CHAPTER THREE
We remain in the wagon for some time, even as the sun sets outside. There is little warmth in the wagon, and the desert sinks to bone-chilling temperatures at night. The peddler is nowhere to be seen, and I can only reason that he has gone home for the night. He likely does not realize how blessed he is. Here, alone in the dark with these women, I realize I've never this level of coldness, this level of loneliness. The women speak amongst themselves, but I pay them little mind, drawing my knees up to my chin and trying to keep myself warm.
"The new girl is rather beautiful. I'm sure she will fetch a pretty penny," one of the women says, and I realize with a start that she is talking about me. I look up to meet her gaze, and she narrows her eyes at me. "It is unfortunate that we have all been thrust together in these circumstances," she announces, crossing her arms over her chest. She shivers and gestures for me to draw nearer. I hesitate for the briefest of moments before edging closer to her and the other women. She draws me in even closer, and I'm all too aware of how much warmer it is in this proximity to the others. I settle on her side, and she wraps an arm around me. Her touch is surprisingly tender, and she seems to carry a certain wisdom about her in spite of scarcely being my senior. "What's your name, new girl?" She inquires gently. I shudder, wiping my eyes.
“My name is Rynna. I can’t understand what’s happening. What’s going to happen to us? Who will… who will we be sold to?” I blurt, and the women share a look before laughing humorlessly.
“That’s a matter of luck, dear girl. Some of us will be sold to the whorehouse. Some will go to the noblemen of town. While any fate is better than death, you will find yourself more fortunate to be housed with one of the noblemen. They will use your body, barter you with their friends, but you will be safe at least,” she says with a sigh.
"I fail to see how this is a fate better than death," I mutter bitterly, burying my face in the other woman's shoulder. "My family has betrayed me. I have nothing in this world to live for," I add with a sniffle.
“Oh, dear one, there is always something to live for. You must keep hope that tomorrow will be a better day. If not tomorrow, then the next day. If not then… then someday. I have faith that you will find yourself in better company than most of us. I’ve been traded from nobleman to nobleman, but it seems I have exhausted my use. I will be fortunate to survive. The whorehouse is a better option than alone in the desert, in any case,” she says soothingly. I draw away, looking her in the eye. She is perhaps one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but there is an undeniable weariness in her gaze. To think that she has been passed around to the point where her only hope is among the most deviant in the city… it gives me little hope regarding my own future. I hesitate a moment, musing if I should voice the thought. She draws me nearer, and I settle my head on her full chest. “Rest. You must look your best for the auction,” she murmurs. It is only then that I realize just how exhausted I am. I close my eyes, reveling in the warmth of the other women. It’s a small luxury, but one I likely won’t get to enjoy for long.
When I wake in the morning, it is with a jolt. I expect to hear the crying of my youngest sibling, but instead, I hear the peddler manhandling the lock on the back of the wagon. When he manages to open the doors, he chains the lot of us together before carting us to what seems to be some sort of auction block. The shackles here are even more heavily constructed than the ones in the wagon, and I know there is no hope of escape as he locks me in. I look around, realizing that we are in the market square of the city. Familiar faces begin setting up booths with their wares, and it's all I can do to keep from salivating at the sight of the delicious foods being offered. Dried and spiced meats of the sort my father could never justify buying, fresh fruit that had the most heavenly aroma. I look to the women at my side, and they seem equally enamored with the tantalizing scents. The peddler approaches us with a basket, and a sliver of hope fills my heart as I realize he intends to feed us.
“Eat up, girls,” he announces, handing each of us a single piece of bread. I stare at the stale food, comparing it to the delicacies that surround us in nearly every booth.
“How are we to eat this? Can you not give us real food?” I demand, watching as the other women struggle to stomach the stale bread. The peddler smiles a wicked smile, considering me with an odd expression.
“You do not want your bread?” He inquires in a saccharine sweet tone. Before I can speak, the woman from the night before interrupts me.
"Of course she does. We are honored to have such a meal," she says warmly. I stare at her with wide eyes, but the peddler seems pleased enough and moves on to carry on with setting up his other wares. I look to the woman for an explanation, and she quirks her lips in a wry smile. "You're a slave now, Rynna. You don't exactly get to make demands. Eat your bread. You'll need the energy," she explains. Reluctantly, I start to nibble at the unappetizing meal.
She has a point.