Chapter VI - Resolve

Cormac walked outside and picked up the sword artifact from the grass where he had flicked it earlier. He looked at it thoughtfully. She is going to be harder to keep around here than I thought. He had spoken truthfully to her; he had been expecting an escape attempt sometime that night. But he had not anticipated the sword to be stolen, nor for her obvious familiarity with it. She was not an exceptional sword-wielder, but with more practice, she could get better. He had gotten the impression that she was a little rusty with it. I wonder who taught her, he mused.

He turned and saw Jaedon standing in the doorway to the house. “She is in her room,” Jaedon said quietly.

“Good.” Cormac stared at his mentor for a long moment and then asked thoughtfully, “Do you think I did wrong when I bought her?”

Jaedon considered. “No. I do think that when you bought her you were opening us up to increased danger, though.”

“She does not know anything about the mission.”

“Not yet.”

“She’s smart,” Cormac acknowledge. “We’ll have to be careful. At least we’ve done it before.”

Jaedon smiled a little. “Yes, we’ve been doing it for years. I’m not overly concerned. We only have to finish the next two and a half months and then we won’t have to be merchants in Ruma anymore.”

Cormac looked down at the sword he held. Just two and a half more months. He disliked being in Ruma; already he was eager to leave and they had arrived but a week ago. “You’re right,” he finally said.

“Until then, we will just be as careful as we always are,” Jaedon said evenly.

Cormac took a deep breath and walked back to the house. He paused when he was beside Jaedon and looked into the man’s eyes calmly.

“Just two and a half more months,” he murmured, and then ducked into the house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cormac sat motionless in the saddle, faint snowflakes drifting down and landing delicately on the mane of his horse and the fabric of his cloak. The horse beneath him shifted his weight a little but stood in place, heaving a sigh. Cormac reached down and patted the stallion’s neck. “Good boy,” he murmured quietly.

He peered out from beneath the hood of his long cloak that was pulled over his head and overshadowed his face. He was positioned at the western gate of Ruma, the appointed meeting place between him and his customer. His three months in Ruma were finished; he was selling his last piece of merchandise today. He had finally found a buyer for the rare sword he had in his possession, but instead of satisfaction over the imminent sale, he felt only resentment.

Cormac already knew a great deal about the buyer, Captain Alquin Ricald. The Captain did not know anything about Cormac, however, and Cormac intended to keep it that way. The two men had never actually met, but Cormac knew the man had been an intimate player in the game that had claimed Cormac’s father’s life. It was by Captain Ricald’s witness that King Brastus Alustate, lord of Elangsia, had ordered the execution of Cormac’s father. And that was a fact that Cormac would never forget…or forgive.

He turned his head and stared darkly at the tall palace that stood on the other side of the city, up on a hill where it would be seen and admired by all. Architecturally it was a beautiful building, with elegant design and graceful lines. But the thought of King Brastus who lived in the palace spoiled all its beauty for Cormac. He frowned and looked away. At that moment, the sound of horse hooves came to his ears and two horsemen approached.

The first was obviously Captain Ricald. His uniform was dark gray with a heavy crimson cape flowing back over his shoulders to protect him from the early winter cold. His shoulder length dark brown hair was neatly combed and barely touched with silver. He sat regally on his horse, his eyes clearly showing his indifference to the peasants he rode through. Cormac hid a frown as the Captain’s horse almost ran down a small barefoot girl who was running across the street.

The second man was a bodyguard to the Captain. He was highly armed and appeared very alert. He studied Cormac intently as he and the Captain pulled their steeds to a halt.

“You brought my prize, Alstair?” The Captain asked, looking keenly at Cormac with his piercing hazel eyes.

“As requested,” Cormac assented in a low tone. He did not remove his hood but did tilt his head up so that his eyes met the Captain’s. “It is here.”

“Excellent. Bring it out.”

Cormac pulled the sword out from beneath his cloak and presented it to the man. The Captain unsheathed it and looked it over for a long moment with a look of satisfaction crossing his face. “Ah,” he murmured. “Pay him,” he ordered the man behind him.

The bodyguard grunted a response, his breath misting in front of his face, and pulled out a heavy bag of coins. He tossed it to Cormac, who caught it easily and opened it up to check the contents. Gold pieces twinkled up at him, seeming to mock him: Accepting money from your father’s killer, are you? Frowning deeply, he pulled the drawstrings tight and placed the bag in a pouch attached to his saddle.

“It is finely wrought,” the Captain said, sheathing the sword. “It is worth the price.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Cormac said, trying to restrain his revulsion at having to show respect to this man. “The Meruvian sea kingdom is full of such relics.”

“Useful relics.” The Captain smiled suddenly, but it was a cold smile. “It’s still sharp.”

“Aye.”

“Perhaps I shall use it to sever the head of the Hunter someday,” the Captain tossed the comment over his shoulder to his bodyguard. “Worthless mongrel that he is.”

“Has he been especially active lately?” Cormac asked, keeping his expression blank.

The Captain growled, “He’s always active. Pillaging battalions and stealing away rightful slaves of Elangsia; it’s contemptible and will stop soon if I have anything to do about it.” He inhaled deeply of the cold air and then shook his head firmly. “Many thanks to you, good merchant,” he changed the subject smoothly. “I am pleased with the quality.” He smiled again and added, “And I doubt that I will use this on the Hunter, though the rogue deserves it. It is to be a gift to King Brastus. You are fortunate that I found it, for not many would be willing to pay the price asked.”

“I am grateful for what service I can provide to you, sir,” Cormac gritted out, bowing his head as if in thanks. In truth, he bowed it to keep his eyes hidden from the man. They would too easily betray his true feelings.

“Good man,” the Captain muttered. “Take it, Rholden.” He handed the sword to the bodyguard and turned his horse away. “Farewell, merchant Alstair.”

Cormac lifted a hand in farewell but did not move his horse until the other men had disappeared from view down some street of the large city. The snow continued to float gently down from the iron gray sky and melted into slush on the ground. After they were gone, he clenched his hands into fists and tightened his lips. “Someday that man will pay,” he murmured determinedly under his breath. “He and the king both, for what they once did.”

Without another word, he reined his horse around and slowly began weaving his way through the town back to the house he resided in. He did not often express his deep-seated anger toward Ricald and Brastus in words; he was characteristically more cautious than that. He clamped his jaw shut as he rode away and pushed his anger to the back of his mind as he had done so often for the last six years. My time will come. Someday, they will pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to leave soon,” Zoe muttered to herself, staring up at the ceiling in her room from her position on the bed in her room.

It had been two and a half months since she had been kidnapped and sold to Cormac Alstair. It seems like forever longer, she thought. Since then, she had slowly become accustomed to the routine of the house. Mornings were usually quiet and provided her with time to sit and think in solitude. Often a visitor or a prospective customer ate the noon meal with Cormac and Jaedon while Zoe served them. She despised serving them, but she bottled her feelings up and forced herself to comply. Since an open attempt to escape had not worked when she first arrived, she knew it was imperative for her to appear submissive. Then perhaps her captors would grow lax and another opportunity for her to run would come.

All in all, it had been a rather quiet couple of months. She had held firmly to her decision to “out-calm” the merchant, and that led to more staring contests between her and Cormac Alstair than actual spoken arguments. She had the distinct feeling that she amused him to some extent, which was not the response she was looking for. Also, her hopes that he would grow to ignore her completely had failed to come to fruition. Indeed, he seemed interested in her and often asked her questions about where she came from. She had told him nothing of Duard or her family; she did not trust him with the information. He was too enigmatic for her to understand.

Jaedon, on the other hand, was proving himself to be a comfort to her. I shall miss him when I leave, she thought with a trace of sadness. The middle-aged man—who was as hale as many men much younger than him—was a bright spot in her captivity. He appeared to be a quiet man to most, but in reality he was wise and unafraid to speak his mind. One thing that she found odd was that Cormac, Jaedon’s master, appeared to listen to Jaedon’s counsel and instruction, rather then vice versa. It confused her; how did Jaedon have such sway over Cormac? Jaedon was not exactly a slave, but he was still under Cormac’s authority. He was not a man who should have influence over Cormac. And yet, their relationship seemed to defy that.

Sounds from the front entrance of the house came to her ears and she sat up. Cormac had left earlier that morning, before she rose; it must be him returning now. She stood to her feet and walked toward her door. She was still clad in the same clothes she had worn when he bought her, but she kept them clean and washed. They still drew odd looks from people when she went out with the men in Ruma’s marketplace for food or to the bakery for fresh bread. She smiled a little as she opened her door and walked out into the hallway. Let them think what they want. I care little of their opinions.

As she had guessed, it was Cormac who had arrived. He nodded at her as he passed and she silently followed him to the sitting room. Jaedon was already there.

“That’s it,” Cormac said. “The sword is gone, and for a hefty sum too.” He tossed a bag to Jaedon and Zoe figured from the jingle as it landed in Jaedon’s hand that it held gold from the sale of the ornamental sword. She glanced across the room and saw that the small table that had been the resting place of the sword was now empty.

“Back to Meru now, then,” Jaedon stated.

“Yes,” Cormac agreed. Zoe thought she heard relief in his tone. She wondered why he did not like Ruma. She had already deduced that he was not fond of the city, nor the ruler of Elangsia, King Brastus, but had yet to ascertain why.

“We can pack today and leave tomorrow,” Cormac said. He turned to Zoe. “You will be coming with us, of course.”

“Your will is my duty,” Zoe replied, her tone impassive but her eyes shaded with sarcasm.

A smile quirked over Cormac’s features at her words. “Your compliance is truly remarkable,” he said with raised brows.

Don’t answer him, he’s just trying to annoy you, a little voice in her head warned her urgently. She lifted her chin and did not respond, though it galled her to ignore his words. “Where is Meru?” she asked instead.

“Far to the east,” Cormac answered. “Jaedon, is there a map on hand?”

“Right here,” Jaedon lifted a rolled piece of parchment that he extracted from a drawer of the table at the other end of the room. He had already been going to fetch it as Cormac answered Zoe’s question. “Let me show you where Meru is located, Zoe.”

She moved closer and peered down at the table as Jaedon spread the parchment out. “Here we are,” he pointed a small section of the map that showed the borders of Elangsia. She studied it carefully. North of Elangsia was a small country called Rulaan; to the southeast was Mairbrac Forest and beyond that, Aerilya.

Jaedon continued, oblivious to her keen scrutiny of the map. “Meru is far to the northeast from here,” he said. He traced his finger along a mountainous province that flanked the Great Sea and ended in a curving peninsula.

“We have to travel all that way?” She asked skeptically. “Won’t the mountains be impassable with snow and ice by now? It’s December.”

“There is a pass beneath them,” Cormac said quietly. “Tunneled out over the ages by the men of that region. It is a well-guarded secret that few know of.”

If it is well-guarded, then why do you know of it? She wondered, but did not voice her thoughts. She glanced from him back to the map. It showed the Cirthian Mountains, which she had crossed to reach here, but beyond them, in the direction of her old home, there was just blank parchment. Whoever had drawn the map knew nothing of Braedoch or the lands further south and east. Glancing back at their position in Ruma, she could see that Meru was very far from Elangsia and Aerilya.

“I am going to eat some lunch,” she said abruptly, straightening and stepping back from the map. She felt Cormac’s glance but did not return it as she hurried from the room. Her mind tried to process everything that was on the map. One thing was certain: Meru was too far for her to travel to. I cannot go that distance from here, she thought. I might never make it back, and I promised Grace I would find her and return her to her family. The only way I can do that is to find the Hunter back in Aerilya and ask for his help.

She cut herself a slice of bread and spread some butter over it. She had not forgotten the short conversation between her, Tryna, and Rebekka about the Hunter. They had told her that he resided in Mairbrac; she had gleaned other snippets during her occasional trips to the market. Apparently, the man was somewhat of a sensation around Ruma. There was constantly some story circulating about his latest assaults against the Elangsians.

She ate her bread slowly, considering what she knew about him. He had a band of men who followed him and did his bidding; he usually seemed to know about the latest military developments of the Elangsian army; and he had been actively opposing them since the beginning of the war, twelve years ago.

He must be a seasoned warrior if he has evaded death or capture all this time. Just the sort of person I need to help me, she thought. She could only hope he was compassionate enough to help her free Grace. There was a strong likelihood that he would not give her the time of day. Well, he’s never met anybody quite as stubborn as me, Zoe thought determinedly, chewing the last bite of bread and swallowing it. He’ll have to listen to me.

A plan slowly formed in her mind. Cormac had purchased two another horse last week in preparation for the journey back to Meru, bringing the number of available steeds up to three. She gnawed on her lip. If I could manage to get out of the house without him seeing me like last time, then I could take one of the horses and head back to Mairbrac. That is sure to cut down on travel time. It took a week to get here on foot but on horseback, it will go much faster. She sighed and her brow furrowed. But how can I leave without him knowing? He seems to see everything I do, no matter how quiet I am. That fact irritated her more than she liked to admit.

She looked up as Cormac and Jaedon entered the room, talking about the upcoming journey. They cut their own bread and ate at the table. Zoe remained seated on the hearth and stared into the small flickering flames close to her feet. I’ll just have to keep my eyes open and take whatever opportunity comes my way. There doesn’t seem to be any other way I can get around those two.

Chapter V - Flight

The next morning Zoe rose and left her room. The morning was chilly; summer had faded and autumn reigned supreme. She wished for a cloak; she had lost hers earlier that year in the mountains and had had to make do without it since. It had been warm when she lost it, however. Now the bite of the fresh air hinted at the coming cold of winter. Last winter she had weathered in the mountains with only Brac and small campfires to keep her warm. She remembered well the freezing temperatures.

She silently walked down the hallway that led to her room. She had resolved before leaving her quarters that when she talked with Cormac Alstair today, she wouldn’t lose her cool like she had the previous day. After sleeping and regaining her composure, she realized how unraveled she had gotten. Today would be different.

She turned right and entered what looked like a sitting room of sorts. Three chairs were in it, all of them finely made, and a heavy, richly colored carpet covered the wood floor. Despite those articles of furniture, the room was rather bare, but there were still objects of interest that caught her attention immediately. The first thing was a heavily jeweled scabbard that enclosed a sword with an equally decorated hilt. She walked closer and examined it. It looked more like a ceremonial blade than a real weapon, but it was probably usable if needed. She picked it up and hefted it thoughtfully. It was a good weight. She grasped the hilt and pulled a little, revealing the beginning of what looked to be a finely made steel blade.

She pushed the sword back in and set it down on its stand which was atop a small wooden table. She glanced to the right and looked curiously at a small collection of statues that sat on a shelf. It appeared to be a collection of animal figurines. A panther, unicorn, gryphon, and rearing stallion were grouped close together, all of them proud and noble looking. Beside them was a golden vase decorated with silver that was fashioned to look like it was winding around the vessel.

Apparently Alstair was telling the truth, she thought. These do appear to be rare artifacts, which is what he said he sold. She moved closer to pick up the vase, but just before her hand touched it, a voice stopped her.

“You like them?”

She whirled around; upset that she had not heard the two men come up behind them. Cormac had his dark brows raised and a faint smile on his face. Jaedon, Cormac’s enigmatic comrade, also appeared amused. She cleared her throat and answered Cormac’s question. “They seem very fine.”

“The panther is my favorite,” he said quietly, motioning to the figurines. “He looks stealthy and strong.” He looked at them thoughtfully and Zoe took the opportunity to study him.

He was dressed in a light blue tunic with a white undershirt. Both articles of clothing appeared to be made of quality material, but they did not make him look showy. His broad shoulders filled the apparel out nicely and she observed a knife peeking out of his boot. Apparently he was prepared to defend himself if need be.

To her annoyance, she also noticed that he was extremely good looking. He was very tall, at least six feet three, and his longish black hair framed a handsome face that was tan, partially from the summer sun rays and partially because his skin appeared to be a somewhat dark hue anyway. Besides his physical good looks, he exuded a sort of poise and self-assurance that served to enhance his appearance even more.

Zoe shifted uneasily as the silence mounted. She had rather limited experience with men close to her age, outside of Aiden, Taerith, and Arnan, and her observation of Cormac revealed perplexing feelings. She very much disliked being perplexed.

Finally, to her relief, Jaedon spoke. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did,” she replied.

“Are you hungry? We have eggs and ham for breakfast.”

“That does sound good,” she admitted reluctantly after another uncomfortable pause.

Jaedon smiled, and she was taken aback by how much it softened his features. “Good. Cormac made them, which is always dangerous, but I tried them already and they aren’t deadly.”

Cormac laughed. “The poison just hasn’t affected you yet,” he warned. “Notice that I didn’t eat the ham.”

“True.”

Zoe followed the two men, a little confused by their bantering. How can Jaedon joke and laugh with him? She wondered. She did not say anything as Jaedon handed her a plate after they reached the small kitchen. She walked over to the fireplace where a pan of eggs and several slices of ham sat on the stone hearth, away from the flames. She scooped up some of the eggs but avoided the ham. Just in case.

She turned around and sat down at the table awkwardly, fingering the fork she had grabbed off the counter.

“Scared of the ham?” Cormac asked easily.

She glared at him. “I’m not scared of anything,” she replied stubbornly. She stood up, marched back to the hearth and speared a slice of ham with her fork. She brought it back, sat down, and took a big bite of it, glowering at Cormac the whole time. To her annoyance, he just laughed.

“Apparently the ham doesn’t faze her, Cormac,” Jaedon observed.

She disregarded them both and shook the ham off the fork onto her plate. The eggs were delicious and again she was reminded of how long it had been since she’d eaten good meals all the time. The two men fell into conversation beside her, not exactly ignoring her but not including her either. That was fine with her.

She pushed her plate away after she finished and stood to her feet. “I’m going to the back yard,” she told them. She turned to Cormac, her tone laden with sarcasm, and asked, “Any objections?”

He looked back at her, his blue eyes unreadable and replied simply, “No.”

“Fine,” she said flippantly, and hurried from the room.

That could have gone better, she thought with frustration. What is it about him that makes me so mad? I hate that I am so undone and he is so calm. She walked to the back of the house and exited into the open air. Think lucidly Zoe, she ordered herself. You’ve got to stay calm.

She smiled grimly as she walked into the large fenced backyard. Aiden had not called her ‘Little Firebrand’ for no reason. She knew she was stubborn and liable to get angry fast. It had been her nature to do that for her whole life. Still, she could not help but wish that for once she could get a grip on her emotions. She did not like how well the merchant inside could get her riled without appearing to even try.

She began to pace the yard, kicking some fallen leaves as she walked and changing her line of thought. “If I could get at that sword artifact in the sitting room,” she mumbled, “at least I’d have a weapon if I tried escaping. With a little stealth, I could make it out of the house. It wouldn’t be too hard to get a horse and other necessities if I sold the artifact.” She had already deduced it was worth quite a sum of money; the jewels embedded on the hilt would alone bring in much gold.

She took a deep breath of the crisp air. But you have to plan it rationally, she told herself sternly. She knew it was hopeless without reasonable preparation. Cormac was no idiot. She had made it obvious to him that she would run the moment she had a chance but she had a feeling he would not let her get away easily.

A rare feeling of despair rose up in her. How was she going to escape this place? It was clearly preposterous not to try escaping, but the actual process of leaving this great city would be very difficult. She did not want to face the alternative that loomed, the result if she remained passive and did not try to leave. I would be a slave forever.

A flicker of motion in her peripheral sight caught her attention, distracting her from her dispiriting thoughts. She glanced to the right and scanned the topmost branches of a tall, graceful oak tree that stood there. Another flash of movement drew her eye, and her heart jumped when she saw the falcon perched on a high limb. No…it can’t be. Is it?

She walked closer. Cormac was inside the house with Jaedon. She did not think they were paying her any heed. Still, she took care to act nonchalant as she moved toward the oak. When she stood at very edge of the fenced yard, she called softly up to the falcon. “Iolani. Come, Iolani.”

The falcon’s head twitched and the elegant white bird eyed her keenly. Zoe tentatively beckoned to the bird but did not offer her forearm as a resting place for her. She knew the falcon’s sharp talons would slice her arm to the bone. The bird ruffled her feathers and then spread her wings and swooped down, landing on the ground nearby. Zoe glanced around, hoping nobody was watching her. She didn’t see anybody, so she crouched down and whispered, “Iolani, it is you! Come here, let me see the message you have.”

She had recognized the bird correctly as Iolani, one of Wren’s Gyr falcons. Iolani was the same bird that had carried a message from Sam to Zoe several months earlier. Zoe had sent back a reply, and apparently, Sam was answering that missive. Zoe carefully took the message from the small leather pouch attached to the bird’s leg. “Thanks,” she whispered as she hurried to unroll it. Sure enough, Sam’s distinctive scrawl was on the piece of parchment.

Dear Zoe,

It makes me feel sick to think of you out there so far away, struggling just to find food.

She smiled a little. Her last missive had mentioned her poor hunting skills. It was like Sam to pick up on her frustrations.

I'm beginning to hate Duard for what he's done to us. Things would have been so different if none of this ever happened…

Her heart began palpitating faster than normal as she scanned the remainder of the letter. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. Sam was the cheerful twin; the one who calmed Zoe when she was angry. As she continued reading his increasingly cheerless missive, she knew that something was not right with him. Sam did not actually write anything specific about being in a quandary, but she knew him better than anyone did, and the closing paragraph to his letter confirmed her fears:

Zoe, I want you to know that you are the best sister anybody could wish for. I've always admired—no, been envious of—your courage and spunk. I wish I was there with you now, but somehow I know Deus will keep you safe and protect you. I love you. If you ever see our other siblings, please let them know I love them, too.

Yours eternally,
Sam

She stood abruptly to her feet and ran a hand through her long hair. Frustration and helplessness engulfed her, causing her to feel almost claustrophobic at the ferocious onslaught of emotion. Sam, where are you? What is wrong? She looked at the letter, and fear—real, tangible fear—gripped her with icy cold fingers. Why do I feel like you are saying goodbye to me?

“No!” She exclaimed fiercely under her breath. Nothing can happen to my twin! Hot boiling anger rose as she thought for the thousandth time of the banishment that separated all the siblings. If it weren’t for Duard, I could be with Sam, helping him, she thought angrily.

“Why did he separate us? And Deus, why did You let this happen?” She felt almost afraid as she stared up at the sky. Who was she to dare challenge God? She half-expected to be struck down for her bold words. Nothing happened however, and she walked back to Iolani, who eyed her coolly. “I have to reply to him,” she muttered the bird.

Yes, you must write, she thought, but how? She had no writing utensils. She had not bothered to pack any, thinking them useless. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She glanced back at the house and her brow furrowed. Without another words, she hurried toward it, shoving Sam’s letter into her belt. The absence of her pouch with the carving of Brac from Sam only heightened the feeling of urgency that was upon her.

She entered the house and walked quietly to the sitting room. She had seen a stack of parchment in there along with a fine selection of quills and a bottle of ink when she had walked in there earlier that morning.

Good. The supplies were still there. Hurrying forward, she glanced around but did not see Jaedon or Cormac. She would have to write quickly. Zoe sat down, uncorked the ink well, and dipped the quill in. She lowered it to a piece of parchment and started writing.

Sam,

Don’t give up, my Twin. I don’t know what is wrong or where you are, but you must not give up. If you do, Duard will have ultimately succeeded, by breaking our spirits. You are strong, Sam, in ways you do not know. Don’t give in to fear. I know that you will be all right. You must be all right.

I love you.

She quickly blotted the page and blew on it to dry the ink. She folded and rolled it, noticing with a sort of vague alarm that her fingers were trembling a little. She hurried out of the house, wondering where Cormac and Jaedon were but glad they were not in her path. She was almost running as she went back to Iolani but slowed as she neared the waiting bird. After calming her by speaking her name, she attached the note back to her leg.

“Go now,” she said quietly. “Go to Sam. Bear the message safely. And bring me back more news soon!”

The bird’s powerful wings flapped and she took off from the ground, flying low through the over the fence. Zoe followed her with her eyes until she shot up through an opening between the oak tree and a tall house, disappearing out of her sight into the wide, free sky. Fly, Iolani, she silently urged. Fly hard back to Sam. He is in danger but still took the time to write me. He was brave. I can be brave too and face my own dangers.

A sort of calm decision fell over her like a mantle. Tonight, she decided firmly. Tonight I will escape. Duard separated us; Grant sold me; Cormac holds me against my will. But I will not allow any of them to ultimately triumph over me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was completely dark when Zoe slipped out of her room in the very early morning hours. She crept through the blackness in the hallway toward the sitting room. Once she reached the door to the room, she moved a little easier because there was a large window that the moonlight shone through, illuminating the room in a soft glow. The moon was exceptionally bright; the sword artifact was bathed in the pale light at the far end of the room.

Zoe moved silent toward it, her leather boots masking the sound of her footsteps. She quietly picked up the sword and scabbard and listened intently for any movement in the rest of the house. She heard nothing, so she attached the scabbard to her belt. It was out of the way there, though she would have preferred using her baldric, which was a wide leather strap that crossed over her body and held a sword on her back. It was easy to draw a sword from that position and she was more used it. But, until she was out of the house and free, she did not much care where the sword was, so long as it was attached to her.

She had spent the day walking all over the house and discovering the best way to leave it. She had finally decided that the quietest way was out the back door and over the fence that enclosed the yard. The front door, which would technically be the quickest way out of the house, was bolted with a heavy lock that made too much noise to be opened without detection.

She left the sitting room and padded toward the back door. She slowly turned the knob and eased the door open just far enough for her to slip out. She held her breath and closed it behind her. She waited for a tense moment, listening intently for somebody following her.

Hearing nothing, she moved quickly toward the fence. She paused again at the edge of the yard, eying the fence. She would have to grab the top and pull herself over, for it was high and had no footholds. She smiled slightly, thinking, This shouldn’t be hard, leaving the house was almost too easy, when the smooth sound of a sword being drawn came to her ears. Without a pause, she whirled around, drawing the sword at her side.

Her blade connected with another, and she blindly fell into a practiced set of sword maneuvers that her muscles recalled from her practices with Aiden. Left high, strike low on the right, parry, and left again!

She paused, panting a little, as the blades locked and she stared into Cormac Alstair’s blue eyes. They assessed her coolly and he said, “Swift reaction, but your moves are too practiced, therefore making them predictable.” Without another word, he twisted his sword and Zoe gasped as hers flew away to land in the grass with a soft thump and crunch of displaced leaves.

She looked back at him, glowering. He lowered his blade but still met her gaze challengingly. “Care to explain what you’re doing with my merchandise, Zoe?” His use of her name struck her as more mocking than anything else.

“I’m testing an artifact to make sure it’s worth all that you must be asking for it,” she replied sarcastically. He knew why she was here; he was just being irksome by asking her stupid questions.

He smiled cynically. “How kind of you. Now that you’ve discovered its value, why don’t you hand it over and come into the house.”

The bitterness of her failure was beginning to sink in. He thinks he’s so smart because he caught me, she thought. How did he know I was leaving? I heard no one! Somehow the fact that she had not heard him following her disturbed her more than anything. She looked at him resentfully.

“I can’t hand it to you since you threw it across the yard, out of my reach. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to go inside.”

“You have to.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Really?” Zoe suddenly regretted her words as his eyes turned stormy. Before she could think to move, he had sheathed his sword, stepped forward, and picked her up, carrying her back to the house over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

For a moment, she was too shocked to do anything. Then she began to struggle. “Put me down!” She exclaimed angrily. “I’m not chattel to be moved by force!”

He ignored her, carried her inside, and set her down on her feet. She pulled back her fist and it shot toward his midsection, but he blocked it with seeming ease and grabbed her wrist as it flew toward him. She grunted and tried to hit him with her other hand, but he stopped that one too. She stood mere inches from him, both her wrists captured in his, her eyes spitting fire. “Unhand me!”

“Why? I know if I do you will merely try to punch me again,” he pointed out. He gave her a tight smile and asked, “Did you actually think I’d let you escape? After I saw that falcon visit this morning, I knew you’d run tonight.”

She breathed quickly; so furious she hardly knew what to say. Deus, why is he of all people able to read me so well? It was frustrating! She was so upset that her mind hardly even registered her cry to God. “Let me go,” she demanded again, “…please.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment, and she stared back with all the defiance she could muster. He finally released her and she quickly stepped back. “You should be grateful,” he said, eying her thoughtfully, “that you are not the slave of a different man.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.”

Yes, she did know. She realized that if Cormac wanted, he could beat her, assault her, or even kill her if he so chose. If she had been sold to a different man, she may have already been subjected to one of those things. But at the moment, she did not care to deal with the truth in his statement. “I would be grateful for my freedom,” she replied, “Not for the fact that I am enslaved to a self-proclaimed lenient man rather than an abusive one.”

Cormac looked over her head into the dark hallway behind her, and she quickly turned around. Jaedon stood there, his clothing rumpled from sleep but his expression alert. “What is going on, Cormac?” he asked.

“Just a little trouble,” Cormac said. “It has been taken care of.”

That’s what you think, Zoe thought quickly. This is not over.

“Would you escort Zoe to her room, Jaedon?” Cormac’s voice left no room for argument.

Jaedon nodded. “This way, miss,” he said quietly, motioning to her.

She looked over her shoulder at Cormac, but he merely raised an eyebrow at her, his face unreadable. Lifting her chin, she matched his emotionless expression and turned back toward Jaedon, following the man down the hall, back to her room.

She thought about Cormac’s unruffled attitude and frowned. Very well, Cormac Alstair, she thought as she watched Jaedon close the door securely after her. You may be able to best me in strength and swordsmanship, but I am determined that you will never beat my wits. If that means that I have to out-calm you, then so be it.

Chapter IV - Defiance

“What was that?” Jaedon asked later that night, his brown eyes demanding.

“I don’t know,” Cormac replied calmly, opening the heavy leather tome that held all his business records. He dipped the quill he held into a well of ink and began scratching out figures. “I just couldn’t leave her there.”

“What about your mission? She could definitely complicate things.”

Cormac smiled humorlessly. “I have thought of that, Jaedon.”

Jaedon shook his head. “You can’t afford to take chances like that.”

“Like what? Do you think that a girl is going to single-handedly ruin our mission? And if anybody wonders why the merchant Cormac Alstair has bought a slave girl, they will merely think I have bought her on a whim for my own pleasure. It is normal for other traveling men to do the same.”

Jaedon frowned. “You walk a dangerous path, Cormac. Extra risks do not coincide well with perilous living.”

“Am I supposed to believe that if you were me, you would have left her with that worthless trader?” Cormac looked at Jaedon with raised eyebrows.

Jaedon did not reply.

“You would have saved her as well,” Cormac said quietly. “And I believe that is the reason that I did it too.”

They remained silent for a long while, and Cormac continued writing down the sales he had made that day. After buying the girl in Nimlaem, they had left the city and walked the two miles that separated it from Ruma, the capital. Once inside Ruma they traveled to the small home that Cormac and Jaedon stayed in. They had arrived about twenty minutes earlier.

The last rays of the sun shone through the open window and dust motes danced in the bright beams. A slight wind whispered through the window, touching Cormac’s black, longish hair. I’m surprised it isn’t gray by now, he thought wryly. He was only twenty-three, but he knew he looked more mature than his age. His lifestyle demanded he give his all, and he did so without regret. His rock hard jaw and tan skin spoke of his decisive nature and the time he spent outside; his blue eyes were firm and riveting.

Despite his strong words to Jaedon, he wondered if he had made the right decision in buying the girl. He did not like the angry gaze that she had given him after he paid the slaver. He was a merchant of priceless artifacts from the seacoast kingdom of Meru. Now was not the time to be picking up a female slave who was likely to cause more problems than Cormac would have time to deal with.

He blotted the page he had just written on and carefully put away the writing utensils and corked the ink well. He stood and looked at Jaedon, who had his powerful arms crossed over his chest. Jaedon’s countenance was conflicted. Cormac knew that the man was looking out for him, but he also knew that, despite the trouble he could predict was brewing, buying the girl was the right thing to do.

“You’re right, I would have bought her,” Jaedon said abruptly. “That is why I am worried.”

“What, because I’m acting like you?” Cormac asked with a roguish grin.

“No, because I know what she would do had I been the one who bought her and I suspect you might be looking at the same thing.” Jaedon looked serious. “She’s has a spirit that resents bondage, Cormac.”

So I saw, Cormac thought, but he merely replied, “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoe paced the room that she had been placed in. The older man, tall and silent, had put her here and she had not heard anything for the last thirty minutes. The silence was all right with her, but the enclosed room was not. She tried to process everything that had just happened, inwardly seething as she thought about the quick exchange between Grant and the merchant who had bought her—whatever his name was.

Bought me. The words were gall in her mouth, tangible bitterness. The hope of escape that she had been clinging had been falling further and further away since they arrived in Nimlaem the night before. Now it seemed completely beyond her reach. Dark depression threatened to cloud her vision.

No! I cannot give up! She mentally shook herself. Aiden would be disappointed with me. I have to keep going, no matter what happens. She envisioned her tall older brother and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. What would he say to me? ‘Where’s your backbone, Firebrand? Stop lamenting the situation and do something about it!’

She sat down on the small cot that was in the corner of the room and rested her cheek, which still smarted from Grant’s slap, wearily against her hand. She was appalled at the rising tears that threatened to overcome her as she envisioned her tall older brother. I have to keep going, she mentally repeated.

“Besides, Grace needs me,” she murmured aloud. She shook her head hopelessly. “How much pain can a person cope with before they fall apart?” she muttered. She thought of how Grace sobbed when they had parted only an hour ago. She had knelt down and promised the girl that she would find her again and bring her to safety. And I will, she thought with grim determination. Nobody, not even this merchant, is going to keep me from Grace and my freedom.

“Nobody will,” she whispered intensely. “I swear it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She was still seated on the cot when the door swung open almost an hour later. The merchant’s tall frame filled the open doorway and Zoe was suddenly aware of how strong this man was, especially in comparison to the indolent rich men she had observed all day. He was carrying a tray and she smelled a heavenly aroma coming from it.

“Are you hungry?”

She rose to her feet quickly and stared at him disdainfully. Her stomach growled as she replied curtly, “No.”

“Really.” The merchant raised one dark eyebrow in a move of absolute superiority that Zoe hated. “When did were you last given food?”

“You speak as if I were an animal, waiting for my master’s crumbs to fall to the floor,” Zoe retorted, ignoring his question. “I was free but a week ago, traveling where I wished and eating when and what I wanted.”

“Traveling where?”

“Is that really any of your business?” She snapped back.

“You speak rather freely to someone who has much control over you,” he said evenly, setting the tray down on the nearby table. Zoe’s mouth watered at the tantalizing scent that wafted toward her. “Elangsian slaves are not usually highly valued. If I were a crueler man, I could have you killed for disrespect.”

“Your control over me lasts only as long as I’m your slave,” she replied bitingly.

“Implying that you won’t be mine for much longer,” he finished.

She did not reply.

“What is your name?”

“What is yours?”

“Cormac Alstair. I am, as you may have guessed, a traveling merchant. I do not usually buy slaves, especially women. In fact, you are the first woman.” He quietly observed her. “That slave trader was going to beat you as soon as I rode out of sight. I was not going to let that happen.”

She was taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone. He was almost believable. “So now I’m supposed to find your actions chivalrous and kind?”

He smiled in a way that infuriated Zoe. “Well, if you want to think of me as chivalrous and kind, I for one will not stop you.”

“I don’t think of you like that,” she said. “I don’t believe you bought me to save me from Grant. I think that you are a lazy rich merchantman who wants to buy a girl for his own amusement. I don’t even know if I’m the first woman you’ve bought, as you have claimed! But I do know that I don’t need your help; I can take care of myself.”

He looked at her calmly. “Which explains why you were taken captive in the first place.”

He’s absolutely maddening! Does he try to irritate me or is it actually unintentional?

After silence reigned for a moment, he asked, “I suspect you are from Aerilya; where in the country do you hail?”

“I am not from Aerilya, or Elangsia, or anywhere around here,” she replied. “I have traveled from the other side of the Cirthian Mountains to this place.” She thought she glimpsed surprise flicker through his eyes, but she wasn’t sure.

“You traveled by yourself? What place did you come from?”

“Yes, I traveled alone,” she said proudly. “I lived there for over a year and was fine until I came down from them and that slaver came along. And I come from Braedoch Forest, a place southeast from here.”

“What is your name?”

“Zoe.” This time she answered his query, raising her chin.

“Meaning ‘life,’” Cormac remarked. Zoe was surprised he knew what her name meant.

“Yes,” she replied. Silence fell between them. Zoe’s stomach growled.

Cormac crossed his arms over his chest and began talking in a low tone. “While you are here with me and Jaedon—the man who was with me earlier,” he clarified—“you are free to move through the house. There is little for you to do, but you are not required to stay in this room. I stay in this house for several months at a time, but it is often unoccupied for much of the year.”

That explains the scanty furnishings, Zoe thought, glancing at the bare room.

“The house you may roam through, and the backyard, which is fenced. You may not depart without Jaedon or me accompanying you.”

Zoe resented his matter-of-fact commands. She should have expected it, she supposed, but after hearing the words “you are free to move through the house” she had hoped for something better than constant bodyguards when she was out and about. “What about when you are selling your goods? Do I have to stay her by myself, chained to a bedpost?”

“I am a dealer in rare artifacts,” Cormac replied steadily, ignoring her quip about the chains and bedpost. “Most of the time my customers come to me, rather than me to them.”

“I see,” Zoe said shortly.

He studied her, his clear blue eyes unreadable. Zoe felt a little uncomfortable under their scrutiny and looked away; they reminded her too much of another pair of blue eyes that had never failed to pierce her soul. Aiden’s eyes.

“How is your cheek?”

She looked up with surprise. “What?”

“Your cheek. The one the trader stuck.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, touching her cheek briefly. “You saw that?”

“And the timely trip you gave him,” he nodded with a small amused smile. “I am interested by your retaliation. What caused you to fight back while everyone else just stood there?”

She looked at him carefully, uncertain of why he was so interested but not wanting him to suspect her hesitation. “I suppose it is because I hated the shameful way he treated us. We are people, the same as he is. I can handle his degradation, but he did the same to children, young ones who cannot defend themselves. Somebody had to stand up to him.”

“And so you decided to become the whipping boy.”

She shrugged. “Nobody else was doing it.” She continued tersely, “And I suppose you support the cause of the slavers: Oppressing the poor and stealing away the unguarded.”

“You say that in ignorance; a barb that is meant to get under my skin.” Zoe was surprised by his voice; it had changed from impassive to cool and deliberate. Cormac stepped a little closer and his stance reminded Zoe of a cat: Casual and loose but ready for action at a moments notice. “Let me tell you something, Zoe. Nothing gets under my skin.”

She stared at him without saying anything for a long moment. Their gazes collided and fought for the upper hand. Zoe was tall—only an inch shy of six foot—but he was still several inches taller than she. His gaze was filled with a determination and inflexibility that rivaled her own, and she realized that under the calm exterior of a merchant was a man who could challenge and perhaps defeat her. She fought against the urge to look away, angry with herself for even thinking about backing down.

He finally broke the moment with a short, blunt laugh. “You are not slave material,” he said.

“And I don’t think that you’re knight in shining armor material, either,” she shot back sarcastically. “Rescuing the poor helpless damsel from the cruel slave trader by buying her…and then keeping her in bondage!”

“You resent me because of the power I have over you.”

She tightened her lips and didn’t reply.

His jaw was firm and his eyes unreadable as he turned toward the door. Without another word, he left, closing it firmly behind him. Zoe stood still for a moment, her temper cooling slowly. After waiting a moment in silence, she looked over at the bowl of still steaming soup.

Her stomach growled, loudly and insistently.

After a quick glance at the closed door, she hurried over to the bowl and plunged the spoon into it. The first bite tasted like paradise, slipping down her throat and warming her insides. The soup consisted of thick, tasty gravy with chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots in it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten so well. She finished the whole bowl in a matter of minutes and thirstily drank the water from the goblet that sat beside it.

She left the dishes on the tray and moved back to the bed, her stomach full and warm. While she was curious about the house was imprisoned in, she knew she had to take some time to think. No good plan was ever formed without sufficient preparation. She could explore the place later.

And she needed a good plan if she was ever going to escape from the tall, irritating merchantman who held her captive.

Chapter III - Sold

Hey everyone! I live and breathe, as does Zoe. She was just taking a break to re-evaluate her story a bit. I've been having to do loads of work to make sure she was satisfied with everything. I have reposted chapters one and two of her story, but they have fairly minor changes. I'll list the changes here so that you don't have to reread the whole chapter to find the new paragraphs that are sprinkled throughout the old manuscript.

Here we go:

1) Zoe's story has been bumped up, time-wise. Instead of her story beginning three months after the banishment, a year and a half has passed. She is nineteen and a half, not eighteen. However, as you can see, she still has a problem catching her dinner.

2) She has a leather pouch attached to her belt, and in that pouch is a gift from her twin, Sam. It is a carving (a very skillful one, at that) of her horse, Brac. The significance of this carving is important to understand--you'll understand what I mean when you read chapter three. ;)

3) The Elangsian/Aerilyan war has been going on for twelve years now, not twenty-three.

4) Grace has been introduced, in chapter two. She is a small seven-year-old girl and rather important to the storyline, so you might want to check her out.

Um, I think that's it. So, without futher rambling and explaining, here is chapter three for your enjoyment and commenting!

~ Emily, on behalf of Zoe


Chapter III

It was almost evening and Ruma was close at hand when a halt was called by Terrance Grant. He rode over to another of the slavers who was positioned close to Zoe and spoke. “We will spend the night in Nimlaem, just up ahead.”

The slaver nodded and turned his horse to pass the news on to more of his fellow slave traders. Zoe glanced at Tryna and asked underneath her breath, “Why bother stopping at Nimlaem? Isn’t Ruma were the market is?”

“Yes,” Tryna nodded, “but Nimlaem is a popular place for the lords and ladies in the land to retreat to. It is a town built merely for pleasure. All the shops and activities there are directed toward leisure and relaxation. Thus, many wealthy people are there and they often are interested in buying slaves.”

“He just wants to stop there so that he can show us off to another group of people,” Rebekka added wearily. “Ruma is full of business people who need slaves, but the people here at Nimlaem are looking for entertainment. They would buy one of us for their amusement.”

Not if I can help it, Zoe thought resolutely. Still, a twinge of fear rose in her. Her time had run out. Before sunset she could be another’s property.

They reached Nimlaem in good time, before the sun’s lower rim reached the horizon, and Zoe took in the first bit of civilization that she’d seen for a long time. Tryna was right; the whole city was just a huge metropolis built for leisurely activities. Zoe spotted at least three theaters as she walked down the main stretch of road—which was paved, something she had never seen before—and large, showy cathedrals were sprinkled about, pointed their ornate tiers toward the sky.

There were no houses, only mansions. Each manor seemed bigger and more majestic than the last she had seen. They had turrets and huge windows, and Zoe even saw a gleam of gold spiraling up the handrail of a stairway that led to the front door of a manor. Everything was rich and finely done; all it all, the city was a beautiful place.

Zoe did not drop her head as the rest of the slaves did, instead choosing to look around. She noticed the stares of the lords and ladies who were on the streets. A feeling of humiliation spread over her. She hated their assessing looks, their presuppositions. They knew nothing of her, and yet they already had formed opinions of her: She’s a slave. She is worth nothing except to work.

“I’m a person, too,” she muttered angrily.

“What, Zoe?” Grace asked, her doe-like eyes uncertain as she looked up at Zoe.

“Nothing, Grace.”

They reached the nucleus of the city and Grant rode confidently up to an establishment called the Paradise Inn. He seemed to be a well-known occupant of the place, for the proprietor let him in with a welcoming smile and slap on the back. They disappeared inside, leaving the remaining traders to guard the slaves. Zoe uneasily shifted her weight; the people walking down the streets around them were making her tense.

She knew she was a curious sight, even for a slave. Her height set her apart from the other women, and her clothing was unusual, at best. Her forest green tunic and leggings and leather accessories were drastically different from the other women’s tattered dresses and once fine slippers. She was not overly slender or pale; her frame was muscular and tan. Overall, she was a strange sight to most.

A moment later, a large man stopped in front of her, his beady eyes roving over her form appraisingly. Zoe’s own eyes narrowed. She did not like him one bit and he had yet to speak a word. He reminded her remarkably of a pig with his huge, meaty hands and big jowls.

He met her stare a moment later and his chin jiggled indignantly. “Show some respect, slave,” he ordered haughtily. “How dare you meet my gaze.”

“I am merely showing you the respect that you deserve,” she replied coldly. His large face suffused with anger. He obviously had expected her to cower beneath his arrogant words. One of the slave traders noticed the exchange and started toward them, evidently not trusting her to be civil.

The pig-like man growled at the trader while still staring at Zoe, “This slave of yours is being rude. She refuses to lower her eyes!”

The trader frowned deeply at Zoe. “Drop yer gaze, wench.”

She deliberately transferred her gaze from the pig-like man to the trader, boring into his face. His expression tightened and he raised his hand. She anticipated a blow across her face and heard Grace cry out in fear, but the pain she expected never came. Terrance Grant’s voice rang out, “Hold, Wirth! Do not strike the girl!”

The blond trader descended from the porch of the Paradise and strode closer. Zoe watched him warily. He had a polite smile across his face but she noticed that his eyes were as hard as ever.

“What exactly is the problem, sir?” Grant asked the pig-like man.

“Your wench here is insolent. She looks and speaks at me as if she were my equal. She ought to be punished!”

“Ah, yes,” Grant said, his eyes flicked to Zoe for a brief moment. She did not like the look on his face. “Yes, she will learn to respect her betters.”

“Perhaps if my ‘betters’ were worthy of respect, I would give it to them,” Zoe interjected coolly.

Grant’s eyes morphed into ice-cold pools of barely restrained wrath even though his half-smiling expression never changed. Without another word, he swiftly reached forward and took the leather pouch that hung at her side. Before she could think to hide her emotions, her eyes widened and her bound hands darted out to grasp at empty air. No! Sam’s carving is in that…he cannot take it from me!

“Return that,” she managed, trying to regain her composure even as her voice shook a little, betraying her fear.

He turned to the silently watching man who had first started the trouble. “There are ways to make them listen to you, sir.”

“I should hope so,” The man’s jowls shook as he sniffed. “This one isn’t worth anything; too rebellious.” He walked away after these words, his swagger self-important and ridiculous.

Grant waited until he was out of earshot and then gave her a hard, challenging look. “I think I will keep this,” he said in a low tone, lifting the pouch a little and turned away.

“Grant, give it back!” Zoe cried, her eyes flashing. Her heart was thundering so hard she was certain that he could hear it.

He ignored her and walked away. The slave trader who had first threatened to strike her growled gutturally and left. Zoe resisted the urge to throw herself toward Grant; her frame trembled with anger. No! I need that! It is the only token I have to remind me of Sam, and Brac…and home. Must everything I have be taken from me, from my freedom to all items that I hold dear?

“Zoe, please,” Rebekka said, laying a cool, restraining hand on Zoe’s arm.

“How dare he,” she spat out bitterly, for lack of better words. She longed to slip loose of her ropes and rush after the man; to pound him over and over again with her fists; to take back her pouch and carving and run to freedom. And why not? Why shouldn’t I? Something, perhaps the last shred of sense in her otherwise distraught mind, kept her from physically assaulting the trader. Her voice broke and she repeated in a whisper, “How dare he!”

Grace looked afraid. “Zoe, what was in that pouch?”

“A gift,” Zoe whispered. “A very special gift.”

Nobody else said anything; they realized that no words would console Zoe. Zoe closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Deus, where are You? I respect You, I believe You exist…but where in the world are You? I need help! I’ve lost everything! To her shock, her eyelids burned with tears that threatened to brim over. She hardly ever cried; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had.

Tears won’t help, she told herself roughly. And if Deus isn’t going to help either, then you’re just going to have to do it yourself. She opened her eyes and narrowed her lashes. That hasn’t been going so great anyways. But I cannot change that; I will just have to keep going, regardless of my failures. The thought was depressing and she wondered how much longer she would be able to function before she made a fatal mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m cold, Zoe,” Grace’s whisper was sleepy.

Zoe looked through the darkness in the little girl’s direction. It was early in the morning; they were all in an alley behind Paradise Inn, huddled together. It was early September, so the days were warm but the nights were beginning to carry a chill. Zoe moved a little closer to Grace and wrapped her bound arms around the shivering girl.

“Here. Stay close to me and I will keep you warm.”

Grace snuggled her head closer, her body balled up and pressed tightly to Zoe’s side. “Thank you,” she murmured. Her breathing regulated soon after and she was asleep.

Zoe laid her cheek gently on the little girl’s hair. How could anybody do this to her? Grace was sweet and kind; it troubled Zoe to think of her being used as a slave, constrained by the whims of somebody else. It was wrong. No one should be forced to serve without compensation or their own willingness to work. Why was it so in this country? Why did they ruin the lives of so many?

Her resolve to leave the despicable country she was in deepened with each passing minute. You will not be here forever, she silently promised the sleeping girl. I have been forced to be parted from my family, but I can at least take care that you are reunited with yours. You will be free one day, and you will see your sister Riana again. I swear it shall be so.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was six o’clock in the evening and the heat was beginning to dissolve. Nimlaem’s slave market was a busy place, full of noise and confusion, and Zoe’s head rang from the echoing shouts and calls that she’d been surrounded by all day. She kept her chin high; the submissive slaves were the ones who were bought first, so she had decided early on to appear as defiant and insolent as she could. She knew Grant despised her for her rebellious attitude, but at the moment, she very much wanted to make him as irritated as she could. She had long since thrown caution to the wind.

Early that morning she and the other slaves had been dragged to the center of the marketplace and marketed as available. Grant’s instructions had been clear: “Keep your heads bowed respectfully, and your eyes will not leave the ground, understood? Your tongue will stay behind your teeth and you are only to speak if somebody asks you a specific question. Got it?”

Zoe had deliberately disobeyed him and stared down every last prospective buyer since the morning, and she knew that Grant was aching to lay into her for it. She felt a small amount of satisfaction. If she couldn’t get free, she could at least drive the slave trader wild with frustration.

She had been shocked by the huge amount of people who came to see them. All sorts of men, women, and even children had turned out to see the latest group of human merchandise. The men’s eyes were heavy-lidded and lazy looking. Many of them had pronounced paunches and dissipated features that spoke of their cavalier lifestyles. The women were little better. They were adorned with jewels and fine dresses, each one trying to prove that her wealth was greater than that of her neighbors. The children were merely growing to be like their parents, miniature lords and ladies of Elangsia. Zoe had been intensely scrutinized by many people but her brash attitude usually sent them elsewhere.

Marissa had been the first to be bought, by a woman who was thin and sallow with sharp features. She had prodded Marissa’s arms and grabbed the teenager’s frightened face with her heavily bejeweled fingers before bartering for her. Marissa had been trembling when she was untied and had followed her new mistress with a bowed head.

Around noon, a stout man who needed two more serving wenches at his inn had taken both Tryna and Rebekka. He had looked at Zoe for a moment but decided on Rebekka because of her beauty and Tryna because of her quietness. Whatever fire Tryna had possessed when Zoe first met her had been extinguished over the last week. Grant had eagerly taken the money from their sales and put it in the large pouch that he kept around his waist at all times. Tryna’s husband had watched earnestly as his wife was led away; their two gazes met for a moment before they were jerked apart. Zoe felt sick by it all.

Now Grace and Zoe were the only ones who remained on their rope. It was almost closing time for the marketplace; the noise and busyness was slowly dying down. Grant walked up and down the line of slaves who remained. His eyes stopped at Zoe. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin reflexively, drilling him with her eyes. I will not bow to his whims, she thought. She still felt furious as she thought of him taking her pouch and carving the day before.

Grant’s face hardened with anger. He was in front of her with three long strides and stared directly into her eyes. “I’ve put up with your insolence all day, wench, and have had enough of it,” he growled. “Lower your gaze.”

“Never,” she shot back boldly. A feeling of déjà vu came over her. They had just gone through this with the pig-like man yesterday. She wondered, with a swift moment of cynical humor, if Grant would ever realize the depth of her stubborn nature. The quick flash of absurdity did nothing for her temper, however. The anger that had been building all day threatened to be loosed upon Grant.

Crack! Zoe did not expect the hand that flew out and struck a burning blow across her face. She gasped and doubled over, her hands flying to her face, causing the ropes to rub on her already raw wrists. Grace whimpered and cowed behind Zoe.

“Let that be a lesson to you all,” Grant said in a loud voice to the rest of the slaves. A group of surprised onlookers murmured among themselves furiously. It was highly unusual to see a slave trader physically assault a slave; they were worth more if they were unmarked.

Zoe felt heat wash all over her. She was almost as furious as she was whenever she thought of Duard and the separation he had put upon her and her siblings. And now, her anger overcame her reason. She gritted her teeth and straightened as Grant began to turn away. She slipped the rope off her wrists and leapt forward, her foot shooting out and tangling with his ankles. Hooking his ankle, she jerked as hard as she could and pushed his shoulder with all her strength. He fell heavily onto the dirty, paved street and she stood over him, panting slightly.

Somebody in the crowd gasped, and the murmurs erupted into loud conversation. Zoe lifted her chin again, her hands in fists, and encountered the large cluster of incredulous people. Standing foremost was a tall man who was dressed as a merchant. His vivid blue gaze locked with her own for a moment. She narrowed her eyes but he merely lifted an eyebrow calmly at her and then looked at Grant, who scrambled to his feet, his face glowing red.

“This girl is for sale?” The newcomer asked in a quiet tone.

“Yes, my lord,” Grant gritted, bowing his head respectfully. He shot her a mutinous look out of the corner of his eyes. Zoe knew he both wanted to beat her to a pulp and have her show respect toward this inquiring man; in reckless noncompliance, she shot him a scathing look and stiffened her spine.

You can’t beat me while a prospective buyer is present, she inwardly taunted Grant. And I will give you as hard a time as possible when you try to hurt me after he leaves. Her eyes flew back to the tall man and his shadowing companion who wore a long, dark cloak. Though their general physique was much better than most of the other men she had seen in Nimlaem, they both appeared to be about the same caliber: Lazy, slow, and selfish. She lifted her chin and challenged the young man silently. I may be a slave right now, but that doesn’t mean I’ll act like one, she communicated clearly with her gaze.

He merely turned to Grant and asked quietly, “How much for the girl?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cormac Alstair looked at the red-haired young woman with his features schooled into an unreadable expression. Inwardly, however, he was burning to learn who she was. He had seen her take the slap from the irate slave trader and been surprised at her swift and decisive retaliation. Who is she?

The trader answered his question about the young woman’s price eagerly. “Her? I cannot part with her without adequate compensation I’m afraid.”

“Because you and she are so devoted to each other, I suppose,” Cormac stated, his words skeptical. His words drew some laughter from the crowd and a deep flush from the trader.

“Fifteen gold,” the trader said flatly.

“Fifteen? That is ridiculous,” Cormac shook his head. “Five.” He saw Jaedon, his mentor and friend, shift his weight. Cormac resisted the urge to glance at him. Jaedon was probably wondering what in the world he was doing. Cormac wasn’t exactly sure so he didn’t want to talk about it. Usually Cormac wouldn’t have even paused—he was not interested in buying slaves—but after the display he’d observed from this proud, nameless young woman, he’d had to halt.

“Five is a mere pittance of what she is worth, my lord! She deserves thirteen, at least.”

“I don’t wish to be sold.” The girl’s cold voice broke through their debate. “I am not property to be bartered for.”

No, you’re not, Cormac thought grimly. He forced himself to ignore her. “Seven, and not a ounce more.”

The trader seemed to consider it. Cormac knew he was weighing the benefits of keeping the girl and beating her within an inch of her life for insolence, or getting rid of her and receiving cash at the same time. As Cormac had betted on, greed won. “Done. She’s yours.”

The girl’s unusual green eyes darkened to a forbidding black. “I belong to no one!”

“You do now,” The trader spat at her feet with contempt.

Cormac set his jaw. “I advise you to treat her with respect,” he said in a hard voice. “She is no longer yours to ill-treat.”

“Aye,” the trader growled.

Without taking his eyes off the trader, Cormac motioned to Jaedon. “Pay him,” he said in an undertone. Jaedon stepped forward and counted out the appropriate sum of money from the small pouch of money he wore at his side. In the meantime, Cormac’s eyes turned to the girl, who looked defiant and angry.

“Come with us,” he motioned to her. Different emotions flickered in the depths of her eyes, and he knew she was weighing the danger of bolting in opposition to the danger of staying.

“Please don’t leave me!” A plaintive voice came from behind the tall young woman. She turned swiftly and Cormac watched as she knelt beside a crying little girl. “Don’t go,” the girl sobbed.

The young woman murmured something under her breath to the brown-eyed girl. The trader’s lip curled with contempt and he said loudly, “Get away from that slave, girl. You don’t belong here any longer.”

Cormac stepped forward, his blue eyes turning stormy. “I believe I already warned you to treat her with respect,” he said evenly. The trader dropped his gaze at Cormac’s words, and the young woman looked up. She had voided her expression and a casual observer might have thought that she had given up and was ready to comply with whatever came to her. But Cormac noted that the fire in her eyes had not dimmed and kept his guard up. “Come with me,” he said in a quiet voice, reaching down a hand.

She looked at it for a moment and then rose to her feet without touching him. Withdrawing his hand, Cormac shot a look at Jaedon and was met with the older man’s raised eyebrows. “This way,” Jaedon said merely, motioning to the young woman.