Claimed by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 6)

There is none.

We are in a large echoing hall with a domed ceiling so far above us it’s like another planet, with skylights that let in the harsh mid-planet rotation sun. But the distance down is so vast, and the air so full of dust from the packed earthen floor, that the whole place takes on a surreal dream-like sense. A nightmare, once you glance around and see the countless females being sold, each on her own raised dais.

Beside me, Enya whimpers. Her wrists are bound with soft rope; mine with a harder coarse weave that’s already cut into my wrists in a few places. Enya has a rope around her neck, too, a slip knot, the other end of which is attached to the standing metal pole on her dais. If she tries to escape, she’ll strangle herself to death.

They didn’t bother with my neck. And the fools didn’t check my pockets. I still have that stone.

“Any minute now they’re going to come in.” Her body trembles. We can hear the rabble outside the giant wooden doors, and the females who are free to move—some are tied down tight—all stare toward that entrance, their gazes sick with fear.

“Silence!” The master auctioneer roars through a speaker. “Any slave who disobeys orders or tries to escape will be executed. We have plenty and will not miss a few. Be grateful you are not already dead.” He chuckles.

The local floor auctioneer, who’s responsible for Enya and a dozen others, eyes us. Every male already in here, the guards and auction staff, want her. I’m sure he’d abscond with her in half a heartbeat if he could get away with it.

I swallow hard, forming my plan. “Enya,” I murmur without moving my lips. “Here’s how we’ll do it. As soon as the door opens, the crowd will surge in. That’s when I’ll make my move. I’ll use the stone from my pocket to cut your wrists free of the rope, and I’ll take off the neck guard. Then you’ll grab my cloak, toss it over your head, and run.”

I can see it in my mind already, her hiding her form and gleaming black locks under the drab cloth, running to the doors, lithe and fast. “You stay low and keep your face down, and run for the ships. Try to gain asylum on a Brogan or Di’inar; they’re reputed to be the fairer ones.”

I take a deep breath and force the bile back down my throat. “I’ll... create a diversion here to buy you some time.” I’d run too, but my bad leg was injured further during the transport. I fear I would just slow her down.

“I can’t go without you!” Her eyes are wide and glassy and her breath comes shallow and fast. She sways.

“Enya.” I grab her hands hard and squeeze, making my voice harsh to get her attention. “You can and you will. You will get yourself to safety. Is that clear?” I imbue my tone with as much authority as I can muster.

Her hands are so cold. Mother Earth.

“They’ll kill me if I try.” Her voice rises.

I glance around the room. “All of us are already dead.” By twisting my arms to one side, I can insert my hand into the pocket of my breeches. I palm the knife stone and breathe out. “But you have one last chance.”

Under the guise of comforting her, I start to saw at the ropes that bind her wrists together. They put some kind of pitch glue on the knot so it can’t be untied, but my stone is sharp enough to make headway, I believe.

“Do it for your mother. She’s waiting for you somewhere.”

And as I say the words, I feel a strange warm glow in my body, as if my speech is true. In fact, I’d never believed her family is still alive; the chances are so slim. But as I say the words, it’s almost as if someone across the galaxy is nodding in approval.

“All right.” Her voice is low but determined. “I will.”

“You can do this,” I assure her. “All that running and jumping I’ve had you do in the fields? The practice maneuvers?” I’m no fighter, but I’ve created obstacle courses and fake grab attacks every planet rotation for her to try and avoid. “I believe in you.”

“But I want you to come.” She looks up at me. “How will you get to safety, yourself?”

I look away. “I will do my best to find another ship.”

I’m not going to survive this. But she’s like my daughter, and I’d give anything for her, even my life.

And then it begins. The gates swing open with a great rusty roar, and the stinking horde of males pours in, like a fetid tide of sewage. Immediately the hall is filled to the dome with shouts, screams, wails, laughter, and angry words as beings select slaves and fight with each other for the best picks.

Enya is immediately surrounded. Too fast. I’m not nearly done with the first thick strand of rope, and already the auctioneer yanks her from my grasp. I’m barely able to pull my fist up into my sleeve to conceal the knife.

“She’s mine, I saw her first,” snarls a squalid Ocretion with a warty chin.

“Not if I want her.” A nearby Goth growls and taps his sword meaningfully, narrowing his three eyes. “And I will pay double the asking price in stein.”

“I can give triple.” A Waq steps up, eyes leaking fluid, as his kind do in oxygen-rich atmospheres, onto the drop cloth he’s affixed to his chest.

Enya moans and I can’t even touch her for comfort.

“What’s that one with her?” A being gestures to me, face screwed up into an expression of distaste. “With the... leg.”