Across the Green Grass Fields (Wayward Children, #6)(23)
“No,” she said. “I’ve been traveling with one of the unicorn-tending herds, and we’re here to sell the excess unicorns to the livestock traders before winter. But I came to the food court because my friend Chicory mentioned pies.” There was Chicory trotting languidly toward her, a baked apple on a stick in either hand. “Please, can I buy one of your pies?” This was getting frustrating. She hadn’t realized how normally her herd treated her until she was faced with people who didn’t treat her the same way.
The vendor seemed to snap out of his amazement, and thrust the pie he was holding across the counter at her. “Here you are,” he said. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“How much, please?”
“Nothing. For a human in the Hooflands, nothing.” He flapped his hands when she tried to argue. “Anyone who sees you eating my pie will want one of their own, and I’ll make so much money from being able to say you bought it here that there’s no sense in charging you. You’re doing me a favor by taking that pie.”
“Um,” said Regan, uncertain. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure! A human, eating my pie. The world is full of wonders.” The silene smiled broadly, exposing incisors wider and flatter than her own. Regan smiled hesitantly back and turned toward Chicory, intending to walk over to her friend.
The bag jerked down over her head cut off her view before she could move. Someone grabbed her around the waist, yanking her off her feet, and she had time for one despairing cry as her untasted food tumbled out of her hands and she was toted unceremoniously away.
In the distance, she could hear Chicory screaming. She drew in a breath to scream, too, only for something to strike her in the back of the head, hard enough to turn the world white with pain. The darkness rose up to claim her, and the darkness was all.
PART III
THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING HUMAN
10
TAKEN
REGAN WOKE WITH AN aching skull and hair that felt sticky, like something had been spilled on the back of her head. Blood. No other explanation made sense. Also, she was on her side in a bed of hay in a dark room, her hands in front of her, her wrists and ankles tied together with some sort of twine. She tried to sit up, only to topple over when she failed to find the balance she needed to remain upright.
There were voices in the distance. She went still, straining to hear what they were saying.
“—centaurs are going to kill us,” said one of them, unfamiliar, deep and rumbling, like rocks rolling across the bottom of the sea.
“Only if they catch us before we hand the brat over,” said another, lighter and higher, but still unfamiliar. “Did you have to hit her so hard?”
“The little filly was going to catch up to us if the human had the freedom to fight,” said the first voice. “I did what I had to do. The Queen’s guard will pay dearly for delivery of the creature, dead or alive. Dead might even be better. Dead doesn’t overthrow the government.”
“She’s just a child,” said a third voice. This one Regan recognized, and she stiffened with the indignity of it all. It was the faun who’d sold her the bag of nuts, the one who’d been willing to take her money. She must have signaled the others as soon as Regan had walked away. How dare she? How dare she?
Regan began to squirm, trying to loosen the knots around her ankles. She didn’t need her hands to run, and she was more likely to hurt herself if she rubbed twine against bare skin. So she kicked as much as she could, and was still kicking when a door suddenly opened and spilled light into the room. She froze, wide-eyed, and stared at the slim figure silhouetted in the opening, antlers visible to either side of her head. It was the faun.
“You’re awake,” she said. “I’m sorry we had to hit you. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“So untie me and let me hit you back,” said Regan.
“You know I can’t do that,” said the faun.
Regan narrowed her eyes. “But you can hand me over to people who want to hurt me,” she accused.
The faun took another step into the room, hooves clacking delicately against the floor. “No one wants to hurt you,” she said, with what sounded like genuine surprise and regret in her tone. “But you’re worth so much money that it would be irresponsible of us to let you go wandering around free, the way those centaur savages you’ve been with did. The Queen will take excellent care of you.”
Regan stared at her, heart suddenly beating too hard and lungs suddenly tight, unable to take in any additional air. Finally, she managed to wheeze, “The Q-Queen?”
“Yes. Doesn’t every colt and filly dream of meeting Her Sunlit Majesty?” The faun’s tone was artificially sweet, the voice of someone who didn’t care for children trying to empathize with one. “Queen Kagami has everything you could ever dream of wanting. A palace, servants, the finest food—nothing like what you’ve been experiencing with those savages.”
Regan, who had experienced love, and care, and acceptance with the centaurs, said nothing at all.
The faun seemed to take her silence for awe, because she took another delicate step toward Regan. “They should have taken you to her right away, so you could begin fulfilling your destiny.”