Page 52 of The Crowned Queen

“Father—” Jaxon protested. “Torturing her now will make breeding her later far more difficult. You know⁠—”

“Your father is right, Commander.” Rowland pushed back from the table. “You lost the fae prince. If you have to break your little pet to get him back? So be it.”

Rowland turned back to Garrick before Jaxon could answer, clasping the older man’s arm in a firm handshake.

“Don’t neglect my command,” he warned. “We have a firm protocol for burning back the forest. Don’t deviate from it. Hopefully this is just a temporary reassignment for both of us.”

“Gods willing.” Garrick clapped the High Commander on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you out. Jaxon, get your bond secured and join me and Inquisitor Pryce for dinner. We can discuss what measures we’re willing to take with her while we eat.”

“Of course, Father.” Jaxon didn’t look at her, his shoulders rigid. “I’m happy to discuss all the options.”

“Jaxon!” Caylin called out, chasing after them.

“Fuck off, Caylin.” Jaxon didn’t slow his pace, practically dragging Araya through camp. “Haven’t you done enough damage today?”

“I’m trying to help you!” Caylin grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. “You can’t keep protecting her. It reflects poorly on you.”

Jaxon whirled on her.

“The only person you’re helping here is yourself,” he snapped, his voice lethally soft. “You’ve been angling for this kind of power for years. Don’t try and dress it up as concern for me.”

“Jaxon—”

He turned his back on her protest. “Come on, Starling,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Araya struggled to match his stride, the camp passing in a blur. Neat rows of tents gave way to churned earth and rough wooden structures—latrines, she realized, gagging on the stench.

But Jaxon didn’t stop, leading her past them toward a large canvas structure. No other tents stood near it, and no aetherlamps lit the canvas with their golden glow. Just two guards stood outside, both of them straightening with undisguised interest as Jaxon approached.

“Commander Shaw,” one of them called out in greeting. “We didn’t know you were back. Who do you have here?”

Araya shivered as the other guard looked her up and down, licking his lips. “She’s a pretty one,” he said. “Not as used up as the ones we usually get. Cleaner, too.”

Jaxon’s arm wrapped around her waist. “She’s not available, Tomas.” He laughed, forcibly lightening his tone even as his fingers dug into her hip. “Not yet, anyway.” He nodded at the tent flap. “I wanted to show her what happens to fae who don’t cooperate here.”

“Just looking then?” The first guard grunted. “That’s ten silvers.”

Jaxon opened his purse, coins clinking as they changed hands.

“Enjoy your visit,” the second guard said cheerfully, pulling back the tent flap.

It was a thousand times worse than the latrines.

Araya retched, her hand flying up to cover her mouth and nose. Her eyes burned from it, struggling to make sense of the dark, shifting shapes that ran the length of the tent. She could hear people breathing, but there were too many limbs. Too much scarred and damaged skin moving and shifting⁠—

Araya stumbled back, her spine hitting Jaxon’s chest.

Those were fae. Packed into iron cages so tightly their naked flesh pressed against the bars, adding new burns to the scars that marked their skin. They stood in their own waste, legs streaked with dirt and worse, but none of them moved more than a shifting shuffle from side to side, their eyes hollow and vacant.

“Don’t look away.” Jaxon’s hands wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. “You need to see this, Starling.”

Araya looked, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Who are they?”

“They’re the fae who have no use,” Jaxon said. “Infertile. Too damaged or old or uncooperative to work. This is the last place they can find purpose.”

A female in the nearest cage stared at them, her face devoid of any hint of emotion. There was no recognition there, no fear, no anger. Whatever they’d done to her…it had broken her.

“Elvanfal is too far from Aetheris to depend entirely on shipments of amplifiers,” Jaxon’s hands smoothed down her sides, like she was a frightened horse he needed to calm. “So we supplement by harvesting the last dregs of magic from these pitiful creatures. And of course—” he added, almost as an afterthought, “—the guards do a robust business renting them out. It’s not technically allowed, but Command looks the other way. This is a dangerous posting after all. People need to take their pleasure where they can find it.”