Sold

One of the captors handed the old man the end of the chain still attached to the collar at Dael’s throat, and then he said, slowly, as if to a dumb animal,

“Prosecutus suus. Vestri era.”

Dael blinked, confused. The captor prodded him. The old man tugged, almost yanking Dael off his feet, and he understood well enough: go.

The woman turned, skirts whispering, and strode through the crowded market. People stepped out of her way, and Dael wondered if she was some sort of princess. The old man followed along, muttering about Flavia Magna.

Dael realized he’d been sold.