The Naga's Love

Chapter 1

Fara

        Laughter seeps into the darkening streets of lowtown Liiandor from the restaurant, a warm glow shining from the visible windows. I watch as the people inside talk and eat, carrying on cheerily with one another as if all is right in the world–as if they don’t know what it’s like to be hungry.

The boastful hum of their activity grates on me as I press myself further against the wall of the alley, blending into the growing shadows while the hollow ache in my stomach spreads.

Hunger has always been one of, if not the most, predominant influence in my life. It’s been the only consistency I’ve ever had, swaddling me like a blanket ever since I was a child.

It was hunger that taught me to blend into the shadows. Hunger showed me how to target people and places that have so much excess that they hardly ever notice when something goes missing.

It was hunger that forced my prostitute mother to try and eat her own ten-year-old daughter.

The memory sends a chill down my spine, my hand lifting subconsciously to caress the incomplete part of my left ear. A small, vain part of me has always tried to hide the evidence of my mother’s assault, whether by burying it under my dark hair or hiding it under my hand, but the older I become, the less I try to hide it.

My incomplete ear marks me as a survivor, a fighter: someone to be avoided.

Which is exactly what I want.

I tear myself from my thoughts, refocusing my eyes on the restaurant across the street. The sun has slipped below the horizon now, and the streets are coated in inky shadows. Anyone left on the streets will be focused on their path home, ignoring the dark shapes lingering in alleyways as they rush by.

I slip out from my hiding spot, skirting along the edges of flickering light from street lamps, hurrying into the alleyway next to the restaurant. The sounds of merriment from inside are louder now, and the smells wafting from the open back door set my stomach grumbling. I peer around the edge of the door into the kitchens, blinking my eyes against the sudden light.

Servants bustle in every corner, dropping empty plates off in huge sinks, hefting trays laden with all manner of delicacies over their shoulders as they push through doors into the dining room. Some scrape half-eaten leftovers into trash cans without a second thought. No one balks at the waste, or hurries to save the last morsels of the meals.

My fists clench at my sides, anger and envy ripping through me. I could easily fish through one of the dumpsters in the alley and find something edible to fill my stomach, but staring at the waste in the kitchen, the perfectly good, fresh food that’s available, emboldens me.

I’m tired of eating out of dumpsters. I deserve that food.

I flip open the small bag slung over my shoulder and wait for an opening in the barrage of servants. Once enough backs are turned, I see my opportunity. I dart into the kitchen, snagging a tray of meat and bread off the counter and sliding the food off the dish into my bag.

I put the tray back down quietly, turning on my heel to sprint back out the door before slamming into someone. A thick hand wraps around my upper arm, catching me before I hit the ground. My eyes dart up to meet the gaze of a large, angry-looking dark elf servant.

“THIEF!” He yells, his voice booming through the kitchen. I don’t hesitate, ripping my arm from his grasp and darting expertly around his bulky frame. I slip through the still-open back door, clutching my bag to my chest as I dash into the night.

It’s not the first time I’ve been caught, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’s rare for anything to come of being caught unless you’re slow. Places like those uppity restaurants are always all talk and no action when it comes to thieves; none of those servants get paid enough to do more than call out for guards, and the guards don’t get anything extra if they catch us.

My feet pound against the hard ground as I run, my breaths coming faster as my tired body works to keep up with my demands. I can hear the guards running after me, but they’ll give up after a block or two; they always do.

I turn down another alley, leaping over boxes as I go, keeping my pace even. The guards, rather than stopping at the obstacles, barrel through them. A pit of dread begins to harden in my stomach.

Why haven’t they given up yet?

I scramble around another corner, dumping trash cans over behind me to slow the guards down further. I glance over my shoulder in time to see the two dark elves chasing me skid to a stop.

That’s what I thought, I think smugly to myself. I turn my attention back to the alley in front of me, my heart plummeting into my toes as I come face-to-face with a dark elf soldier, his face twisted into a sneer.

I dig my heels into the ground, skidding to a stop directly in front of him before I turn on my heel to try and run in the opposite direction.

I’m stopped before I can even complete the turn, a dark hand twining tightly through my hair, forcing a yelp from my lips as I’m dragged backward. I struggle against his grip, the bag of food hitting the dirty ground of the alley.

“Fucking humans,” the dark elf growls, throwing me against the wall. My head ricochets off the brick, white-hot pain scorching down the back of my skull as stars dance in front of my eyes.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” the dark elf’s voice echoes as the darkness envelops me.

***

Voices call out from around me, dragging me back into my body. My head feels like it’s been split in two, and I try to shrink away from the noise, only to realize I can’t move.

Panic begins to set in as I pry my eyes open, the voices around me growing louder as I blink against the light, forcing myself back into consciousness. I again try to move, lifting my gaze to the ropes tied around my wrists, spreading my arms wide between two poles.

My ankles are bound together, too, keeping me on my knees in the middle of the square as dark elves leer from all sides. The excitement of the crowd swells in time with the growing sense of hysteria in my gut.

I thrash against my constraints, looking wildly around for any sort of way out. It’s only when I look over my shoulder that I see the whip as it races towards my back. The crack of the whip meeting my flesh precedes the pain by only a second.

My scream echoes off the buildings in the square, nearly drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. The whip comes down again, slinging a stripe of my blood across the cobblestone and wrenching another scream from my throat.

As the whip comes down across my back again and again, my sobs become more strained, my body fighting to stay conscious in spite of the agony. Blood, snot, and tears pool on the ground beneath me as I sag between my constraints, the pain depleting me of any energy I had, my body only able to react to the latest lash before giving out under me once again.

My vision begins to darken at the edges again, and I almost cry in relief. I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to escape this pain. A dark elf breaks through the crowd at the edges of the square, walking confidently toward me and my flogger.

Their voices are hushed, the whip no longer cracking against my back as they talk. I watch as the dark elf hands the guard a heavy-looking bag of coins. After a second, the binds holding me up snap, sending me toppling to the ground, where I finally, blissfully, lose consciousness.