketplace melted into the background.

‘Is she alive? Looks like a dried-up corpse.’

Her eyes opened just a crack. They felt sore, swollen. She turned her head towards the voice and was ensnared by a man’s gaze. He was older than she, with dark hair that was greying at the temples. He was a large man and wore a fine green tunic embroidered with a house sigil that she recognised but couldn’t place.

He perused her body slowly from bare feet to chest, where his stare lingered, and she shifted uncomfortably, her face burning from more than the sun, which was now almost overhead. He smirked when his eyes met hers.

‘I’ll be at the auction,’ he called – to the slaver, she assumed – ‘but looking at her, the price better be low.’ Then he stepped closer and said, for her ears alone, ‘You’re going to be mine, girl.’ His hand darted out and kneaded her breast, pinching her nipple hard. A hoarse cry erupted from her throat, weak and muffled by the gag, and she kicked out at him instinctively. He chuckled and pulled the gag down, taking in her face almost as an afterthought.

‘Save your strength,’ he muttered. ‘You’re going to need it before the day is done.’ And then he was gone, leaving her shivering at his words even though she was absurdly grateful she could finally moisten her lips.

Looking out into the street, her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but, perhaps naïvely, it wasn’t that. What was going to happen to her? She’d never even kissed a member of the opposite sex nor had the talk that she knew other girls had before their wedding nights. She wished her father hadn’t kept her so cossetted. The most she’d seen were servants’ stolen moments in stairwells when she’d snuck around at night. She had little idea of what to expect.

She noticed a man standing not far from her. He seemed frozen in the middle of the street – in everyone’s way. People tutted as they passed him, but he ignored them. He was staring at her – not at her nakedness like the others, at her. She stared back, taking him in. He looked … weathered. That was the first word that came to mind to describe him. That and handsome, she supposed, in a brutish sort of way. He looked like a stable hand or a … a mercenary. Yes, that was apt. She’d never met a sell-sword before, but he was what she imagined them to be like. The look in his eyes was hard; dangerous. His hair was the colour of wheat, cropped quite short. His shoulders were broad. He was a head taller than anyone else in the street and she guessed she’d barely make it to his chest. He wore black despite the heat of the day, and his dark leather boots were dusty and worn. He was no farmer nor merchant, that was for certain.

The slaver appeared in front of her with a bucket and, before she knew what he was about, she was doused in freezing water. She gasped at the sudden cold on her burning skin and screamed in shock. Then he began to sluice the water down her body, rubbing the worst of the mud and dirt away with his hands like she was a dog or a horse. She twisted and kicked, striking his shin with her foot, and he swore and took a short whip from his belt. He struck her twice in quick succession, and she squealed as it bit into her back and shoulder.

‘Please, I beg you. Stop!’ she whimpered.

‘Shut your mouth, slave,’ he growled at her and then, as if only just taking in her words, ‘You speak prettily. He didn’t tell me where he found you, but you aren’t some village lass, eh?’ He sounded surprised and then made a deep, horrible sound of satisfaction. ‘They’re going to be chomping at the bit for you.’

She stopped fighting, not liking the gleam that suddenly appeared in his eye. She held her breath as he continued with his ministrations. His impersonal fingers trailed up and down her skin until she could bear it no longer and then he poured another bucket over her head. She gritted her teeth and didn’t make a sound, sagging in the ropes that bound her numb hands as he pushed the gag back into her mouth.

He cut the bonds moments later and she fell to her knees. The younger of the other two slaves picked her up at the slaver’s direction and they began to walk down the road to the town square. She was glad of it. At least this hid her body somewhat and she didn’t have to traipse through the town with everyone watching. Even if she was of a mind to walk, she didn’t have the strength to struggle away from his grasp anyway.

She was thrown roughly into the middle of a raised platform. Grit dug into her knees, but she didn’t move until the slaver wrapped his meaty hand in her long dark hair and dragged her to her feet. He began to speak loudly for the gathered crowd to hear.

‘This slave comes to me from a ruling house. She’s a hard worker. She can cook and clean. She can perform any menial tasks set before her. Who will give me five?’

‘House slaves go for thrice that in these parts!’, yelled someone from the crowd. ‘Your words ring false.’

‘House slaves are rarely sold,’ another added from close by. ‘Why has this one been cast out?’

‘She was caught stealing,’ the slaver replied smoothly, unmoved at being branded a liar. ‘But she comes from good stock. Needs a firm hand is all.’

Kora gaped at his lies, looking at the men and women around her whose faces ranged from surprise to outright revulsion. The man was a fool. No one of means would buy such a house slave for their home. Short of killing their master, thievery was one of the worst grievances that a slave of status could have against them. It meant they weren’t trustworthy and therefore useless to a noble family of any rank.

‘I’ll give you three for her,’ someone called out, sounding bored.

She recognised the voice as the wealthy man in the green tunic from before and tensed. He didn’t want a house slave, he wanted a pleasure one. If she knew anything at all, it was that.

‘Five.’

‘Seven.’ Green tunic.

The voices sounded uninterested. This was very much not the frenzy of bidding the slaver had expected. She didn’t look up to see who bid on her; she was too busy praying to the gods that this would not be her fate.

She realised dully that the number had stayed at seven. The slaver’s hand tightened in her wet hair. She winced in pain as he pulled her head back, displaying her body more blatantly as if just realising his blunder. His hand reached down to the cloth wrapped around her hips. He meant to pull it off! Here in front of everyone. He wasn’t trying to peddle her simply as a house slave anymore. No! She twisted away from him with a cry and she felt his grip on her hair loosen, but he pulled her back roughly with a forced laugh that spoke of a nasty beating with that small lash he carried if she was still in his power later.

‘Come, come, good people. She’s a spirited one is all. Worth ten at least!’

‘Twenty.’

The crowd hushed and the slaver’s eyes gleamed. He was silent for a moment. ‘Can you pay it?’ he asked at last.

‘I can.’

The voice was hard and gruff. She sighed through the gag in relief. That wasn’t the man in the green tunic’s voice. She opened her eyes and dared a look. The man from the street. The mercenary. She swallowed hard, in some ways more terrified. What could he want her for that was any different from the other one? Her eyes flicked to the man who’d been outbid, his crisp lime clothes a beacon in the crowd. He looked gracious, as if he didn’t care, but she could see a barely contained fury in his countenance that no one else seemed to notice. He was anything but satisfied with the outcome.

The blond sell-sword came forward. Her new master until she could escape and make her way back to the Temple. She had a week, perhaps, before the moons moved out of alignment. After that it would be too late to begin the rites, and the door to the Mount would be closed to her for good.

The slaver waved him back. ‘You can come for her later.’ He squeezed her arm hard as he said it, his eyes promising more pain.

She turned her gaze to the mercenary, trying not to let the fear show in her eyes. The slaver wanted time for his revenge. No doubt he’d make up some lie about her trying to escape if asked.

The mercenary’s hard expression didn’t waver as he threw a bag of coins onto the dais. It landed at the slaver’s feet. ‘I’ll take her now.’

Thank the gods.Her shoulders almost sagged in relief, but she didn’t want to give the awful man any satisfaction.

The slaver’s lip curled slightly as he manoeuvred his body down to pick up the purse. He didn’t let go of her, instead using his teeth to open the drawstring. Looking inside, he smiled coldly.

‘So be it,’ he said and pushed her hard. She yelled as she fell off the platform, but she was caught long before she hit the ground. She didn’t need to look up to know it was him, her new master.

But she did look up, and her breath hitched as her eyes caught his. For a moment neither of them moved, but then his gaze flicked down, just a moment before she realised she was in a man’s arms all but naked. She began to squirm and he set her down, his face hardening as he looked at her. Someone handed him the Writ of Ownership, which he took and pocketed, not even deigning to look at it.

Then he simply turned and walked away, what was left of the now-dispersing crowd parting before his long stride. Unsure of what to do, and feeling green tunic’s eyes on her, she hurried after him, crossing her arms over her chest to conceal herself.

She caught up with him as he neared the outskirts of the small town. He never even looked back to ensure she followed. They came to a stable, where a large horse was tethered outside. He finally turned to her, a length of rope in his fist. He took her hands and looped the rope around her wrists, tying them together in front of her firmly but gently. The other end he tied to the saddle. He took the horse’s bridle and began to lead it towards the forest road but hesitated. He turned and her eyes flicked to a knife he now held, wondering what he would do. She was surprised when the gag around her head went slack and fell to the ground. She immediately licked her cracked lips, grateful for this small mercy after the past day.

He mounted his horse in silence and it began to walk slowly, its gait steady. She was pulled forward and she gasped. She took a halting step and then another, wondering where he was taking her. Her skin was on fire, she needed water and she was this man’s prisoner, but it was either move forward or be dragged, so walk she did.

They travelled for a time. She wasn’t sure how long for, but the forest began to darken and still horse and rider showed no signs of stopping. She focused, as she had all afternoon, on putting one bare foot in front of the other. It was all she could do. Step. Step. Step. On and on and on.

Finally and inevitably, her toes caught a stone and she stumbled, her knees giving way in betrayal. At first he didn’t stop, and she was afraid he’d let the horse plod on, dragging her behind like a felled deer.

‘Please. Stop. I beg you.’ Her voice broke and she hated the sound of it.

The horse drew to a standstill. She tried to stand up as he dismounted and approached, but it was no use. Her legs just wouldn’t hold her any longer. She fell back to the ground with a low cry.

‘I can go no further. Please let me rest,’ she implored, raising her eyes to his.

He looked surprised at her weakness, as if he hadn’t even considered she might tire. She saw no kindness in his face, and for a horrible moment she thought he might simply continue, whether she was on her feet or not.

But he let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Very well. We’ll camp nearby for the night.’ He scanned the forest path ahead of them. ‘But not on the road.’

She gave a squeak as he picked her up and set her on his horse’s back. His eyes narrowed at her. ‘He’s a war horse. He won’t obey you, so don’t even try,’ he ground out.

She nodded as she gripped the saddle with her bound hands and he led them into the forest. Soon she heard the trickle of water and they came upon a small clearing with a shallow stream running beside it. She looked around her. The trees here were old; thick and foreboding. She shivered and then inwardly chastised herself. When had she become so foolish? They’re just trees. It didn’t matter that the closest thing to a forest that she’d ever been in before today was a small hunting wood on her family’s land. She’d spent time in nature as a novice during her training, after all. Though she’d never camped outside overnight.

The mercenary took her from the horse and set her on the mossy ground, pushing her down to sit with a heavy hand on her shoulder. She frowned at his back while he busied himself with his horse, ignoring her once more. She looked out into the forest and then at the stream. After the ride, she was feeling a bit better. Should she try to run while his back was turned or slake her thirst? Shaking her head at the thought of attempting to get away in her current state, she half crawled to the bank, gulping the cool, clear water until she felt sick. She wouldn’t have got far anyway, she reasoned, and there would be other opportunities.

When she looked up, he was lighting a fire in the middle of the clearing. She inched closer to it. Her skin still felt hot, but her teeth chattered. Soon he had a small blaze going, and he turned his attention to her. He didn’t speak, just watched her as she sat. She stared back at him, drawing her knees up so he couldn’t see her nakedness. He’d had all afternoon to look at her breasts, of course, but he hadn’t. To sit in front of him now like this made her feel helpless, and she didn’t like it one bit.

He leant back against the tree behind him. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Kora. What’s yours?’ she fired back.

His lip twitched. ‘Master, I suppose.’

She tried to keep the sneer off her face, but she knew she’d failed when he raised an eyebrow at her. She wrapped her arms around herself, still shivering despite being quite close to the fire.

His eyes narrowed. ‘How long did he have you staked out in the sun?’

‘All morning until the … the auction.’

He was silent, as if waiting for something more.

She gritted her teeth. ‘Master,’ she choked out.

He snorted. ‘My name is Mace.’ He grabbed one of his bags and dug around inside for a moment. Then he tossed her a small pot. She fumbled, only just catching it. ‘Your skin is burnt. Use the salve and drink more water or you’ll get sun sick.’

‘Why do you care?’, she snapped and wondered where she’d found the gall to speak to him in such a way.

She saw his jaw clench. ‘You were expensive,’ he said coldly. Then he stood and walked over to where she sat, towering over her like a giant. She swallowed hard and made herself crane her neck to look him in the eye. She would not be cowed.

He leant down and she couldn’t help but flinch. Would he beat her for her insolence? But instead he seemed to be inspecting the marks the slaver had given her earlier in the day. ‘Use the salve on those lashes too,’ he muttered, untying her wrists. When she was free, he straightened and marched into the undergrowth. She stared after him as he melted into the twilight.

For a while she watched the forest where he’d disappeared, wondering if this was a trick of some sort, but he didn’t return. She used up the small pot of salve over the worst of her burnt skin and the ridges the lash had made and found that her body immediately began to feel better. There was none left for her feet though and she belatedly realised she should have tended to those first.

She went back to the stream, biting her lip as she looked out into the night beyond the dancing shadows cast by the fire. She should run now while he was gone, she knew, but the more she gazed into the darkness, the more she feared. There were noises coming from beyond the clearing and she didn’t know enough to identify what animals made them. There were wolves out there at the very least. She went back to the fire, stoked it and fed it with some sticks the mercenary had left before lying on the soft moss and closing her eyes.

She woke groggy the next day. The fire smouldered next to her and she was covered in a blanket she hadn’t had the night before. She sat up and looked around the clearing. The mercenary – Mace – was standing with his horse.

‘Get up. It’s almost time to go.’

A thick, dry biscuit landed in the moss in front of her. It wasn’t much, but she hadn’t eaten in two days, so it was a veritable feast as far as she was concerned. She gobbled it quickly and stood, keeping the blanket carefully around her. He turned away from her as he smothered the fire, so she quickly saw to her morning needs while he wasn’t watching. Then she drank deeply from the stream again. She did feel better today despite sleeping on the ground. The salve he’d given her had done wonders. Her skin was still a bit red, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Even the welts from the slaver’s lash no longer felt swollen.

Her bare feet were a different story, however. They already hurt, though she was only walking on the soft moss of the clearing, and she knew that if she looked, they’d be a mess of cuts and blisters from the day before. She hoped they didn’t have far to go today.

She clasped the blanket around her shoulders tightly as he beckoned her – as if that would offer her any real protection. ‘Where are we going?’

Mace said nothing at first, and she thought perhaps he wasn’t going to tell her. He gave one of his sighs.

‘To the keep,’ he said finally as he snatched the blanket from her.

She gasped, but he ignored her, rolling it up and stowing it on the horse without another word. He tied her hands as he had the day before and lashed her to his horse. He took them back to the road.

‘Is it far?’

He muttered something about indulged house slaves. ‘Walk quickly and we’ll get there faster.’

She stared at his back with a frown as he mounted his horse and they began the trek anew. Before long, her feet were in agony as they travelled over the rough stones and sand of the thoroughfare. She took to trying to walk on the edge in the grass and moss whenever she could. She also began to pick at the knot in the rope. She knew something about knots; not the names or anything so involved, but her seafaring Uncle Royce had taught her some, and Mace had used one that was similar. She’d be able to get it undone eventually.

She didn’t make a sound as they travelled and, again, he never once looked back. After a while, her deft fingers slowly but surely began loosening the rope around her wrists, but when it suddenly and very abruptly fell to the ground, she tensed, sure he would notice. She’d meant to hold on until the last moment, but now the rope was being dragged along the ground sans prisoner.

Her eyes darted to him, but he hadn’t looked away from the road ahead. Without a second thought, she dashed into the undergrowth, trying to be as quiet but as quick as she could be. Ignoring the pain in her feet, she dodged trees and stumps.

* * *

Mace wasn’t sure what prompted him to look back when he hadn’t all morning. Perhaps he heard something and his finely tuned senses put him on alert, or perhaps it was just luck that he turned his head at just the right moment to see his newly bought and very expensive slave running into the undergrowth and the end of the rope trailing along the ground behind the horse. He gave an annoyed, rasping groan from deep in his throat. He should have known after what the slaver had said that she’d be trouble. And how had she gotten his knot undone so quickly?

He leapt from his mount and sprinted quickly through the trees, the horse’s easy canter ceasing immediately. He knew this stretch of road well. The river wasn’t far and it would slow her down. He moved much faster than her. There was no need for him to rush, though for some reason he did.

He hadn’t been himself since Kingway when he’d seen her bound in the sun, skin burning, covered in mud. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have looked twice, but instead he found himself staring at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Her bearing was not that of an owned girl. It made more sense when the slaver said she was a house slave, but he’d have known it at once by the lilt of her voice as soon as he’d heard it on the road. They always sounded like they were part of the noble families they served and were typically a bit above their station because of it, in his experience.

So he’d paid a ridiculous amount of coin for a potentially useless slave girl; one so intractable that, though he’d been a picture of respectability last evening despite wanting to give her a good hard fucking to put her in her place, she still ran at the first opportunity. She’d learn soon enough that he and the others were not like the noble family her kin served. Thieving and any other mischiefs would be punished harshly.

At least she’d be well-versed from birth in the needs of a large estate though. A house slave’s domestic skills were valuable, after all. He grinned suddenly, remembering other female house slaves he’d come into contact with. Such helpful little things usually and always up for a bit of bed play in exchange for less work. Kora could try to seduce them if she liked. Gods, she’d probably succeed, but she’d get no special treatment for the effort.

His brow furrowed as he remembered how she’d felt in his arms when he’d caught her after the slaver had thrown her off the dais. Warm and perfect as if she fit him somehow, as if something was moving into place. It had been a curious sensation and not something he’d felt before. Perhaps… No. He steeled himself against these odd thoughts. She was an untrustworthy house slave that would be useful in their endeavours with the estate they’d bought after leaving the Dark Army – well, as long as they kept her on a short leash anyway. She would be useful to them and the keep so long as she was watched closely. That was all.

He caught sight of her up ahead, her shorter legs no match for his. He let out a slow breath. Gods, even now he was tempted. He shook his head as he got closer and reminded himself that she was a slave who had been cast out. She would be devious and disloyal. They couldn’t let their guard down around her. He had to remember that a slave who stole could never be reliable no matter where she came from and the only way he’d earn back even half of what she’d cost him was by ensuring well that she was never idle.

As he neared, he heard her laboured breathing and sneered cruelly. Pampered little thing. They’d enjoy putting her to work in the keep; show her what it was to be a true slave.

* * *

She’d been runningfor ages, branches tearing at her arms and legs, when suddenly the trees gave way to open space. A river. She skidded to a halt at the edge of a short stone cliff, wondering if she should run along it or jump in. But before she was able to decide, much less act, something hit her hard between her shoulders, plunging her into the surging water. Her cry was cut short as she went under. She flailed and kicked in the current, her head breaking the surface as she finally remembered to keep her fingers together as she paddled. She coughed and spluttered, trying to get her bearings. Then she heard someone clear their throat and looked up. Mace stood where she had been. She thought he looked amused at first, but his expression rapidly darkened and she cursed inwardly. She wouldn’t get another chance before they arrived at this keep, wherever it was.

He pointed downstream, his order clear, though he said nothing, and she made her way to a shallow bank. He was waiting there, and as she clambered out of the water, he took hold of her dark, tangled hair and dragged her up onto the shore. Still he said nothing, but pushed her through the forest, using his grip to steer her in the direction he wanted her to go. She clenched her jaw and let him simply because there was nothing else she could do, but she hated every moment of it.

When they arrived at the road, he practically threw her onto the ground beside his horse that seemed to be awaiting him patiently. Her knees and hands slid agonisingly on the gravel. She turned over to find his hulking form a hair’s breadth away, a length of knotted rope in his hand.

‘My patience is at an end. You’ll get no more kindness from me,’ he growled, and she scrambled back in fear. Quick as a snake, he grabbed her ankles and, when she kicked out at him, he swung the rope. One of the knots hit her hard in the thigh and she cried out.

‘You need a good whipping, slave. Shall I do it here in the road?’

Kora shook her head and ceased her struggle, tears rolling down her cheeks.

He made a sound of anger that had her shuffling away clumsily, afraid he’d make good on his threat, but he merely grabbed one of her injured feet and peered down at the mess of cuts and scrapes.

‘You foolish girl!’ he growled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

She didn’t answer him, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t get her a cuff on the ear at the very least. Had he not realised she wore no shoes? Why did he even care?

With a shake of his head, he tied her ankles and wrists together quickly and swung her like a sack of grain over his horse’s back. She landed with a grunt and they started on their way once more, his arm reaching behind to grab hold of her so she wouldn’t slide off.

They travelled like this until the sun was high, the mercenary and his horse plodding along while she bounced around upon the demon beast’s back, her stomach rolling despite its emptiness. At least her feet were being spared. Small mercies.

She was just beginning to wonder if he was going to keep her like this the whole way when they passed under something. She twisted her neck to see what was happening. It was a great stone archway and beyond it was a large and imposing fortress. The keep. It was grey and stark against the green of the valley behind. There were two towers and a moat as well as a thick defensive outer wall complete with ramparts, though parts looked as if they were crumbling from years of neglect.

They went over a bridge and under a raised portcullis into a bustling courtyard. She could hear the blacksmith’s hammer close by and a thousand other sounds that reminded her of home. She wondered if her mother even knew she was gone and felt a sudden pang of sadness that brought tears to her eyes. Mama was probably sitting in her chair looking at nothing, as she did every waking moment. She never spoke, never did anything except stare at the wall and occasionally wander off. She’d been that way as long as she could remember.

She turned her thoughts away from before and steeled herself. It wasn’t over. She would find a way to escape. She had to. She had less than six days, but she could still become a priest and, once she had pledged herself to the gods, neither her father nor Blackhale could gainsay it. She could visit her home without fear if she ever wished to. Provided she could find a way out of here within four nights, she could make it back to the Temple before it was too late.