Liana meets my eyes squarely. “The vision was brief, but I counted four, My king," she replies, her voice steady. "There are more slaves this time, and some looked severely deformed. I think maybe sixteen all together.“
I nod, shoving down the bitterness. I will have Vann help me take care of the slaves later tonight. If the giants come in peace, I will welcome their herbs.
"Send out a hunter team to scout the area," I order. "And prepare a group to accompany our guests to the viewing room, where I will trade with them personally."
As my people scurry to follow my commands, a sense of calm washes over me. I know I am not my father. I will not allow my anger to cloud my judgment.
I turn to the wise woman beside me and reach out to touch her shoulder. "Mother Liana, you will go with the other women."
She looks up at me and narrowed her eyes. "You think me too old to see the giants? I survived the last war."
I shake my head. "It's not about war—I am determined to ensure that there is no such hostility between us. We have no more Fuegorra readers left. I don’t want to lose you."
Liana looks at me for a long moment, her eyes unwavering. "Very well," she says finally, nodding her agreement.
With Liana gone, I turn my attention back to my meeting with the giants while I walk.
“Are you ready?” Vann says as he approaches.The tall Enduar with two missing fingers on his left hand smiles. He’s my personal advisor, and we were raised together in our old capital, Iravida.
Right now, he looks as worried as I feel. “Ready enough. Come, help me prepare the viewing room before the enemy enters our home.”
PartOne
Chapter1
Iolite
ESTELA
My plan is working.
The last four days have been spent weakening chain links in secret, loosening a cart wheel, and bribing other slaves with most of my meals when they catch me working. The price for their allegiance has been onerous. My stomach is a hollowed-out bowl from hunger, and my knobby joints are burning in the wintry air as we walk across dirt and snow andpull.
We all wear harnesses that keep us strapped to our cargos filled with dried plants and herbs. Three other slaves are chained with me, including my tall, half-giant brother, Mikal. He can pull a cart like an ox, and I struggle to keep up with his long legs as my feet ache in my boots, and blood soaks into the thick woolen socks they’ve given us. Unlike Miki, there is no giant blood in my veins to keep me warm.
Most slaves’ faces are hidden under fur hoods. My brother, the sixteen-year-old with shaggy brown hair and yellow eyes, catches me watching him and presses his lips together in some semblance of a smile. I quickly look away, aware of our master’s gaze.
My master is Prince Keksej, also known as the First Prince. His thick hair is red as fire and hangs loosely around his shoulders. In contrast, his beard is wispy and without definition. He’s tall, at least eight and a half feet, possibly closer to nine, and his chest is broad enough to almost hide his belly. The deep green of his winter clothes makes the shadows on his face appear darker.
“Eyes on the road, tiny flea,” my royal master grumbles sharply. He knows my name. The First Prince only uses the nickname publicly for the same reason he walks beside me: to show the world I am his to torment.
He’ll get his reward soon enough. Today Mikal, Arlet, and I will make our escape. We will go to find the elves in the East, a warm place where slavery is little more than a rumor.
In the distance, I see the tall, black mountain capped with a generous layer of pristine white, and the swirling mists leaking out from the blue ocean and wrapping around the large chunks of rock left over from the great war. The way throughEl Paseo de Nubes1is narrow, and we are so close. It’s the whole reason I volunteered Mikal and me for this trek.
I count my steps to stop thinking about the pain shooting up my legs.Uno, dos, tres, cuatro…2
The air smells foul and salty, even with the frigid temperatures, especially since I haven’t bathed since Rholker tried to take me to his bed. Despite the grimy furs we’d been given for travel and arduous exercise, I shiver while listening to the icy waves crash against the shore. It has been a long journey all the way from the capital, Zlosa, to the small court of vicious Enduares. I’m praying it will be worth it.
Prince Keksej looks up at the sun climbing in the sky and sucks in a sharp, irritated breath. I haven’t seen a bottle in his hand yet, and he’s making it everyone’s problem. “Dammit.Move faster,” he growls.
We say nothing, just strive to match my master’s punishing pace. As he moves through the beach shore, his face shows no emotion, only a resolute determination. I sneak a glance at how his hand rests on his hip. A familiar whip is waiting for an excuse to be reacquainted with my back after mere hours apart.
Three other carts are behind us, each full of provisions and weapons for Prince Keksej. I don’t know the slaves pulling them outside of our nightly exchanges. However, the tall figures walking alongside them are easily recognizable—warriors tasked with protecting the prince and keeping slaves in line. One of them jogs to catch up with Keksej, and they begin speaking in giantese.
“This is the first time I’ve seen snow, and I wouldn’t be mad if I never see it again,” Arlet whispers behind me. She’s pretty, and not in a boring way. Her red hair, round face, and brown eyes remind me of autumn leaves collecting on the ground. We became den-mates after her lover cast her out of their shared dwelling.
The only sound I let escape is a grunt. We’re so close, I don’t want to anger the prince now.