Idesta and Marni were alone. Idesta's people were dead, her slaves released. She had only Marni. And Marni had no one. Anders had come for her, had fought his way to her, had killed for her, and had wept over her, which was far more than she'd come to expect from anyone. But now he was gone, and he wouldn't be coming back. He would move on with his life, because that was what people do when someone dies, and he would tell Roe to do the same. They would remember her or forget her, but either way, they wouldn't look for her again.
Watching Anders walk away with Hawke, Marni buried her hope for rescue, a hope that had died only moments after it had first sparked. Marni was familiar with the knot of grief that wound itself into the pit of her stomach. Anders and Roe were added to the other brambles of loss that itched and stung like rashweed whenever—by choice or distraction—Marni wandered through those fraught corners of her memory.
Despite her regret at likely never seeing Anders or her sister again, Darktown was not a home one could become attached to, and walking through woods and plains, and over streams and hills allowed Marni a strange sort of freedom that sent an undeniable thrill of wonder and novelty down her spine and limbs. Her bound wrists and occasionally bound ankles and mouth—depending on Idesta's mood—contrasted with the boundless wild and the infinite sky of a world unmarked by walls and ceiling.
Marni was well aware that she was a captive of a cruel and dangerous person; she would not forget or forgive the sight of Idesta draining the nameless girl, nor the feel of Idesta's blade at her throat and the taste of leather in her mouth as Marni was forced to helplessly watch Anders walk away. But once Marni understood the particular threat posed by Idesta, the threat was manageable, and no more dangerous than the Templars or the Carta had been in Darktown. Marni had learned early that all people in power wanted something from those beneath them. The Templars wanted fear and respect; the Carta and Coterie wanted people to stay quiet and keep out of their way; Idesta wanted browbeaten obedience. Fulfill those desires, and one could enjoy relative safety. For the most part. In addition to the desire for respect, silence, and obedience, there was a dark hunger among those in power to be defied. The Templars wanted to be spat on occasionally and the Carta excitedly awaited the bold misstep of the odd snitch. In those moments of transgression, appetites for violence could be sated and the powerful would affirm their supremacy—to onlookers as well as themselves—with every brutal strike, every broken bone, every choked cry for mercy. Idesta was no different. Marni had seen it in her as she'd slit the throat of the nameless girl, her cheeks flushing in a glow of twisted satisfaction as the life drained from her victim while Marni had watched and thrashed in horror and rage.
With Anders' rescue of the other captives, Marni was both Idesta's only means to sate her sick appetites for cruelty and the sole potential for return on the investment of her slaving expedition. If some of Idesta's men had survived they could have more than replenished their stock of human cargo before returning to Tevinter, but as things were, whatever price Marni fetched in what Idesta called "the Markets" was the extent of the "good" that would come out of this bloody venture to the Free Marches. What all of this came down to for Marni is that Idesta was not likely to kill her and forfeit the potential for recompense, no matter the visceral satisfaction such brutality promised. However, Idesta was very eager and willing to practice minor acts of cruelty and violence that would supposedly teach Marni her place, thus increasing her value to prospective buyers.
Marni had very little experience with the concept of value, having never had more than a few copper coins to her name. Bread had value and blankets had value; blankets were more expensive than bread, but were also less necessary for survival in Darktown. So did that make bread more valuable? Or was it the blankets? Similarly, Anders had warned her on multiple occasions to be careful with the prophet's laurel because it was very expensive and hard to come by. It was also used in far fewer things than the plentiful elfroot. So, while prophet's laurel was a more treasured ingredient, they could largely do without it, while if their elfroot stores dwindled, they wouldn't be able to make the most needed potions. It was all very confusing.
Thinking of her own value left Marni no less perplexed. To start, she couldn't imagine how anyone could have a use for her that someone else couldn't readily fill. Elven girls were as plentiful as elfroot, and—judging by the way humans in Kirkwall treated them—not nearly as useful. Further, Marni's value was not stable. When Marni tried to escape, Idesta would raise her arms and send white hot pain screaming through Marni's body, saying that she wasn't worth the cost of feeding her. "Keep up this nonsense, and I'll be better off killing you here than taking you the rest of the way." At other times Idesta would stare at her and whistle while a wicked smile played on her lips. "Young beauty like you, if you can learn your place, you'll fetch quite a sum at the market. If we're lucky, I might just break even on this whole mess." Marni wasn't sure if she wanted to be valuable or not, but she understood that her value was presently the only thing keeping her alive. So she was determined to, at the very least, keep her value above what it cost Idesta to feed her.
"How would you figure my value… in loaves of bread?" Marni asked, examining the piece of stale bread in her hands.
"What?" Idesta said with a bemused smirk.
"When you sell me," Marni said slowly, not sure what wasn't clear about her question, "how much bread you s'pose you could buy with the coin you make?"
"I won't be buying bread with that coin," Idesta said with a snort. "I'll be paying off debts to the people who funded this venture. Or paying them down, anyway."
Marni rolled her eyes, not sure what debt or ventures were. "But pretend you were. How much bread could you buy?"
"Just shut up and eat your breakfast."
Marni took a big mouthful and fought the urge to spit it at Idesta. "Fine then," she said with her mouth full. "How much is a debt?"
Idesta leaned forward, her nostrils flaring. "You want me to gag you today?"
Marni shook her head. Of all Idesta's minor tortures, she hated being gagged the most.
"Then keep quiet and eat."
Marni scowled but obeyed, storing away her anger and questions for later. She waited until they were on the road again before pressing Idesta further. "What makes you think your Vint buddies will pay big coin for me?"
"'Your type is in fashion right now," Idesta said simply.
Marni twisted her face up in confusion. "Huh? What you mean 'in fashion?'"
Idesta sighed and her eyelids fluttered as they often did when Marni was in a curious mood. "It means your type is sought after. And people are willing to pay big to add someone like you to their collections."
"And what's 'my type?' You mean elves?"
Idesta looked over at Marni, perhaps trying to gauge if her questions were sincere or if she was just trying to be annoying. "Pretty slaves always fetch more coin than the homely ones. Magisters and the Altus class like to be surrounded by beauty, even if that beautiful creature is just the one emptying their shit pot every morning."
Marni shrugged. "What's pretty got to do with anything?"
"Nobles spend a great deal of coin carefully selecting perfect items to fill their estates and craft a desired ambience, so everyone can recognize and envy the supreme quality of their taste; they wouldn't want the entire aesthetic to be marred by an ugly child dusting the mantle."
"Whatever all that means," Marni grumped.
"It means," Idesta said with a tight smile, "that slaves are selected with an eye for how they would look standing next to a prized sculpture or ornate rug. If you clash with the décor, they won't buy you."
"So they pay big for me because I match the drapes?" Marni said incredulously. "Sounds daft."
Idesta laughed. "Perhaps. But it serves me just fine. Delicate lanky builds have been popular for a while, and females are generally more in demand than males. So you already have those things in your favor. Fashion has taken a turn toward richer colors lately, and the light skinned, light haired type hasn't been selling like they used to. You on the other hand will fetch a bundle… if you can keep your mouth shut and stay still for more than ten seconds at a time."
"Pfft," Marni said, waving off Idesta's concerns. "Ten's easy."
Idesta fixed Marni with a withering glare. "This isn't a joke. If you know what's best for you you'll behave yourself in the market. The nobles won't want you if they think you're a trouble maker."
Marni stuck out her tongue and blew a wet, rude raspberry. "And why would I want the nobles? They can wipe their own butts, and dust the mantles themselves with their fine foppy hair, for all I care."
"There are far worse positions than tending house for a noble. The brothels aren't bad, but they'll be wanting to get their money's worth out of you as soon as they can find someone willing to pay. And there is always someone willing to pay. The work houses will work you to the bone, starve you, freeze you. Most die young. But even the work houses have standards; they won't want you if they think you can't be broken. And if the nobles, the brothels, and the work houses won't pay, you'll go to the black markets."
Marni furrowed her brow. "What's the black markets?"
Idesta grinned wickedly. "It's where blood mages buy you for your blood, eyes, and any other parts they think might be useful."
Marni face went ashen and her stomach turned. "Blood mages? Like you did to the girl on the coast," she said softly.
"Exactly. We don't believe in waste in Tevinter. If you can't prove yourself useful to us alive, we'll find a use for you dead."
A buzz of panic thrilled through Marni. She had never even seen a mantle, let alone dusted one, or so much as set foot in a brothel, and she doubted she'd done anything that would be asked of her in a workhouse either. "How do I prove myself useful?" she asked, afraid to admit to Idesta that she probably wasn't useful at all.
"Listen to directions, do what you're told, and don't make mistakes." She gave Marni a serious glare. "And behave yourself. That shit you pulled with Lycus… You try something like that in Tevinter and you'll be dead within hours. Even the trouble you've been giving me…" Idesta shook her head gravely. "You need to learn to bite that sharp little tongue of yours, or sooner or later, you'll cross the wrong person and find yourself in the black market, being sold off for parts."
Marni gave her tongue a few light bites. Biting it off entirely might have been easier than keeping it in check. She was cursed with a wild tongue. She'd imagine it coiled snake-like behind her teeth, rattling menacingly at anyone who came too near. Or she'd picture it crouched in the well of her mouth like the feral cats Anders used to put milk out for, striking with fury and speed whenever threatened or annoyed. As sure as she was that feral cats could not be tamed no matter how many saucers of milk you offered them or bits of string you dragged across their paws, she was sure that a wild tongue could not be kept quiet for long. Her anger would spark, and her tongue would strike. She'd be lucky to make it through a year of slavery in Tevinter. But the thought of having her eyes plucked out or her veins opened, humans bidding for her bits…
Marni swallowed back her fear and gave her tongue a few more trial bites.