Legacy of The Enchanted

Sold!

(Taryn's P.O.V)

"Get up, you filthy rat." This is the lovely voice of my master. Quite frankly, I haven't cared enough to learn his actual name. You see, he's not my master—he's a slave trader. Usually, fae are only with a slave trader for a few days, maybe a few weeks, before they're sold. I, on the other hand, have been here for years. It's not that I haven't been sold; I just keep getting returned. People don't like it when their slaves are snarky and annoying. Odd, isn't it?

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Taryn, a fire elf. I have been enslaved since I was five, but I was taken from my home at two when the war between Valoria, the human empire, and Alderlith, the fae empire, ended. Since then, I've learned that pain doesn't affect you as much when you either cast it aside or laugh at it. Also, people tend to leave you alone when you act as if you don't care, no matter how much you do. Now I'm off to be sold for what I believe is the seventh time this month.

I force my feet to move and stand, waiting until I'm pushed into a wagon that will take me to the auction. After a long, stuffy, and bumpy ride, we arrive. I wait my turn until I am pulled on stage by the ropes binding my wrists. It makes me want to throw up, but there's little food in my stomach anyway. The way so many humans stare at me as if I'm a prized pig makes my skin crawl. The auctioneer starts the bid by introducing me with a few snide remarks.

"Come on, she may be a little feisty, but that's what makes it fun. Just picture this one all broken and doing your bidding, fulfilling your every need." He smirks, and many in the crowd laugh. I force myself to swallow my puke. The bid has reached fifty gold pieces when a man dressed in royal attire steps up.

"I'll give you one hundred gold pieces for the little vermin." He smiles knowingly. The auctioneer cannot refuse, even if he wants to. Everybody knows never to say no to anyone dressed in royal attire—unless it's a fae. Royal fae get treated worse than any other type of fae. Once you go to the palace, you never come back. And now I must succumb to this fate as well.

I am handed over to the man.

"What is your name, creature?" he asks me, his tone more command than a question.

"Taryn, sir," my reply is automatic. Sure, I could have responded with something snarky, but I'd rather not get beaten quite yet. He turns away, handing my bindings to a royal guard.

"When you arrive at the palace, bring her to the cook. She can decide what to do with the pathetic thing." And just like that, I'm taken away.

The palace is overwhelming, with its towering walls and grand halls. I'm led through a maze of corridors until we reach the kitchen, a bustling place filled with the aroma of cooking food and the clatter of pots and pans. The guard shoves me forward, and I stumble into the kitchen, where a stern-looking woman with a flour-dusted apron looks up from her work.

"Another one, huh?" she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "What's your name, girl?"

"Taryn," I reply quietly, trying to suppress my nerves.

The cook's eyes narrow, and she steps closer, looming over me. "Listen here, Taryn. I don't care where you came from or what you think you're worth. Around here, you're nothing. Less than nothing. You do as I say, or you'll wish you were never born. Got it?"

A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Like I don't already."

The cook's eyes flash with anger, and she backhands me across the face, the sting sharp and immediate. "Watch that mouth of yours, or I'll make sure you regret it."

I swallow my retort, tasting blood where my teeth cut into my cheek. "Yes, ma'am."

She snorts. "You look scrawny. Not much use for heavy lifting, I reckon. Can you clean?"

"Yes, ma'am," I answer, though cleaning is not something I've ever done willingly.

"Good," she says curtly. "We've got plenty of filth around here that needs tending to. You'll be our new scrap maid. That means you handle the garbage, the scraps, and anything else the others don't want to touch. And trust me, there's plenty of that. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say again.

She leans in, her breath hot and sour against my face. "And don't even think about slacking off or mouthing back. We have no patience for laziness or disrespect. You mess up once, and you'll be wishing for the days when all you had to deal with was a little pain from your previous masters."

I swallow hard, my defiance flickering "Yes, ma'am."

She points to a corner of the kitchen where a pile of dirty rags and broken utensils lie. "Start over there. And don't think you're getting any breaks. You work until I say you can stop. Now get to it."

I nod and make my way to the corner, picking up a rag and starting to scrub. As I work, I can feel the eyes of the other kitchen staff on me, a mix of pity and disdain in their gazes. I've been through worse, I remind myself. I'll get through this.