Chapter 3

T hat night I dream. I'm surprised I even managed to sleep after what I learned yesterday, but my body was so exhausted from a day of hard labour that it demanded rest. In my dream I was chosen, chosen to join the magicians. Magic rarely graces humans, but the Great Mother blesses a chosen few to become magicians—our greatest protectors. Fewer and fewer have been picked over the years, but the war against the elves is still rife. Some say the Great Mother is punishing us for our sins, which is why less people are being chosen to wield her magic. I'm not sure what I believe, but the thought of having magic is intoxicating.

I must have been in a deep sleep, because I'm jolted awake by a sharp kick in my side. Bolting upright, I glance around and see guards have arrived. Not hearing them coming, something I'm always listening for, shows how exhausted I am. No one tries to warn me.

"625! On your feet!" The words are shouted at me, demanding that I comply with their orders. I shake my head to clear my clouded thoughts before a creeping sense of dread and fear rolls through me. My body aches from sleeping on the cold stone floor, but I try to shake off the discomfort, not daring to stretch out my abused limbs. Standing before the guards, I feel small, my shoulders hunched forward and head dropped so my face is hidden behind a shield of dark hair as if it would protect me from what's to come. I fight to keep myself from shuddering as fear rolls through me like a wave. They don't deserve to see my fear, but I can't help the tremble in my fingers. No good has ever come from being called by our number.

Their rough hands grip my upper arms tightly, and I'm reminded of the girl who was taken last night. Is that to be my fate? Without another word they begin to march me away. Peering through my hair, I glance around, trying to meet someone's eyes to see if anyone will do anything to try to stop them. No one says anything, the room is silent. Not one person meets my panicked gaze, but I see expressions of sympathy as some of the slaves I knew better turn their heads, unable to watch. I don't know why I'm surprised, why would they risk themselves for me when I wouldn't have done the same?

A movement catches my eyes and hope flutters in my heart until I see who it is—879 wearing a smug expression, her gaze meeting mine as I'm taken away. Anger boils in my veins again, but instead of pushing it aside I welcome it. It's not going to save me, but I refuse to willingly accept my death. For now, though, I keep silent, seething, as I'm half dragged into the castle.

"Let's hope he gets this over with quickly. I want to be back in time for the ceremony," one of the guards grumbles, his companion grunting in agreement.

As we enter the courtyard, my anger stutters for a moment as I think I'm going to be bound to one of the pillars, but they keep walking, taking me deeper into the castle, through the winding corridors until we reach the chapel. I've never been here, and if not for the circumstances I would be admiring the intricately carved marble pillars and arches. Priest Rodrick is waiting at the altar at the front as I'm dragged through the sanctuary and shoved to my knees when we reach him. Head bowed, my chest heaves as my breathing speeds up, the hammering of my heart so loud in my ears that I'm sure they're bound to hear it.

Rodrick steps closer, his familiar scent of incense clouding my nose until I can see his shoes. One of the guards grips my hair and wrenches my head back, and I can't hold back the gasp that escapes my lips. The priest runs his eyes over me, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. I get the feeling he's enjoying every moment of this.

"As a slave, you forfeited the right to the choosing ceremony," he begins. His words are aimed at me, but his usual booming voice fills the space like he's giving a reading to a large crowd. "The Sacred Scrolls say that those who do not attend a choosing ceremony before their twentieth birthday will lose their soul and become an abomination. We cannot allow that." His voice is grave, making it sound like my death sentence is a sorrowful moment. That anger turns in my stomach again. I know the truth. The priest hates the slaves, he is enjoying every moment of this.

Footsteps echo and I see more guards enter the room, the flash of black and gold making my blood run cold. The black priest uniform is saved for only one man—the executioner. The man who carries out the will of the Mother herself. I guess I should be flattered that they think I'm dangerous enough to warrant so many guards, their beady eyes watching me wearily as if I'm going to turn into a monster at any moment.

"Today we send 625 back to the Great Mother." Rodrick looks up and presses his fingers to his forehead in the gesture of the Mother. He turns his attention back to me and frowns, disgust in his eyes as he looks at my dirty clothes. "Pray that you have repented enough for her to grant you a place in her eternal embrace." The sound of swords being removed from scabbards makes my heart race as the guards take weary steps closer, as if I'm going to lose my soul immediately and turn on them.

However, it's the executioner I keep my eyes on. His face is blank of expression, but I get the feeling he doesn't want to be here, the weight of his blessed role taking a heavy toll on him. Something flips within me then and a sense of peace fills me, peace and determination.

"No." It's the second word I've spoken in twenty-four hours, but my voice is clear and steady.

"No?" Rodrick crows, his scolding tone heavy as I flick my eyes over and sneer at him. "You think to deny the Mother?" I may not be able to move, but I can make my feelings clear.

"I—"

"Silence! I refuse to hear another word from your tainted lips!" Rodrick shouts, spittle flying from his lips as he works himself up into a rage, the large sleeves of his gown rippling as he gestures sharply.

"Wait. I want to hear what she has to say." The Executioner's voice is low and rough, like he rarely gets the opportunity to speak. My eyes flick around the room, from person to person, gauging their reactions. They seem uncomfortable. This isn't going how they'd expected, and Rodrick has turned a shade of red that makes me worry. Not for his health, but men who get that angry tend to lash out, to make what should have been a quick punishment tortuous. Dragging my eyes away, I meet those of the executioner. I've always been scared of him, everyone is, not just the slaves, but all the people of Arhaven. We've all heard the stories of the executioner, but at this moment, I'm not scared.

The room is silent as he waits to hear what I was going to say, and I realise that these will be my last words. I best make them count. There are so many things I could say. I could beg, bargain, or swear. But as I look inside, I realise what I must tell them. Clearing my throat, I start to speak.

"The slaves...they're children. You're killing children . What could they possibly have done—"

"It's as the Mother wills it. We don't question her." Rodrick's sharp voice cuts me off, swiftly followed by a slap to my face that has me reeling. Had the guards not been holding me in place, I'm sure I would have fallen back. Storming forward, he grabs me by the front of my shift, bringing his face close to mine as he hisses at me. "You've had your say—"

"Stop." The voice is unlike any I've heard before, power seemingly embedded into the words as Rodrick stumbles back. Lazy, strolling footsteps fill the room as the stranger walks up behind me as if he has all the time in the world. Perhaps he does.

"Mage Grayson." The priest's tone relays his shock and fear as he greets the high magician. My blood runs cold as he comes closer, my skin tingling as his magic fills the room, crawling over my body the nearer he gets.

I had known the magicians would send a representative to the castle for the ceremony, but I hadn't realised it would be him . Mage Grayson is one of the eight High Magicians of Arhaven, the strongest of all the magicians. The trials they have to go through are enough to cause nightmares, and Grayson is one of the youngest and strongest to gain that position. I've only ever seen him once. He doesn't come to the capital often since he's usually out on the battle front or at the magicians' keep,many miles from here.

His energy feels suffocating as it envelops me fully and he finally steps into view. His magic seems to stutter as he takes me in, his eyes scanning my slight frame. As my head is still being wrenched back, I don't have any other choice but to look at him, so I make the most of it. He's tall and tanned, like most of the people in Arhaven, but his hair is darker, not black like mine, but different enough that he would stand out in a crowd. He's good-looking, but in a way that powerful men are, not classically beautiful. His sharp jaw and piercing dark eyes make him seem like he's constantly contemplating something.

"Release her," he commands, waving his hand at the guards who immediately let go of me, taking a hasty step back. I slump to the floor, the toll of the day leaving me drained. I'm not sure how much longer I can take the constant threat of death. The magic I felt earlier changes to a gentle caress, my body suddenly feeling renewed, and my aches are taken away as my heart settles. Gasping as the tingling sensation leaves my body, I push myself up, back straight as I wait for whatever is going to come next. I keep my eyes down out of habit, but I can see the priest spluttering and red as he looks between me and the mage.

"But—"

Grayson glances over at the priest with his brows raised, his lips quirking up at Rodrick's barely restrained frustration. "I think I can take care of her." He wiggles his fingers and I gasp as a band of magic suddenly snaps around my waist, making me arch my back at the sudden tight feeling. The magician's eyes return to me with a frown. "This is the slave you've been so worried about?" He sounds amused and I see the guards' discomfort as Rodrick turns a deeper shade of crimson, insulted by the magician's words but unable to retaliate. No one would dare go against the word of a high magician.

"She's about to be returned to the Mother," the executioner answers, his first words since Grayson entered the chapel. A look passes between the two of them that makes me think they know each other.

"What's her crime?"

"She turns twenty today," Rodrick supplies, his voice calmer now that he is back in his element. Grayson frowns as he turns back to me, his gaze reassessing as a wave of his magic travels up my body and lifts my chin, like a phantom hand. My whole body stiffens, my instincts screaming to keep my eyes dropped, to not meet his eyes with my own.

"Hmm, that makes things more complicated," he murmurs, still looking at me intensely as if he's trying to figure me out and what he sees is lacking.

No. I won't die a coward. Feeling determined, I flick my eyes up, looking directly into his. Shock covers his face before he quickly schools it into a smirk and turns to face the priest. "But I didn't mean that. Why is she a slave, what did she do?" There's a pause and I listen eagerly. Perhaps I'll discover the reason behind my slavery.

"Does it matter? It is as the Mother wills it," the priest responds quickly, dismissing the matter with a gesture of his hand.

"You're right, it doesn't matter." My heart stutters at the magician's words before he starts to speak again, addressing the guards still lingering in the room. "Change of plans, gentlemen, the slave comes with me."

"What?" Outraged, Priest Rodrick stalks towards Grayson, throwing a disgusted look at me before turning back to the magician. He appears scornful, and I know he's not used to people denying him. "Why would I possibly allow that?"

"Because the Mother wills it," Grayson replies, repeating the priest's earlier words back to him, the corner of his mouth fighting a smile. "Because I received a vision. This girl is crucial to the war, she will play an important role. I'm not sure what yet, but I can tell you this—if you kill her today, we will lose the war."

Silence meets his declaration, and for a moment I think I'm dreaming, I have to be. I'm a slave, I'm nothing, how could I have anything to do with the outcome of the war? The war that has been going on for centuries? The magician stares at me like he's thinking the same thing and I quickly lower my gaze again out of habit. I may have a way out of this and I don't want to ruin that by pissing him off.

"Well, you're too late. She's twenty, she'll become a monster, and you can't stop that." Rodrick's voice raises, his pitch higher than it had been previously, his face beginning to redden again at the prospect of the magician taking me away. Grayson turns sharply to face Rodrick, and from my position I can just about see the look he gives the priest.

"Do you think it was purely luck that brought me here just before you killed her?" His words are sharp and I decide right then I don't ever want to piss off this man. I see the priest stiffen as his hands are suddenly bound to his side by a glowing band of magic, reminding everyone in the room just what he's capable of. "Don't fight me on this, Priest Rodrick."

Released of his magical restraints, the priest falls to the ground, gasping as he sketches out the symbol of the Mother on his forehead. "Of course not, I would never think to question the plans of the Great Mother or the magicians that serve her," Rodrick wheedles, his voice honeyed as he bows his head. He says all the right words, his voice nothing but compliant, but I know he's angry. As he pushes to his feet, he glares at me, proving I'm right. But he's not just angry, he's furious. I've seen expressions like this before. People who are humiliated tend to become more vicious and cruel. I make a vow that if I survive this, I will try to never be alone in a room with this man.

"Stand up." The command is spoken quietly, but the magic rolling against my skin is a reminder of how powerful he is. Standing on shaking feet, I bow my head as I wait for them to tell me this was all a sick, cruel joke. "Thank you for your time, Priest Rodrick," Grayson addresses him formally, but I can hear his condescending tone and know his thanks isn't sincere. Turning his back to the priest, he walks to my side, glancing down at me with a stern expression. "Follow me. I wouldn't try to run." An echo of the magic he'd used to bind me earlier flickers against my waist and I know running would be pointless.

Without another word, the magician strides out of the room, his dark cloak with golden lining snapping behind him. Ignoring the stares of Rodrick and the guards in the room, I hurry to follow Grayson but my chains make me slow. Throwing a look over his shoulder, he makes a noise of frustration when he sees how far behind him I am, and his eyes zero in on my bound ankles.

"Can't you go any faster?" he demands, but I see something flicker in his eyes as I quickly drop my gaze and hurry to try and catch up before I anger him. The chains are cumbersome, and I've never tried to run in them before. My foot catches on one of the paving stones, and before I realise what's happening, I'm falling forward only to be jerked to a sudden halt. Glancing down, I see a glowing pillow of light has caught me, stopping me from slamming into the hard ground. With wide eyes I look up at the magician watching me with a frown. When he sees me looking at him, his expression quickly turns to one of impatience. My heart in my throat, I push up to my feet and bow my head as he walks over and inspects me for damage, lifting my arms and spinning me around. He grabs my chin and grunts when he sees the bruises on my cheeks and those peeking out of the top of my clothing.

"Come," he instructs, as he turns abruptly and begins to walk again. However, this time he's slower, taking smaller strides as he waits for me to catch up. Shuffling just behind him, I feel my body start to tremble again, and I wrap my arm around my torso in comfort. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighs and drops back so we are walking side by side. I could be punished just for being this close to him, but who knows the consequences if I upset him by moving away? We walk this way in silence until I feel his eyes on me again.

"What did you do to deserve being made a slave?" I don't answer, seeing how I don't have an answer for him. He snorts and I catch a glimpse of him shaking his head as if he thinks I'm being difficult.

"You didn't try to plead for your life." His voice is quiet, and had I not been standing next to him, I might have not heard him. It's not a question, but he seems to want an answer. How do I answer that? "Most people I know would beg for their life. I've even seen battle hardened soldiers pleading to the Mother." I feel his eyes on me again and this time I don't shy away, instead, I keep my gaze straight ahead. "But not you," he ponders, as if I'm some puzzle for him to figure out. He continues to lead me through the castle, taking me into the deeper parts I've never been before. Slaves don't usually come this far, we're kept away from the royals.

"I know you can speak, I heard you before." Frustration is clear to hear in his voice now and that bubbling anger wraps its claws around me. Before I can stop it, I'm opening my mouth.

"I only speak when I have something worthy to say." My voice is weak and scratchy from lack of use, and I quickly throw my hand over my mouth as I realise what I've said. He stops and I know I'm in serious trouble. People don't speak to the magicians like that, especially not the high magicians, and slaves shouldn't speak at all . By implying that he was not worthy of a response from me, I was gravely insulting him.

Having my tongue removed would seem a tame punishment compared to what the magicians could do to me. Images of my skin being slowly peeled from my body rolls through my head as I fall to the ground, prostrating myself before him. My forehead presses into the hard floor, although this part of the castle is carpeted, so there are some small mercies. My breath pants out of me while I wait for him to speak or move or anything . When he does, it's not what I expected. A shocked laugh chokes out of him and he pauses as if surprised that he laughed.

"You've got backbone. Good, you're going to need it." Still pressed against the floor, I frown into the carpet, wondering what he's talking about. I don't know what the magician wants from me, and his actions confuse me, so I stay on the floor awaiting his instructions. "Although, this throwing yourself on the floor is going to be an issue." His voice suddenly gets closer and I feel a hand on my arm before he pulls at it to help me up. Lifting my head, my eyes lock with his, and it takes me a second to realise what he's doing. He's kneeling before me, offering me a hand. A high mage, one of our premier people in society, is kneeling before a slave.

Shuffling back in alarm, I pull my arm away from him. He's breaking the rules, but it won't be him that gets punished. Seeing my terror, he frowns and slowly stands. "I won't hurt you. Not unless you try to run," he tells me, waiting for my curt nod before gesturing for me to get up. Hurrying to my feet, I start to follow him again, our tense silence making the walk awkward. I can't help but think over his words, about why I didn't beg for my life. I didn't want to die, but at that moment I knew I had a chance to say something, to speak up for those who couldn't. Begging wasn't going to spare my life.

"Why plead for my life when there are hundreds of children being killed every day?" I whisper, my words barely loud enough to be heard, but I know he's heard me because from my peripheral I can see him staring at me intently.

After a moment of silence, he huffs out a breath and turns his attention to the corridor ahead of us. "You are not what I expected."

I want to reply, to ask him what exactly he expected, but I have already pushed enough boundaries today, so I duck my head and keep moving forward.

You're not what I expected either, I can't help but think, trying to watch him out my peripheral. His uniform is similar to the one soldiers wear—a double-breasted jacket covered in gold buttons. But where the soldiers wear dark green, the magician's wear dark blue and have a cape. High magicians have gold lined capes, but their power is what really gives them away. I'd expected a high magician to be powerful, but I'd grossly underestimated exactly how powerful he would be. That kind of power comes with responsibilities, and I had expected him to be cruel and distant towards me, like the priests, but so far he's surprised me.

I still have no idea where he's taking me, and I've lost track of where we are in the castle thanks to the twisted route we've taken. Perhaps he's done that on purpose so I can't run?

Reaching a wide, opulent corridor, we stop outside a set of double doors, the wood carved with swirls painted in gold.

"We're here," he tells me, and my brow creases in confusion. Where is here? He pauses, glancing down at me as if waiting for a response, but what he forgets is that I've been mostly silent for the past twelve years. I'm used to my questions going unanswered, so after a time you stop asking. Reaching out, Grayson touches the golden door handle, simply laying his hand on top of it. What is he waiting for? Confused, I stand at his side. When I feel a flash of magic and the sound of the lock turning, my question is answered. Pushing the doors open, he strides in and my eyes widen at the sight before me.

A huge living chamber greets me, every item in the room gleaming as if it had just been polished. The walls are painted a cream colour with lush, deep red carpeting. The furniture is made of walnut and upholstered with fabric the same shade of red as the flooring. Mage Grayson has already walked into the room, removing his cloak with a sigh before hanging it up on the set of hooks screwed into the wall. Rolling his neck and stretching out his arms, he gazes around the room.

"I haven't been here in years, yet it always looks just how I left it," he mutters, running a finger along the wooden dresser as he walks over to the plush, upholstered couch. Settling against the large cushions, he frowns as he notices me still standing in the open doorway, eyes wide.

"Are you coming in?" His smile is teasing and something flips inside my stomach. I try to swallow back the sick feeling that seems to have taken residence inside me. I shouldn't be here, I will get a fourth brand for sure if one of the guards catches me.

They were going to kill you anyway, what's the harm in taking a look? the rebellious part of me insists, and I realise it's right. Lifting my foot, I slowly step over the threshold, holding my breath as I walk fully into the room. The doors shut behind me suddenly, making me spin to see who's behind me, only to see…no one. Hearing a chuckle, I turn again to see Grayson wiggling his fingers at me. Magic.

Feeling stupid, I look away and try to take in as much detail as I can without making it obvious.

"You're free to explore the room as much as you like."

Busted. I ignore his smug smile as I stare up at the glistening chandelier hanging above us, wondering how long it took the crafter to create such beauty. "There are shields around the door and windows, so don't get any ideas about trying to escape." His voice turns harsh, his eyes glowing with his power as he calls it to him, and I can't help but flinch away from him. The power subsides and he frowns, shaking his head at whatever thought he was having. "You're safe in my chambers, no one will hurt you here," he continues, oblivious to the horror that his words have caused.

His chambers. He's brought me back to his chambers. An image of the slave that was taken away last night flashes through my mind and I take a step away from him, shaking my head as my hands form into fists. I won't be saved from death only to end up having to service a magician.

"No." My denial is firm and clear.

"No?" He pushes up from the couch and takes a step towards me, but stops as I bare my teeth at him, a feral hiss escaping from behind my clenched teeth. Frowning, he gestures towards me. I've adopted a fighting stance, ready to run or fight should I need to. "I don't under—" I interrupt him with a shake of my head.

"I won't lie with you."

My words finally register and he looks like he's just been punched in the gut before anger crosses his face. "Mother above! Is that what you thought I brought you here for?" Frustration and disgust line his face and the room starts to shake with his magic. It begins with a small, fine tremble, and then builds until even the walls seem to quake. Inside, I'm terrified, but I stand my ground. He must be trying to trick me. I should have learned by now that no help is offered for free. Keeping my chin up but my eyes cast away, I gesture around me.

"Why else would you save me from the executioner just to bring me to your room? I know what happens to the slaves they take away." The room instantly stops shaking and Grayson seems to sag with the weight of what I've said.

"Fuck. No, I—" A knock at the door has him pausing. Sighing, he gestures to a door on my left. "Go in there, you will find a bathroom. Clean yourself up. I'll send someone in to help you in a bit. Once you're done, come join me out here," he instructs. Looking at the door, I feel a sense of foreboding, but I give him a short nod before slowly heading towards the door he waved at.

I step into the room, pausing in the doorway and hearing only silence behind me, except for the subtle rattling of my chains. Looking around, I notice a large, four-poster bed, and when I spot the bathroom I hurry over, shutting the door firmly. Pressing my head against the white painted wood, I whisper prayers to the Mother. As I try to catch my breath, I hear Grayson talking animatedly to someone, someone who does not sound happy.

Mother help me.