Chapter Three: Sold like Sliver
1357 Words
The wagon’s wheels kept jolting through ruts and mud, each bump snapping Evelyn’s head back against the splintered wood. Sleep? Forget it. The kind of “sleep” you catch in chains is just misery with your eyes closed. Her wrists burned, skin pinched and raw beneath the iron. Every bruise from the fight throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She tried not to think about the rest the shouting, the blood, the way everything she’d been shattered in one stupid night. Gone. All of it.
Outside, the sky was this sad, washed out gray, like it couldn’t even be bothered to rain. It made her want to laugh, which was insane, but honestly what was left? Her title? Her future? Please.
Thomas sat across from her, knees pulled tight, hands twisted in his lap. There was a cut over his eyebrow, blood crusted just below his hairline. He kept glancing at her, guilt written all over his stupid, brave face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but his mouth just kept working silently.
Finally, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Evelyn let her head fall back against the side. “Don’t,” she muttered, barely a breath. “It’s not ” Not your fault, she almost said, but what was the point? If she started talking, she’d start screaming. Better to shut up. Just breathe.
The slavers barely seemed to notice them unless it was to bark another order or throw a look that made her skin crawl. One guy, the one with the missing tooth, kept licking his lips every time he passed. Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut and clung to the cold comfort of the chains. At least they kept the worst of the world at arm’s length.
Eventually, the wagon lurched to a halt. Sunset light bled through the slats, painting everything a sickly orange. They pushed her and Thomas out with the others men, women, even kids, all of them looking like ghosts. Nobody talked. Nobody even really looked at each other. Just that blank, hollow stare you get when hope’s been stomped out of you.
They marched them underground, into a chamber that stank of mold and sweat and something worse. The air was thick, sour. Evelyn gagged but bit it back. The room was lit by torches jammed into cracks in the wall, their flames throwing long, twitchy shadows over the prisoners lined up against the stone.
And then, as if this wasn’t nightmarish enough, the head slaver strutted in. He was all sharp edges jagged beard, hands covered in black ink, a sneer that looked stapled to his face. He loved this. You could see it in the way he walked.
“Tonight!” he shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “Private auction. For the best of the best. No games. No delays.”
A couple of the smaller kids whimpered. Evelyn’s stomach twisted. She glanced at Thomas, who looked like he might throw up or start swinging maybe both.
He leaned in close, voice shaking. “Listen to me. Whatever happens don’t fight. Survive. That’s it. Survive.”
She wanted to argue, but her throat was tight. “They’re going to split us up,” she managed, shaky and small.
His eyes were glassy. “I know.”
Then came the keys, the slavers unlocking each chain just enough to make them stand in a row. Names started getting called. Some people sobbed. Some went quiet and stiff. Some just shuffled forward, like their souls were already gone.
And then: “Lot Twelve. Two for one!”
Evelyn felt the world tilt. The slaver gripped her arm, yanking her and Thomas into the harsh torchlight. She could feel her heartbeat everywhere in her wrists, in her neck, in her ears.
A dusty red curtain swept aside, revealing a chamber full of gold silk, flickering candlelight, and sour wine. The stink of perfume barely masked the rot underneath. Shadows lounged on padded benches nobles, lords, the kind of people who’d never dirtied their hands but were all too happy to buy someone else’s misery. Their eyes were hungry. Not for her, but for what she represented power, property, a story to tell later.
“Two specimens!” the announcer sang out, like this was a game. “The boy strong, clever. The girl noble bearing, untouched. Perhaps a princess?”
Evelyn locked eyes with the crowd. She wanted to spit. Let them see her. Let them choke on it.
Bidding started. Voices, low and oily, tossed out numbers like she was a horse or a rare bird. The price jumped, then stalled.
A man in the darkest corner, all shadows and velvet, raised a gloved hand. His voice God, it was ice. “I’ll take the girl.”
The slaver blinked. “Only the girl, sir?”
“I don’t need the boy.”
Thomas lunged, desperate. “No! Take me too! Please”
Evelyn snatched his arm, nails digging in. “Thomas, don’t” She barely got the words out before a guard backhanded him so hard his head snapped sideways.
“Silence!” the guard snarled.
The slaver shrugged, already bored. “As you wish, my lord. Lot Twelve is now split.”
It happened fast. Too fast. One second Thomas was there, the next he was being hauled away, kicking and clawing, screaming her name.
“EVELYN!”
She tried to follow, to fight, but hands grabbed her, wrenched her away. Their fingers slipped, tore apart. She heard him roaring, wild and furious, even as the curtain dropped and swallowed everything.
And then, just like that, there was nothing. Blackness. A thick, suffocating dark.
The man who’d bought her waited in the shadows, his cloak swallowing his shape. He didn’t say a word, just nodded to the slavers, tossed a heavy purse onto the floor. Coins clattered. She felt sick.
He led her through the fortress down grimy stone halls, past locked doors and moaning prisoners, out into the cold night. Evelyn stumbled, dizzy, half blind. Her feet barely worked. She tried to ask, “Where are you taking me?”
He ignored her. Not a single look back.
Outside, two horses stood tethered beneath the dying moon. He picked her up like she weighed nothing, like she was a sack of grain and threw her across the saddle. She wanted to scream, to bite, to do something, but her body just wouldn’t listen.
He mounted behind her, cold and heavy, and they took off. The world blurred, wind in her hair, the road a smear of shadows. Hours passed. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been years. The only thing that felt real was the ache in her chest and the stars, blinking down like they were watching a tragedy they’d seen a thousand times already.
Eventually, the horses stopped. They were at the edge of a cliff, sea crashing far below, black and furious. There was a cave, mouth yawning open, promising nothing good.
He dragged her down, not rough but not gentle either. The cave swallowed them. The walls were wet, cold spray drifting up from the sea. Every sound echoed, twisted. She stumbled, nearly fell, and he caught her arm steady, inhumanly calm.
He lit a torch, its flame painting his features for the first time. He had a jaw you could cut glass on, stubble shadowing his cheeks, eyes so pale and cold they didn’t look real. No warmth. No pity.
Evelyn’s voice cracked. “Why me?” She hated how small she sounded. “Why buy me?”
He stepped closer, not blinking. “Because you’re worth more than you know.”
She wanted to laugh, or scream, or punch him, but her hands just shook. “Who are you?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just leaned down, slow and deliberate, until she could feel his breath, warm against her ear.
“No one is coming to save you,” he said, soft as a knife’s edge.
And then he turned away, leaving her alone with the dark, the echo of his words cutting deeper than any chain.
- Writer
