Brandon shivered in the darkness, knees drawn up to his chest. His jaw was sore from his teeth chattering, and his empty stomach ached. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed hot air between his knees.

  The rope around his neck was tied to a tree, as if he were a horse. It chafed at his skin, but at least it kept his neck slightly warmer. Around him, Ordics spoke in their fast, sharp language. At first he had tried to understand, but eventually decided to focus on staying alive and staying something close to warm.

  He had been so sure that following Lyle out of the valley was the right decision at the time—he would be going on an adventure. He would catch up to Lyle and prove his use any way he could. He would help save the prince and princess.

  He had not seen the Ordics in Brey until they grabbed him from behind. He had been too focused on watching his brother sneaking into the circus caravan to look around. It turned out it was true that he was not prepared for the outside world. Not in the least.

  As much as Brandon regretted his decision, he was holding on to one thing that he knew beyond doubt: Lyle would find him. His older brother would move mountains if he had to, but he would find Brandon and he would save him. That’s what Lyle was like. It was his nature.

  Brandon just had to stay alive until then.

  He did not know what was going to happen to him if Lyle didn’t get here quickly. There had been other children, two girls, who had been sold off as slaves earlier that day. They had cried when they were separated, and cried even more when they were taken away with ropes tied around their hands and necks. Their cries still echoed in his ears, and he dreaded their fates deep in his belly.

  If he were Lyle, maybe he would have found a way to help theose girls. Maybe all three of them could have escaped and returned to their homes. Brandon burned with shame that he had not done anything, though he had no idea how he could have, being tied up and surrounded by armed men.

  Lyle would have managed it—Lyle always found a way. But Brandon could barely keep himself warm, not to mention escape. He wouldn’t even know which direction to run if he did manage to free himself—they were on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. The clouds concealed the stars, though the moon shone through weakly.

  He did not know what would become of him. Likely he would be sold as a slave. His stomach clenched at the thought. He knew the word, but the reality of that fate for himself was unthinkable. Back bent to work, chains on his wrists and ankles, doomed to live the rest of his life as someone else’s property?

  But no, that would never happen—Lyle would find him first.

  If the Ordics could not find a buyer, perhaps they would let him go, but he doubted that. Maybe they would keep him for themselves.

  He heard the rumbling of a wagon approaching, and the noise stopped when it was close.

  “Oi, Ordics,” a man’s resounding voice called.

  The Ordics stopped their chatter and looked over.

  “You ever catch the queen’s kids?”

  “Nay,” an Ordic called back. “The queen’s men got to them first.”

  The man on the wagon swore. “Loss of a fortune, eh?”

  “Exactly that. Although—we have a kid left. Do you want to buy a boy?”

  “A boy? What kind of a boy? You have him here?”

  “Aye, right here.”

  “Let me get a look at him.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  An Ordic untied Brandon’s rope from the tree, yanked him to his feet, and led him over to the wagon. The man who was driving the wagon was a large, fur-donned Northman. The woman beside him, who seemed to be his wife, was roughly half his size. The Northman surveyed Brandon, then looked to his wife and shook his head. “Lyle’s gone and got his fortune after all.”

  Brandon’s heart jumped. His numb lips had trouble forming a sentence, but he managed to stutter, “Did y—you say L-Lyle?”

  The Ordic lifted a hand to hit him for speaking, but the Northman held up a finger to stop him. “What did you say, boy?”

  Brandon started to hyperventilate. “Lyle? Where—where is he? D-did you see him? Is he—“

  “Who is he to you?” the woman inquired, her voice as smooth as a river stone.

  Just then, two more people emerged from the back of the wagon—a young man and woman, perhaps the children. They remained at a distance and watched.

  The Northman snapped his fingers in Brandon’s face, making him jump and start shivering all over again. “How do you know him?”

  “He’s—he’s my brother.”

  The father raised his eyebrows and exchanged a look with his wife.

  The son stepped forward from the wagon. “He’s lying through his teeth, he just wants to save his skin. He doesn’t know who Lyle is.”

  “He’s blond,” Brandon said shakily. “A year older than me.”

  “Tell me what town you’re from,” the father said.

  “Ene.”

  “You don’t look anything like Lyle,” the wife pointed out.

  “I know,” Brandon said quickly. “We’re—we’re half-brothers.” The words felt alien in his mouth. Though it was technically true, they never spoke of it, and he often forgot it was true. Lyle didn’t feel like a half-brother to him—he felt like a twice-over brother, for Lyle had always been a better brother than Brandon could have asked for.

  “I followed him,” Brandon said shakily. “Out of the valley.” And he will come find me as soon as he gets back home and sees that I’m missing.

  “Did you, now?” the father said thoughtfully. He looked around at his family.

  “I can see it,” the daughter said, arms crossed. “They have the same shape eyes.”

  The father nodded slowly. “Aye, I think you’re right.” He glanced at his wife. “We still need an extra hand at home, do we not?”

  “Father,” the son said, exasperated. “Are you serious?”

  The father pointed at his son. “You,” he snapped, “got drunk and let a hundred-thousand coin escape. You don’t get a say in this.”

  “I told you, they must have had a knife!”

  “Yet you didn’t see them leave,” the daughter muttered. “And then you wonder why we don’t take your advice.”

  The son turned away, exasperated.

  “How much are you asking for the boy?” the Northman asked the Ordics.

  “Fifty.”

  “Try again, he’s a child. Maybe closer to . . . twelve.”

  “He’ll grow soon enough. Forty-five.”

  “Let’s save ourselves the trouble and settle on twenty-five.”

  “Thirty. He’ll grow.”

  Brandon looked between the men in bewilderment. He was being haggled over like a farm animal at market.

  “I might do thirty.” The Northman looked down at Brandon. “What can you do, boy?”

  “Um . . .” What was he supposed to say, that someone could put a plow on his back and he’d till a field like a horse?

  The son came over to his father, fists clenched. “Stop trying to adopt a child by slavery!” he shouted. “You need another son this badly? You want to replace Niklaus with a slave?”

  The mother and daughter stiffened and looked at each other.

  The Ordic holding Brandon sighed impatiently and picked at his teeth.

  The father slowly turned to face his son. His voice was chillingly calm. “You have lost your right to have a say in this matter. We need another hand with the work at home. Shut your mouth and get back in the wagon.”

  The two of them stared each other down for a few seconds, then the son turned away, hissing, “Pathetic,” as he strode toward the wagon.

  The father turned back to the Ordics, visibly ruffled. He composed himself with a deep breath.

  “Well?” the Ordic asked. “Thirty, take it or leave it.”

  “Where is Lyle?” Brandon demanded, anger clouding his confusion. If he was to be sold like an animal, he at least had the right to know where his brother was.

  The Ordic backhanded him, blinding him and nearly knocking him over. Brandon had never been hit in the face before, and the shock and bright pain of it, mixed with his hunger and neglect, made his skin tingle with hatred. He knew that if he lashed out, he would only be hit harder, so he swallowed his fury and glared up at the Ordic with cold eyes.

  The Ordic ignored him. “You want him or not?” he asked the Northman.

  Brandon found the Northman watching him closely. “Aye,” he said slowly, “I see it, now. I see the Lyle in you. He said they taught kids to fight in your town—they teach you, too?”

  Brandon didn’t answer, just glared at him.

  The Northman snapped in his face again, but this time Brandon didn’t even blink. “Can you fight?”

  Brandon nodded slowly, his fury rising every second.

  “You know how to cut wood, care for livestock, keep up a household?”

  Brandon nodded again. He had been the keeper of his household for the past two years.

  The Northman looked to the Ordic. “Thirty?”

  “Aye.”

  “We have a deal, then.”

  As Brandon watched their hands clasp, his heart fluttered with fear—this was probably better than staying with the Ordics out in the cold, but what would it entail? And why did it matter if he could fight?

  He closed his eyes and let out a breath. Lyle will find me, he promised himself. Lyle will find me. Lyle will find me.