The following day, we rolled into Torsen. It was a quaint town in the rural Northwest. Farms dotted the landscape around brick buildings with steep roofs. The sun was still a summer hot in the thin air, but it was more manageable than to the south, against the Cainern border. Even still, I could hardly recognize my dark skin that had bronzed a caramel brown during our journey. I liked the idea of Torsen as much as the previous towns we passed: in that I was focused on where the wagon was taking us over how interested I was in the people that inhabited them. They all dressed very plainly, with scarves over their heads to block the sunlight, and bustled about their business like any other town we’d passed through.

To our surprise, we stopped in the middle of the street and the drivers hopped out. The guards took up their post around our wagons, standing stalwart against our impending escape–not that any of us had moved to do so–and eyed the passersby with critical eyes. This was the first time we’d stopped in a town since we’d left… wherever it was we had left from.

Tols had leaned his head against my shoulder and was snoozing in the sunlight. He’d gotten comfortable with me over the last few days on the road, and I didn’t mind his close proximity much anymore. My eyes followed a driver as he exited the building they entered and came to speak with one of our guards. “Go ahead and load them out,” he told the guard in a hushed tone. “We’ll get them sorted inside.”

The guard nodded once and I shook Tols. “Hey, wake up.” Simon sat on the other side of me, his face impassive. Tols groaned against my shoulder and pushed himself up just as one of the guards unlocked the door to the barred wagon.

“Come on out then, keep your hands in front of you.” Two guards stood on either side of the door, one with lengths of rope hooked over his belt. We were going to be bound.

Tols looked at me alarmed, but I followed Simon’s lead. He was one of the first to stand, just as one of the guards moved to grab the first prisoner. He walked with his wrists pressed together in front of him. The others looked at one another, watching as the guard bound him. I swallowed, squeezed Tols’ shoulder, and stood, following behind. If he was going to be brave, so was I. If I was going to be sold as a slave, then so be it.

I’d spent too much of my life letting life happen to me: if I had any autonomy at all, I wouldn’t be beaten on the floor of a prisoner’s wagon. Tols stepped up behind me, and his beastmen friends. Soon, much of the wagon was standing, waiting to be bound.

When I got to the front, the guard grasped my wrists roughly and tied me with the coarse rope, the other guard stood me beside Simon against a wall. The others were lined up beside me until the line dwindled to a few men grasping onto the bars of the wagon. The second guard ducked into the wagon as we were led into the building, the cries of the men who stayed behind following us as they were beaten into submission.

We were led into a long warehouse with dusty floors and stone walls. It was empty inside but for six figures standing in the center and a raised platform along the side. As we came closer, I realized it was four men and two women. One of the men is dressed like a worker, two appear to be bodyguards for one finely-dressed man in the center. Then there were the women.

The woman with red-laced brown hair was gripping her fingers into tight fists at her sides, displaying corded muscles that were only awarded to laborers. The woman beside her stood contemplatively, pale eyes flickering between her companion and the well-dressed men across from her. Her jaw was set and her lips formed a thin line as she watched us. “This wasn’t what you called us into town for!” the other woman was saying.

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The man inclined his head. “I’m certain I have asked Miss Whitman to come into town for payment.”

The guards gathered us into a group near the platform. Tols gripped my arm, and I held firm for him. “Are they selling us?” I whispered to Simon when the guards turned.

“Appears so.”

“Alright.” Her voice was quiet.

“Syb–”

The name rang a bell in my mind, but I couldn’t place why. The pale woman grasped the other’s arm. “It’s okay,” she told her lightly, eyes locked on Tols’s ears. The redhead glanced over and understanding crossed her face. “You’re trading several kilos for indentured servants, including beastmen?” She clarified.

The finely dressed man nodded. “When the monarchy changed over, the laws were muddled. These prisoners fell through the system, they’re not assigned hearings or convictions.”

“And you didn’t release them?”

His eyes crossed the room and surveyed us coldly. “No. Half of them are beastmen, the other half are accused of necromancy.”

“Why do you think she’d be interested?” The redhead asked, her voice stern.

“Ma’am, would you like to see–” one of the guards started, but the look that the pale woman cut him across the room silenced him immediately. I felt the icy tendrils of fear creep into my gut.

“Fair priced labor for your farm in exchange for the best produce in the realm,” the man shrugs. “For your shipment this month and for shipments of produce for three months in the future.”

The redhead scowls at him but the pale woman–Whitman, the man called her–keeps her gaze steady. “I need to discuss this with my bookkeeper,” she tells him firmly. “Do you mind if I step out?”

“I don’t think I need to explain the… discretion I ask for in this deal,” the man says tightly, moving to block her from leaving.

“No worries, I’ll leave Haven with you.”

The redhead sputters in angry disbelief: “Syb–!!”

Whitman rolls her eyes and captures the woman’s arm to pull her in for a whisper. Haven’s anger falls away and she nods. “Fine,” she mutters.

The man regards them and then sighs, “I’m sending one of mine with you, too.”

“That’s fine. We’re only stepping outside.”

My eyes follow them out of the warehouse and flicker back to the redhead that is left standing with the two remaining men.

Her pale, freckled face is blotched red and I think I see her hands shaking at her sides. “We’re being sold,” I mutter to Simon who just frowns.

“What does that mean?” Tols asks me, voice a mere whimper. A guard hushes us, and the group goes silent around us.

I shake my head in response to the young beastman. I don’t know. I didn’t know that human trafficking was something occurring in Led. Maybe it wouldn’t have become an issue if I hadn’t outlawed the beastmen in the first place, I realize belatedly. The thought pierces me in my gut and a deep sadness overwhelms me. How long had this been going on? Since I led the armies of Cainern into the land of Led? Before then? My eyes brim with tears but I school my features into impassivity. I can’t let Tols see that. I needed to be strong.

“Syb” returns not very long later, striding quickly across the space. She leans in with the fancy dressed man, her tone stern even from a distance.

He nods and waves one of our guards over.

The guard returns and speaks in low tones with the guards. I keep my eyes rooted to the women who watch us with resolution. “Alright, out you go, single file!” The guards call.

We were bought.

They load us back into the wagon and the wheels trundle us up the road, continuing our journey to the north.

“What happens now?” I ask Simon. Tols has curled up against my side, no more words to utter.

Simon shakes his head. “We hope that our master is a benevolent one.” He sighs and curses under his breath. “That damned prince.”

I know. I think the same thing.