We camp in the stadium for a day before the immortals halt the screening line.

During that day we’re fed twice, assigned to clean up or latrine or fire building duty.

I watch a scuffle break out among the Humans and nudge Elif. “See those people? They’re stupid. They’re going to die because they don’t know when to follow the rules, and when to break them.”

“Why do they do that, Mommy?”

“Because they react before they think.”

Orc guards end the fight with fists and good-natured growls. The next fight, started by a woman’s screaming, is ended by a beheading.

I want to press Elif’s face against my chest so she doesn’t see the execution, but this isn’t a world where you can raise a child with delicate sensibilities. Not anymore, not outside a City.

I make ‘er watch. Make ‘er learn.

But if luck favors us—and I pray to whatever Human gods are still alive and can listen—then wherever we end up it’ll be warm, dry, and there’ll be plenty of game. The Orcs build their settlements in forests near water sources, and I hope my master lets me hunt. Maybe even grow some vegetables if he has seeds.

At the sound of a gong, the Humans are herded into the center of the stadium and ordered to remain standing until the gong sounds again, and the immortals descend.

I wrap an arm around Elif and pull her against me, waiting. Tensing. I estimate two to three tribes worth of immortals, a hundred in total maybe, a good showing. 

The Fae glimmer, a sheen in the air around them as they drift through the crowd with their sharp green and blue eyes, hungry eyes.

I've only got green beads on my neck though, six of ‘em, and there are a few Humans with eights. Mostly threes and fours, a handful of fives and twos. I work out that it’s a ranking system, and I’m towards the top.

Blue is for the Fae, and gray for the Gargoyles. We’ll see if the immortal bastards honor the bead colors. Elif doesn’t have any beads, but if she did, they would be blue, and eight. 

I'm torn between keeping an eye on the Fae so I can avoid them, and keeping an eye on the Orcs so I can put myself in the path of the first one who looks fool enough to take us on.

A Fae male draws close and I blink, recognizing him as the one I’d ran into earlier. Don’t believe in coincidences, not me.

Long black hair draped over stupid pointy ears—what is the biological purpose of their ears?—shimmery pale skin with a golden undertone, eyes greener than deep forest trees but bright. He’s tall, lean and graceful, but not the whipcord lean of no food combined with constant violence. Well-fed lean. Warrior lean.

“Mommy, he’s pretty,” Elif whispers.

He pauses.

“What have I told you about pretty? And about talking?” I should pinch her, but she can’t help herself. Pointy eared bastards are all pretty, and she’s little enough to be fooled by ‘em.

He draws near, arm distance.

Hellsdamn. His gaze isn’t on me, it’s lowered to where Elif stares back up at him, her dark eyes wary but wide with fascination. She’s got their damn magic. Does she feel their pull?

She doesn’t say anything else, though, and turns her face into my side, breaking eye contact. My baby not stupid. But then most children learn how to recognize a predator young, or they don't survive.

“She’s not an applicant,” I say, keeping my voice even ‘cause showing even a bit of temper can lead to death. I push my daughter behind me.

He slowly meets my gaze. “Is she not.”

He reaches a hand out like he's going to step around me and touch her. I don't think it's sexual, I don't see that look in his eyes, but it's possessive. She has something he wants. Her age doesn’t protect her. She’s only Human.

I grab his wrist, my skin crawling. “Don't touch her.”

Can't start a fight, can't start a fight, but damn if I'll let someone take my daughter and I'm still breathing. At least if something happens to ‘er, she'll know I died trying to prevent it. She'll know I cared. Maybe that's the only gift I can give.

He doesn’t shake my hand away, don’t seem to notice my grip at all. “I mean her no harm. The girl is a water elemental. I am the only other water elemental present, and I scent it, which means she must be strong if at this age. . .” He studies me, dropping his arm, forcing me to release it. “You are her mother? You are no elemental, but I would take you as well. Or is it her sire who passed down the gene?”

“The gene came from her father,” I say, my heartbeat accelerating.

He inhales. “A lie. Ah. . .you cannot lie to the Fae, mortal.” He smiles gently.

The magic comes from my maternal bloodline, but that's all I know. It skipped me and went to Elif.

“It's from you. You may yet be useful, yourself, for breeding another.” He tilts his head. “I would take you both.”

I step back, pushing her with me. “No, thank you.”

He frowns. “Why do you refuse? I offer food, shelter, fine clothing. . .even something of entertainment if you please me. You would not suffer in your childbed. You, or your daughter, when she is of age.”

“I don't want to breed.”

“Was her birthing difficult? You still live.”

“No, the birthing wasn’t difficult, I just don't want to be bred.”

I can't ignore him and walk away, that would insult him and I’ve seen Fae in watering holes respond to insults like they’re death threats. Also, I forgot about the not lying thing.

He continues to frown, though he doesn’t appear angry, more thoughtful. “Well, it's unfortunate that you're unwilling, but—”

I don’t have to hear his words to understand his intent.

I shove Elif back, and in a flash draw my sword. I’ve practiced sheathing and unsheathing a blade until I’m fast, the fastest person I know. It’s one of my only advantages, those few seconds getting the jump on someone who’s slower’n me.

It’s more a big dagger, curved and made of iron. An Orc dagger, or at least to them it’d be a dagger. To me it’s big enough to be called a sword.

His eyes widen at the sight of the iron blade. “Why do you offer violence? I've made no threat.”

“You’re not listenin’. I’m telling you I don't want to go with you. Neither me or my daughter. I’ll defend us with lethal force. I was told that's allowed.”

“It's allowed in cases of self-defense, but I am not a danger to you.”

I must look like a fool. I draw an invisible line in the old, battered ground with the sword. I still look to the side of his eyes rather than meeting his gaze head on, my fingers clenched around the sword’s hilt because otherwise they’ll tremble. My stomach churns, anticipating the violent consequences of this defiance. I'd be meek, if meek was the safer option. It ain’t.

“I decline your offer without intending insult, and I wish to cause you no harm,” I say, “but if you cross this line, I’ll take it like a threat of violence. I’ll defend myself and my daughter with lethal force. Make your choice. I’ve made mine.”

I won’t survive it, but if I can cut him good, it’ll be enough. The Fae are deathly allergic to iron. I’ll take this bastard out with me.

“The mother-girl has green beads only around neck,” a new male voice growls. A moment later Big and Green steps next to my side, ‘cause I guess maybe the Human gods still do hear prayers. “Why harass?”

His Gaithean is harshly accented, grating, that peculiar syntax only the older Orcs cling to. The original generation refuses to speak our tongue properly out of a show of contempt for the weakling mortal races, so cobbles together this mash of Orcish and Gaithean and lets us worry about whether or not we understand them. 

“I see the beads,” the Fae says. “They are a statement of preference, not an order. The child is an elemental. She belongs with the Fae.”

I shift to keep both males in my line of sight, Elif still behind me. The Orc is taller than the Fae, who glances at him with raised brows.

“Is girl for Sorting?” The Orc addresses me, not taking his gaze off the Fae. He crosses his muscled arms—covered in thin, curving scars in a clear pattern—over his broad chest. It’s bare, but at least he’s wearing pants. I’m sure the shirt is disappointed.

“No,” I say. “I'm an applicant, she's with me. We'll both go to whichever Orc claims us.” Elif’s hands are dug into my vest, but otherwise she’s still.

“Human mother-girl know how to use Orc knife, or stab in wrong direction?” 

“If Human girl don't know, she'll get ‘erself killed, but at least she'll cut a bastard down on her way out.”

The Orc grins, his expression almost languid. “Mouthy Human girl. Good fun during hard day.”

“Yeah, I'm a hoot. Look, I mean no insult,” I say to the Fae. “I just don't think I'm suited to your people. I'm a beast of burden, not a show pony.”

I don't need to tell him all of that because he's not interested in me. I'm selling myself to the Orc, who’s listening with his ear cocked in my direction. 

“Perhaps not,” he says, his tone still agreeable. He isn’t looking at me. “But your daughter will be of use to us. I find I'm disinclined to let her go. Uther? Will it be a fight then? It's been some time since we met on a battlefield.”

This Uther gives him a long, slow up-and-down look meant as an insult. “Athanmir fled last battlefield bleeding all over pretty armor. Shouldn't be so eager to step onto new.”

Athanmir chuckles. “But that's what made the experience so diverting. The sheer novelty of temporary defeat by a peasant-born brute. Come, I've had little entertainment the last century. I am willing.” But his green eyes darken to black.

My fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword.

“You have more honor than to take unwilling females,” Uther growls. “Never knew Athanmir to make that crime, not during any mission.”

Athanmir assesses him. “If I give my word neither will be bedded against their will?”

“I take them.” Uther shifts to face me, though like me, he keeps the Fae in sight. “Eh, female? Say you want Orc. Here I am. You like look?”

I frown at him. He serious? He thinks I care about how he looks? I want Elif to live, to eat regularly. I don’t care if he looks like a troll.

“Your looks don’t matter, Sir Orc. How warm is your house?”

“Warm house. Warmer bed.”

His gaze holds mine.

“You could do much worse and it has a view to the sea,” Athanmir says. “The child should be near living water. Will the mother sleep in your bed?”

“Perhaps she will,” Uther says, still not looking away. “If she want.”

“I see.”

That means something to them, but I don’t know what.

I tear my gaze away from Uther and halfway glance at Athanmir, suspicious of his smooth, neutral expression. I hesitate because of that, but maybe that’s why he’s doing it.

“Uther have hunting territory, and gardens,” Uther says. “Milking beast—you milk, I make cheese. Hate that beast. Ocean brings other food, no empty bellies in my settlement. You work, you eat.” He shrugs. “Sometimes you play, we play, eh?”

That don’t sound like a bad deal. He’s willing to provide for us. I don’t know what the workload will be, but he’s not making it sound like servitude slavery.

“Can I see your hands?” I'm not one to ignore free advice.

He stares at me like I’m a talking squirrel, then holds them out. I glance at the nails. . .well, talons. Long, shiny. . .and traces of dirt in the cuticles like he tried to scrub but he works too much to get all the ground out.

I nod. “I’m yours if you want me.”

His eyes glint. Dark eyes, with an uptilted shape similar to Fae but not as sharp at the corners. His long black hair is braided at the sides, and tipped in beads. It's wilder, a rougher texture than Athanmir’s, the bits escaping the braids loosely curled.

“I do want. Brave, mouthy, fine looks female. Know how to talk to Fae Lord and not die.” He glances at Elif, who poked her head around my side. “Other children in settlement, Human and Orc. Schoolhouse for them. She too young for work, so play and learn, ‘till older.”

If I were younger, I’d gape. “Can I—can I learn too? When I’m done with my work?”

The glint turns into a dark gleam. “Learn many things, girl. But I will teach. Learn to count on my fingers, if you like.”

I know what that look, that tone, means. Uneducated don’t mean dumb. Learn to count on his fingers. . .uh huh.

I clear my throat, distant heat in my core promising one well-fed day to turn into something more. I’m nervous but content. He talks to me like a person, he defends Elif and he doesn’t plan to use her, at least as far as I can tell. 

Clearly, he wants sex, but I was prepared to bargain with my body. Elif can have a real childhood. I’d let him fuck me in the ass, him and his milking beast at the same time, just for that. 

Part of me thinks I might like it. With Uther. “Like I said. If you want me.”

“I will concede,” Athanmir says with a sigh. “But when she is of age, you will allow me to offer for her. I trust she will survive under your protection, and be educated to suit my status.”

He’s talking to Uther, and I grit my teeth because I don’t have a right to protest any more. We belong to the Orc.

Uther nods. “But will be her choice. Will not give her where she not want to go.”

“Agreed. She is of the water, Uther. She will need training.”

He shrugs. “Deal with when time comes. Not so urgent now. Right now problem enough to keep her alive.”

Athanmir. . .bows. “Commander. I will call upon you when it is time, then. Keep them safe.”

It sounds like a threat.