by Amber Argyle
He gave a little shrug. “It was one or the other.”
“Laz is one of your men?”
“He went to inform my father we’ve been caught. I’m not sure what happened to Grez.”
Cinder concentrated on removing the caked blood from Darsam’s eyebrow. “What about Yula?”
“Yula?”
“Naiba.”
“The girl from last night? She’ll be fine. It’s your mother and grandmother we need to worry about.” Darsam let out a long exhale.
Cinder had to count up to ten and back down before she could breathe normally. “Can I ask you something?”
He met her gaze. “Cinder, I don’t think I could deny you anything.”
She felt herself warming from the inside out. “No matter what happens to me, will you look after my mother and grandmother? Find a way to free them.”
He grunted. “I come from a long line of smugglers. My cousin is Rycus, consort to Goddess Nelay. Ashar is one of my uncles. We’ll get them out.”
Fire and burning, this man was powerful. “Where will they take me?” Cinder asked.
“You’ll appear before the magistrates. They’ll decide. But don’t worry too much. I’ll pull some strings.”
Not wanting to imagine how Idaran magistrates would sentence the daughter of clannish slaves, Cinder carefully wiped away the blood that had run down Darsam’s neck and chest. As she lifted his shirt to get better access, she had to try very hard not to stare at the perfect muscles of his abdomen. “So you’re a regular in jail?”
He smirked and then winced as if he regretted it. “My father won’t let them throw me in a mine or a slave ship, so they take their punishment the only way they can. Luckily, they don’t dare break anything. Most of the time.”
Cinder wiped at the dried blood in the corner of his mouth. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
Darsam grunted. “I hate being seen as a fop. Hate pretending to be something I’m not. But then I’m sure you know all about pretending.”
She stared at this man, handsome, rich, and powerful, who trolled the streets looking for slaves and prostitutes to save. “Why help me? What’s in it for you?”
His tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth, probing the split in his lip. “No one has ever asked me that.” He stared up at the ceiling. “Because of my stepmother, I suppose. She taught me that the first test of a man is how he treats those who are weak. The second test is if he teaches those who are weak to become strong.”
Staring at him in awe, Cinder felt tears pricking her eyes. “Because of me, the slavers and brothel owners will know who you are and what you’re doing now. You won’t be able to help any more of us.”
Darsam reached out to cup her face in his hands. “I couldn’t let them hurt you. Not you.”
Heat spread from his touch, and Cinder remembered him mentioning an interest in her. “I’m sorry I didn’t treat you well before,” she said. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t mind. Mostly, I couldn’t believe you could be surrounded by so much evil for so long and not be jaded.”
“Holla taught me,” Cinder whispered. “And my mother and grandmother shielded me.”
Darsam’s thumb moved to gently brush under her eyes. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t slept much. I was too worried.”
He tugged on her hand. “I make a good cushion.” She blushed and he chuckled softly. “It’s not the first time, Cinder.”
She bit her lip. “What do you want from me, Darsam?”
“Whatever you’re willing to give.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what that is.” It was obvious he had feelings for her; she just wasn’t sure she returned them.
“You don’t owe me anything, Cinder. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
Right answer. She smiled and rested her head on his chest. But she didn’t sleep, because the warmth that had spread from his hand was now coursing through her whole body. She felt alive in ways she’d never experienced before. Wondering if Darsam was feeling the same emotions, she glanced up at him and noted a little furrow between his brows as he stared at the ceiling. “What’s wrong?”
He stroked her arm with the back of his fingers. “Normally my father’s men would have come for me by now.”
Cinder couldn’t help but think they were missing something—something bigger that was at play—but she couldn’t imagine what. Just then, the cell door was flung open. Despite his injuries, Darsam was on his feet before Cinder could turn to face the door.
Two guards stood there, one with his sword already drawn and pointed at Darsam. “Get the girl.”
Cinder shrank back, perfectly willing to stay in this smelly room for the rest of her life if it meant she didn’t have to face the magistrates.
“Where are my father’s men?” Darsam complained, all arrogance again. “Why haven’t I been released yet?”
The guard didn’t answer as one man came for Cinder. She backed away, somehow knowing that if she was separated from Darsam, something bad would happen. “No. I don’t—”
The guard grabbed for her hand, but Darsam was quicker and jerked her behind him. “I want my father notified. Now.”
The two remaining guards drew their swords and advanced. Darsam backed away until Cinder was pressed between him and a wall that smelled of piss.
“Girl, come with me. Now!” said one of the guards.
She didn’t move. Neither did Darsam. “Hurt me, and you risk my father’s wrath.”
The guard slid forward, the arc of his sword poised to strike. “Laz has been . . . detained. Your false-lord father doesn’t even know you’re here.”
“He’ll figure it out eventually,” Darsam said, his voice sharp now.
The guard stepped just a little closer and sneered. “By then it will be too late.”
“Girl,” the other guard barked, “come out now or we’ll run him through.”
Feeling smaller than a mouse, Cinder slid out from behind Darsam and took a step toward the men. Darsam’s hand snaked out, grabbing her. “Cinder!”
“We don’t have a choice, Darsam.”
His eyes sparked with anger. She pulled free and took a step toward the men. They grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the cell, then slammed the door.
Cinder’s last glimpse of Darsam was of him rushing the door. She winced as he pounded it with the flat of his hand and yelled, “Cinder!”
The sky was a uniform gray, the promise of rain heavy in the air. But the clouds held back, waiting. Cinder counted seconds as she was taken by chariot to the center of the city, into the Justice Building. There were lines of people that looked worse off than her. Missing teeth and missing shoes and simply missing, like something that should be there wasn’t. They were coming and going—mostly going. One man shouted, demanding to see a different magistrate, refusing to be taken to the prison mine. His spit flew all over Cinder as the guards dragged him past.
Wiping her face with her sleeve, she tried to keep her wits about her, but she was so hungry and so very tired. She bypassed the line and the guards handed her off to another man, who held a scroll. He looked her over. “All the exits are guarded. Try to run, and your feet will be bound and you will be caned. Do you understand?”
Head down, Cinder nodded.
“Do you understand?” he asked again, loudly.
She jumped a little and realized he hadn’t been looking at her. “I understand.” She almost called him “Mother,” but caught herself just in time.
The man pivoted on his heel. Cinder hurried after him, glancing back in surprise as the two watchmen who had escorted her into the building left without a word. She entered a room and froze, every instinct demanding that she run.
Zura’s hair was perfectly braided, her makeup expertly applied. She wore sky-blue robes of excellent quality, but no jewelry. As Cinder entered the room, Zura turned to her with a haughty expression. Behind the woman stood Jatar and Durux. The y
ounger man’s ears were pink with excitement.
In that moment, Cinder knew she had made a mistake in leaving Darsam. Because whatever these three had planned for her, it was worse than a prison mine.
Unable to help it, she ran. She made it past the guards, whose shouts streamed after her. She burst into the open and headed down the center of the street, guards trailing behind her. If she could just outrun them, she could hide, sneak out of the city. Leave Arcina and Idara far behind.
But then arms wrapped around her, wrenching her to the side as she fell headlong into the damp paving stones. Her shoulder dragged along the street. She heard the fabric shred and felt the grit tearing away her skin.
Clawing at the guards’ hands, she tried to scrabble free, but more arms hauled her up. One of the guards brushed himself off, muttering curses. The other guard teased him about tearing another uniform. The first guard shot back that his uniforms were torn because at least he was fast enough to catch the prisoners.
It was as if Cinder wasn’t a real person. They didn’t care that she was dying inside. They caned her—five quick, merciless strikes that had her curled up on her side, grunting with each blow. Then they hauled her back in front of the magistrate, making her stand in a little box with her hands and feet in chains so she could only take short steps.
The magistrate squinted at her like he had bad vision and couldn’t quite make her out. The man with the scroll said, “Cinder, ward to Mistress Zura, has been charged with the theft of a diamond-and-ruby jewelry set, as well as attempting to steal slaves and cause an uprising. There is also the murder of a guard, most likely by poisoning.”
The magistrate leaned back. “Did you do these things?”
“No,” Cinder said simply.
“Then why does Mistress Zura say you did?”
Cinder ground her teeth. “Because she is a liar.”
The magistrate gave Zura a questioning stare.
“I have witnesses,” the woman said evenly.
He nodded for her to continue. She waved at someone in the back of the room. Limping, Laz came forward. His face was swollen and bruised, and he was hunched over as if in pain. Cinder gasped. This man had not sustained any injuries last night. And his wounds looked recent—a bandage at his head sported bright blood.
“Speak,” the magistrate said.
He hesitated, casting Durux a nervous look. The slaver simply tapped the knife hilt at his waist. Laz closed his eyes. “My name is Captain Laz. I witnessed this girl, along with the other slaves, as they tried to sneak out the city gate.”
“Magistrate,” Cinder said breathlessly. “This man wasn’t injured last night. They’ve done something to him. You have to help him.”
“So you admit you were with the other slaves, trying to escape?” the magistrate asked as he marked something on a scroll before him.
“Yes, but—”
“Thank you, Captain Laz, you may go.” The magistrate looked at his assistant. “What were the other charges?”
“Murder and theft,” the man said promptly.
“Ah yes.” The magistrate gestured to Zura. “I assume you have witnesses to these charges as well.”
Zura snapped her fingers. Magian stepped forward and reported that Cinder had picked the lock to the jewelry cabinets.
“You witnessed this?” the man asked.
Magian shook her head. “No, but the girl has a history of picking locks.”
“And as to the murder?” the magistrate asked.
Zura hesitated, but Cinder could see it was all an act. “As to that, we have no witnesses as yet, but—”
“Until such time as one comes forward, the charges have no merit.” He turned his attention to Cinder, studying her as silence rang through the room. “The court only needs the word of three witnesses to prove your guilt. You’ve already admitted to trying to escape. Can you provide three witnesses to discredit the accusations of thievery?”
“Why should I need to escape when I am free?” Cinder said. “As for witnesses, my mother and grandmother will tell you that I didn’t even know about the escape until they came for me that night. And I never stole any jewels.”
“I can attest that the girl is rather adept at picking locks,” Durux said smoothly. “I’ve seen her in action.”
Just hearing the man’s voice made Cinder cringe. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The magistrate waved as if erasing her words. “By your own admission, you went along with a slave escape instead of trying to prevent it. That alone is enough for five years in the prison mine. In this case, I find you guilty of the theft as well as your considerable debt. You will serve fifteen years in the mines, digging for luminash with the rest of the criminals.”
Cinder’s legs gave out. She would be thirty-two by the time she was free—if she survived.
“There is more,” Zura said dramatically.
The magistrate shot her an annoyed look. She nodded to Magian, who brought out the ponderous ledger. The bookkeeper tried to hand it to the magistrate, but he waved for her to hand it to the scribe, who looked over the figures with more interest than he had anything else. “It’s an accounting of the cost of raising the girl, as well as companion expenses.”
The magistrate clicked his tongue impatiently. “And?”
The scribe’s lips moved as if he was reading aloud. “I would need more time to check the numbers, but according to this, Cinder has incurred a debt of more than five hundred attalics.”
“No! It was 120—the cost of raising me,” Cinder said, her panic rising.
Zura gave her a smug look. “In addition to the cost of the gowns you stole, there’s the purchase price of your slave—Naiba—who is still missing.” Cinder felt a moment of acute relief that at least her friend was safe. “Then there is the cost of the fabric and jewels for your outfitting as a companion, valued at seventy-five attalics—”
Fear rose up, choking Cinder. “I didn’t buy any jewelry!”
Zura went on as if Cinder hadn’t even spoken. “Plus the cost of throwing her auction party. She’s well over five hundred attalics in debt.”
“Is this true?” the magistrate asked.
The clerk nodded. “It’s all very well documented, sir.”
“But the dress wasn’t even for me!” Cinder cried. “It was for Naiba! And the jewels I wore were Zura’s! As was the cost of the auction—it was all for Naiba, not me.”
“Dozens of well-placed men already have contracts with the girl, and of course I have her own signed contract to become a companion for the House of Night.” Zura handed some documents to the clerk.
The man perused them and then nodded. “It’s all in order, sir.”
The magistrate made an unhappy sound low in his throat. “And I suppose you want to enact the debtor’s law rather than see her spend time in prison?”
“Would it not be kinder to live in my mansion, entertaining the good men of the city—men such as yourself?” Zura smiled her gentle smile. “As you are well aware, Your Honor, anyone more than four hundred attalics in debt, with no hopes of paying it off, loses his or her freeborn status. It is my right to take this girl as my slave.”
“You monster!” Cinder gasped. Zura glanced at her sideways, a little smirk playing on her lips. Cinder closed her eyes with a sick realization and mumbled, “This was your plan all along.” She had been a fool to believe the woman might give her a chance to make her own way—to become her own woman. But Cinder’s mother had known better. So she’d enacted her own desperate plan . . . and played right into Zura’s hands.
Cinder turned to the magistrate. “Please—I’d rather dig rocks for the rest of my life.”
The magistrate passed his hand down his face. He shook his head. “Zura is right. The debtor’s law allows her to take you as her slave to compensate her the loss of—”
“I have worked myself to the bone my entire life serving her! And my debt is always higher than my wages! The people she’s brough
t before you are her servants—of course they’re lying for her. You can’t—”
“Her time and property,” the magistrate spoke over her. “And as such, I revoke your freeborn status and make you a slave.” He pushed up from his chair. “Scribe, see that the papers are redrawn. Have an official marker sent for and change her tattoo.”
Cinder ran toward him. Zura motioned to her thugs and they rushed forward, gripping both of her arms.
Cinder fought and kicked. “I am freeborn! I am an Idaran! You can’t do this! Please!”
But the magistrate ignored her, and the thugs were accustomed to screaming, desperate women. They dragged her from the room.
The sides of her head throbbing from her new tattoos, Cinder was dragged back into the cloudy daylight. In the distance thunder rumbled. “Go fetch the chariot,” Zura said to Farush. He went to do as she had bid.
A squinting Jatar rounded on them, one hand resting on his sword hilt. Durux stood beside him. The man’s chariot pulled up behind him, the driver staring Zura and her thugs down.
“The girl comes with us,” Jatar said.
Cinder came out of her stupor and attempted to pull away from Farood. His grip tightened, four fingernails digging into the soft flesh under her arm.
Zura’s gaze narrowed. “That was never part of the agreement.”
“Hand her over,” Durux said.
Now Cinder started fighting in earnest. Farood put her into a submission hold, but being barely able to move didn’t stop her from struggling.
Zura looked over the three slavers. “Jatar, she is my slave now—”
“You are in debt to me far more than four hundred attalics. Shall we go back into the magistrate and make you my slave as well?”
Zura’s face went ashen. “Which is why I had to ensure that Cinder became my slave. I already have contracts out for patrons well in excess of our agreed-upon payment. Her worth over the next twenty years is incalculable. Not to mention her eventual sell-off value, and the profit from a possible child with the lordling.”
Durux made a hissing sound, more animal than human.
Cinder whimpered.
Jatar turned on his heel. “Consider your debt to me paid. The woman is mine. The House of Night is yours. Again. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”