7. Four

Every turn of the wagon wheel was torture. With every bump, every pebble, the collar's pins jostled. They hadn't gone deep enough to do more than scrape open the flesh, just barely enough to draw blood, but it was enough. Each time the collar moved and blood was drawn, the spell was fueled for longer. How long, I didn't know, but I'd already shed enough blood to keep it active for many years. Of that much, I was certain.

I didn't know how many weeks I'd been in the pit, but when I went in, it was the height of summer. The trees were lush and green, and the flowers were in full bloom. Now, the grass was dull and dead, and the trees were bare. Despite the unforgiving sun above, the air remained cold enough to make my limbs numb.

No one offered me warmth or comfort of any kind, but that didn't stop the other slaves from glaring angrily at me. At first, I didn't understand their hatred. I was a slave like them. Why should they throw such vicious looks at me? As the day droned on, however, it occurred to me that they didn't know about my suffering in the pit. They didn't understand that riding in the cage instead of walking was not a luxury but its own misery. They knew only that their feet hurt from walking and their backs ached from carrying while I rested on gilded pillows, flanked on all sides by my elven masters as if I were a prize to be protected.

At least the elves gave me something other than the pain to focus on. They spoke ceaselessly in their lilting tongue, which I'd studied for many years. I picked out dialects from the mountainous west—what they would have called the Spine of Gods—and from the vast and frigid Yeutlands. I had yet to hear the smallest of the four commanders speak, but the big one who had spoken extensively with Michail switched easily between the dialects, speaking a bastardized version of what was clearly his mother tongue. It took some time for me to discern the meaning of his words through his thick accent, but once I did, I could understand most of what was being said about me.

"A spurned lover, perhaps?" guessed the blond of my status in relation to Michail. He was clearly a mage, a powerful one judging by the number of taps he wore. I had never seen a mage capable of wielding seven taps at once. Of course, these were elves and they were made of stranger stock. Who knew what terrifying power answered his command? "The king certainly trussed him up like a prize. It speaks to his value."

"He must've done something far worse than fuck the wrong courtier." The redhead turned to study me, placing a long pipe between their lips. Silver piercings gleamed in their pointed ears, their nose, their lip, their eyebrow. Anywhere a glint of metal could be, it was there. "You don't get painted like a Savarran whore and served up to the enemy on a silver platter for cheating."

I couldn't work out whether this one was male or female. Elven language was inherently gendered in its expression, with most nouns being grammatically male, female or neutral, depending on the context and subject. So far, the other elves had deliberately adjusted their grammar to reflect no gender at all when speaking to the redhead. My study of elven history told me they didn't put their women in positions of command, so he must be male. Why, then, the careful handling of language to avoid referring to him as such?

Eyes the color of muddy gold regarded me with careful study. Dark freckles dusted the redhead's nose and cheeks, and their whole face was shaped quite differently than any of the other elves, as if they'd been molded by generations of genetics to be pleasing to the eye in every way. "He's not a whore. I'll tell you that much."

"He's a political rival," the platinum haired elf finally offered. His voice was softer than I expected, each word spoken with deliberateness, as if he had been considering each syllable for some time.

The blond hummed in agreement. "It is suspicious that he should be gifted to us so soon after the last king's passing. Do you think he killed his father? King Michail, I mean?"

My arms were chained to the bottom of my cage, but my fingers curled into fists. The screams from that night had long ago faded, the memories melding into a blur of distant events. The anger at Michail's betrayal was all that remained, and I held onto it with all I had. It was the only thing that was still mine.

The redhead pulled the pipe from between their bowed lips. "Oi, Ruith. Are you going to fuck him?"

My eyes snapped to the big elf with his long black braids, bile coating my tongue. I would sooner lie with pigs than willingly crawl into bed with an elf barbarian, but I didn't expect to be given much of a choice. They had been raping and pillaging their way up and down the coasts and rivers for a thousand years. There was no reason to expect that would change now. The moment my hands were free, I would either fight my way to freedom or finish what Michail had been too cowardly to do and take my own life. It was a better, more honorable end than what these brutes would give me.

"Leave it, Ieduin," Ruith advised, without looking at the redheaded elf.

Ieduin leaned forward in their saddle. "Well, if not, can I have him?"

Ruith didn't answer, steadily riding with his face forward as before.

"Why would you want him?" asked the blond, mortified. "Didn't you hear his handlers? He bit off someone's finger. Unless you want him to bite off something important, I'd steer clear, Ieduin."

Ieduin recoiled and spat. "Gods below, I don't want to fuck him. I may be a whore, but I've got standards, Kat. Not many, but I do have them."

"I don't know." Kat cocked his head, studying me intently again. "I happen to find his form rather appealing. Hypothetically."

"No one is to touch him," Ruith growled roughly.

Ieduin pressed their lips together in a pout. "You only want him for yourself."

I hoped that wasn't true. My chances of overpowering my captors were much better if I were given to one of the smaller elves. This Ruith was tall and strong looking, the sort who could probably lift me without any effort if he were so inclined, and I was not a small man. I liked my chances better with the redhead, or even the silver-haired one.

Ruith frowned. "Aryn, let's get a cadence going."

The silver-haired elf gave a sudden whistle and every elf within earshot stiffened, ears perked to receive an order. He made a wide gesture and drums started somewhere ahead. What followed was a call and answer sort of rhyming song, with each of the commanders leading the call and the men around them answering with wholehearted shouts, almost as if it were a competition to be the loudest.

Now is the hour of shattered shields

And clattering spears,

When arrows fall like rain,

And glittering steel becomes bloodstained.

A boy becomes a man

In the hellish fire of war

Baptized like Othir in the Godslaq.

Look not for me on foreign shores

Among the scattered dead

For I am in the hall of my fathers

Making love to your mother

And drinking with your god!

They went through several rounds of the cadence, each time adding something to the end that they thought they might do in the afterlife. Some of the added lines were clearly insults that would have made a civilized man blush to utter, but the elves all thought it was good fun, laughing about their theoretical sexcapades with monsters, or out drinking some culture hero I had never heard of. The cadence seemed to be some sort of boasting contest, with each one trying to outdo the last at the end while maintaining the rhyming pattern.

If it had not been so crude and insulting, I might have thought it clever.

Instead, I found myself missing my own books of poetry, and the library in the Cathedral. I'd spent years of my life among those books, counting them more as friends than anyone breathing. That had been my mistake. While Michail was scheming and forging alliances in the court, I was reading or training with spear and sword. Never in an eon would it have occurred to me that he would perceive me as enough of a threat to warrant my treatment.

I never thought it would matter that I had developed a reputation at court as indifferent and aloof because I preferred books and martial arts to the rumor mill and currying favor with courtiers. As a bastard, I had no designs for the throne. Not even an inkling of want for that damned crown, but Michail didn't care. I had our father's blood in my veins, and that made me enough of a threat that I had to be dealt with.

I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the song and the feel of needles digging into my throat. As soon as I did, I was back in the breaking pit, being force fed food laced with drugs, having my mind invaded, my body violated, my voice stolen… All for what? So I could be traded to these barbarian elves like a prized cow instead of murdered? Why this punishment instead of death? There had to be a reason, but in the weeks I had been searching my mind for answers, I could come up with none.

When, at last, the elves gave the order to make camp, it was past midday but not yet evening. The wagon rolled to a stop, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the pain subsided. My relief was short-lived, for there was suddenly a stern-faced human man at the bars of my cage. He was older than me by many years, and bore the deep bronze skin more common in Savarra, but I perked, hoping to hear a more familiar tongue.

"Are you going to be trouble?" he asked in heavily accented Savarran and banged a horse whip against the bars.

I frowned and didn't even try to answer him. I had learned early on that even trying to utter a sound was wasted effort. The collar had silenced even the most rudimentary grunts. All I could manage was to stare at him, the promise of violence in my eyes. The moment he opened the cage, I fully intended to barrel through him and make a run for it. If the elves killed me, so be it.

But the old Savarran didn't open my cage. He hopped down with a grunt and retreated, returning with two big elves before opening the door. The Savarran eyed me warily as he climbed into the cage with a tool, carefully unbolting my limbs from where they were chained to the wagon floor. There wasn't time for me to react before he grabbed the chains and yanked, practically dragging me out of the wagon.

I tried to stand, but after spending all day kneeling, my legs refused to cooperate and I stumbled into the mud, drawing laughter from the elves nearby. Something blunt buzzed against my ribs and pain shot through my body, forcing me to collapse into the mud a second time. It took a few moments for me to regain my wits, and when I did, I found myself looking up at the old Savarran, who was holding a long metal rod.

"My name is Senna," he said. "I'm to oversee your care for the mirzas. You'll do as you're told, or you'll get the rod. Disobey, you get the rod. Move too slow, rod. Look at me in a way I find displeasing, rod. Understand?"

I didn't know if mirza was a name or a title, but it was clearly being used to refer to whomever was in charge. I nodded.

Senna grunted. "Good. Run, and you'll get worse. Don't test me, boy."

"Where are we taking him?" asked one of the elves impatiently.

"He smells like perfumed shit," said the other.

Senna grunted. "Mirza wants him prepped."

The elves snorted, expressing their displeasure, and Senna yanked on my chain, dragging me forward with them flanking me on either side.

As we walked through the military encampment taking shape, I spied many more humans scurrying about. A considerable number of them were children, all of them busy with tasks such as carrying buckets about or digging post holes. Human men worked alongside elves to erect tents, always with their heads down and in silence. I didn't recognize any of them. They seemed well practiced in their tasks, which meant the new slaves hadn't yet been assigned. There was no sign of them anywhere.

Senna hustled me into a tent and hooked the other end of my chain to a large post in the center. When he reached for the small strip of fabric that served as my only clothing, I pulled away on instinct. True to his word, he didn't hesitate with that blasted rod, pushing it against my ribs. Pain rippled through me, stealing my breath and balance.

"A slave has no free will except that given by the master," Senna barked as I fought for breath in the dirt. The way he said it made it sound like it was a well-practiced line that he spoke often. "He who holds the rod is the master. Right now, that's me. You'll do as you're told, or you get the rod. Get up."

I didn't know if I could, but if I didn't, he'd hit me with the rod again, so I forced myself back to my feet.

This time, when he grabbed the pathetic loincloth, I didn't do more than flinch. Senna yanked it away, tossing it into a bucket like trash before he yanked off the golden cuffs on my ears. I winced when he roughly pulled off the clamps that'd been put over my nipples, tossing them and the connecting chain into the bucket with all the rest.

Then his hand closed around the collar. I jerked away, violently shaking my head. Senna narrowed his eyes and hit me with the rod. I collapsed into a breathless heap, wishing I had enough voice to sob. He straddled me while I was down, strong fingers gripping the collar on either side of the bloodstone.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of my pain-addled brain, I had the wherewithal to think good luck as he struggled to open it. Every jostle of the collar sent a fresh wave of nauseating pain through me, but no matter how he tugged, it wouldn't come off. I had already tried pulling it apart with all my might. I'd even tried smashing it repeatedly against the rocky wall of the pit until I knocked myself unconscious with the attempt. Only Modir knew how to remove the collar, and he was far behind me now.

After a few minutes, Senna gave up too and spat in the dirt next to my face. "Damn thing. One of you fetch Mirza Katyr. Tell him to come have a look at this collar. Maybe it's spelled closed."

"We don't take orders from slaves," spat one of the elves keeping guard.

Senna replied calmly. "Very well. Then I'll just have to inform the mirza you've refused your assistance."

The elves scowled at him, but one of them quickly left to do as they were told.

Senna righted me against the post and retrieved a bucket from behind me. I had a split second of warning before the bucket of icy water was dumped over my head. I opened my mouth in a soundless gasp, my entire body trying to curl in tight against the sudden chill.

"Now, is that any way to treat such a prize?" came Ieduin's voice from the entrance behind me.

Senna immediately halted and bowed his head, his hands flat against his sides. "Mirza Ieduin, you honor me."

"No, I don't. I'm not here for you." Ieduin paced in, dismissing Senna with a wave.

I squeezed my thighs and elbows together, fighting to find a posture that might preserve at least some of my decency. It was impossible with the way I was chained to the post.

Appraising eyes scanned up and down my body, a smirk curling on their lips. "Your king offered you as a bed slave. Tell me, human, do you have any formal training in the arts of pleasure?"

I clenched my teeth, more to keep them from chattering than anything else. If they'd come to taunt me, they should try harder. Worse had already been said and done by their betters. I wouldn't be moved to anger just because the elf wanted a gawk.

Ieduin brought out their pipe, but didn't place it between their lips, instead pacing a slow circle around me. "I doubt it. Humans like to train their whores to be submissive so they'll please their masters. You're a rebellious little thing, aren't you?"

They stopped in front of me, finally putting the pipe between their lips and lighting it with a few puffs. A sweet-smelling smoke slowly began to fill the tent, making my head feel even heavier than before.

They shook out the match they'd used and gave me another once over. "Where I'm from in the Yeutlands, they'd put you in a special pillory. Let everyone have a turn until you learned your place. Be thankful we're more tolerant than the madams there. Do you have any experience with men at all?" Ieduin frowned when I didn't answer. "Women? Gods above, tell me you're not some virgin." After another moment, the elf turned to Senna. "Does he have his tongue?"

Senna shrugged. "Didn't think to look."

"Perhaps he's just a mute," came Katyr's voice from behind me. The mage commander strolled into the tent and shoved Ieduin away.

"What are you doing here?" Ieduin asked with a frown.

"I was told there was trouble with the collar."

I winced as the mage ran his fingers along the delicate metal, pushing the pins deeper.

"Apologies," he muttered, though I didn't know what he was apologizing for. I much preferred him to the others so far. He was polite, and he smelled nice, like rose water and saffron. After a moment, he stepped back with a frown. "It's spelled closed. The blood is feeding the magic. Look."

Ieduin's eyes widened. "Blood magic?"

Katyr confirmed it with a nod. "Although…" He squinted and leaned in.

An electric shock ran through my neck and I winced.

Katyr frowned. "This is powerful magic. Too powerful for such a simple spell. It's almost like it's siphoning something from him, like a modified magical tap."

"Siphoning what?" Ieduin asked.

The mage shrugged. "No way to know. But if it is, there's another object that's acting as a receiver. Power is being transferred from one place to another, and that can happen over a very significant distance."

"Is he going to die?" Ieduin asked, gesturing to me.

"I don't believe so." Katyr shook his head, sending golden curls swaying. "No, it's not his life it's draining. It's…something else." He sighed. "The important thing is, I can see no way to remove the collar without killing him. As long as the collar stays on, he'll be unable to speak. But if it were forced off…"

Ieduin cursed and sucked on the pipe. "Ruith's not going to be happy."

"Or he'll be thrilled," Kat said with a shrug. "Hard to say with him. He does enjoy a challenge."

The redheaded elf scoffed and shook their head. "I couldn't care less if Ruith beds him or not."

"Then why are you here?"

"Same reason as you, I expect." Their eyes met and Ieduin smirked. "Curiosity." They sighed. "But now that I've seen his cock, I realize I needn't have bothered."

"And why's that?"

Ieduin snorted. "Look at him! He's got no cock hairs."

Kat rolled his eyes. "They've clearly shaved his body. Humans like their men to look boyish."

"Well, I don't fuck boys," Ieduin scoffed and left the tent.

Katyr watched Ieduin go with a small frown that turned into a nervous smile when we were alone. "Poor dear. I disagree," he purred and patted my cheek the way one does with a loyal hound. "You're perfectly…"

My face flushed as he looked down.

"…Adequate." He smirked and turned away to speak to Senna. "Prep him and have him delivered to Ruith's tent. He'll be taking possession."

"Yes, Mirza," said Senna, bowing deeply.

The mage commander gave me one more long look, but this time, there was a glint of something unreadable in his deep blue eyes. A muscle in his jaw ticked before he hugged himself tightly and left the tent in a hurry.