TEN YEARS LATER
RILEY BRADY
"Riley." A voice whispers in the dark. "Riley, wake up."
I jolt awake to the sound of the gong, not the voice.
Three strikes.
GONG.
GONG…. And a pause.
One more, and whoever's still in bed won't make it out alive.
Nina, my bunk mate, is leaning against my bed, her blue eyes wide with concern. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, blinking at her.
"You were murmuring names in your sleep again," she says softly.
Behind her, the dorm is already moving. Girls stumble from their beds, barefoot, lean faces.
All slaves, properties of North Dragon Dominus, Seneca Veylor.
"Nightmare?" Nina asks me.
I don't answer.
The third GONG sounds with me leaping out of the double bunk. The soles of my feet hit the ground so hard I feel the impact in the way my teeth gnash.
The gate to the dorm opens, rusted irons squealing.
The stink hits first.
Then the guttural wet voice. "UP!"
Everyone in the dorm, including I and Nina, stand by our beds with our heads bowed.
A troll-walker demon lumbers in, squat and wide, its pale belly hanging low, claws dragging against the stone floor.
Picture Lilo from cartoons but with serpent-like skin, and arms that are so long, they drag behind its little figure.
The troll-walker stops in the center of the room. Its heavy head swings side to side, nostrils flaring like it's drinking in our fear.
No, I know it is. Demons feed on fear of humans, as much as pain, suffering, sadness, depression, sins, whatever webs you find yourself stuck in.
"Overseer Seneca grows… restless." Its words bubble out like slime. "The last offerings were weak. Flesh without spark. Useless to breed."
Silence grips the dorm, but in the far corner, a blonde girl lets out a muffled whimper.
She clamps a hand over her mouth too late. The demon's head jerks toward her, grinning enough to show its bloodied teeth.
My stomach twists.
Every year, new bodies are chosen, plucked from their bunks like livestock. The Overseer inspects them, hunts for some strange appeal only he understands. And when he doesn't find it…
They never come back.
The troll-walker lets the silence hang, savoring it. Then it starts forward again, claws scraping the stone.
"You should welcome this," it croaks. "A chance. If Overseer Seneca finds you pleasing, you will carry his seed. You will live."
Its grin stretches wider.
"If not… you will serve another purpose."
We all know what the other purpose is.
Food.
Then, its voice drops. "One from each bunk. Ten bunks this year." It clicks its tongue, shaking its head. "Lesser… much lesser. But Overseer Seneca is generous."
It lifts one long arm, the joints cracking. A single crooked finger rises.
Nobody moves.
Not even me.
I hold my breath, my heart banging so hard against my ribcage it feels like I'm about to flatline. Sweat trickles down my face like there's a shower above my head, apart from the unbearable heat.
The finger swings slowly.
It points at one bunk, then another.
Girls stiffen, some start sobbing. Nina, on my left, squeezes her eyes shut and mutters the same prayer she's whispered every time. Not me. Not me. Please.
The finger drags past her.
Stops.
It lands on me.
The troll-walker bares its teeth, that awful grin stretching until its skin creaks.
***
The next few minutes, I'm doused under water so cold it makes my teeth shatter.
It's my first shower in a long time and my heart is beating intensely hard in my chest as I'm being scrubbed by hands.
My armpits, my face, my ears, even down there. No part spared. The scars on my back burn most, metal whip wounds screaming under their touch.
I try not to cry, but my lips keep quivering no matter how hard I bite in. I dare not parade my fear for the demons to see.
Soon, the shower stops running, and a towel lands heavy on my shoulders.
Then, seconds later, hands yank me up and I stumble as I'm led out of the tub.
The room is bright, warm, nothing like the slave quarters I've known for ten years. My eyes dart everywhere, wide, in awe. A short human woman steers me to a chair in front of a mirror and I sink into it, the towel clutched to my chest.
Ten of us had been chosen. Ten ripped from the dorm of five hundred and brought into Dominus Seneca's abode itself. I've never seen beauty like this. Foreign furniture polished and shining, carpets soft under my feet, colors brighter than anything I've been allowed to touch.
A thing spins above me, pushing cool air over my damp skin. My breath catches as I stare. If I remembered anything from my life before slavery, I think I'd know what to call it. But I don't. I know nothing beyond my name.
Riley.
I sit in front of the mirror and almost recoil at the eyes staring back at me. Sunken green ones, with wild red hair. Layers of freckles scatter across my face like dirt that will never wash away.
The woman doesn't waste time. She slaps ointment on my skin and rubs something into my scars that makes me wince.
"Don't move," she whispers.
Perfume sprays on my neck, wrists.
I cough.
"Breathe through your mouth."
She dusts powder across my face, tugs my chin up. "Head high. He likes that."
My mouth twists.
But I don't want him to like me.
Seconds later, I'm shoved in front of tall mirrors, naked and shivering. She stands beside me, barely reaching my elbow. For a moment I think she's small, but maybe I'm just too tall for this place.
She pulls open a drawer, tosses clothes at me. Black leggings, a thin top that clings too tight. I yank them on, every move stiff under the mirrors' glare.
First the leggings, then the top. It clings to me like a second skin. I'm caught in the mirrors from every side, hair in a tight bun, chin lifted. For a second, I almost look… human.
Almost pretty.
That's when she starts crying.
The half-smile on my lips dies. Tears are common in Seneca Veylor's domain, but these aren't. She keeps glancing over her shoulder like someone might burst in any second, her eyes going red, her lips trembling.
Then she blurts it. "My daughter. She was chosen last year."
I just stare. I wouldn't know how to answer grief if it slapped me, same as I don't know what to do with love when Nina repeatedly said so with tears in her eyes after I was picked.
There's a lump in my throat that won't go down, my chest burns and I can barely breathe.
The woman leans closer, guiding me by the arm as if she's steadying herself more than me. "This year's going to be worse. He's uneasy. That bastard, Seneca, he's desperate. If he chooses you, protect yourself."
Her lips quiver harder, and her voice drops to a rasp. "Rebels wiped out his brother's stronghold in the East. And since demon spawn grows quicker, he needs an heir as a replacement."