Page 27

On the night of the auction, I climbed into the carriage and sat opposite Lukain. Antones drove the cart this time, leaving the two of us alone.

Finally.

My handsome master sat leisurely at the back of the carriage, a leg crossed over his knee. His red eyes landed on my face and a small frown formed on his lips.

Since when did the mere appearance of me bring a frown to your lips? “You don’t look surprised to see me,” I muttered. “Just disappointed.”

“Ant said you would be joining us,” he said in a clipped tone.

At the sound of Antones’ whistle, the carriage rumbled and started moving. I jostled in my seat. It dawned on me this would make two surface outings in a month. A rare blessing I’d never had as a Grimson.

I would take my wins where I could. The wind wafting through the open partition where Antones sat skittered across my face and refreshed me.

Awkwardness filled the cart as we rolled down the roads. It made me angry, frustrated, and it wasn’t long before I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Why have you been avoiding me, Master?” My voice cracked, shamefully, as I leaned forward and lowered it to a whisper.

His eyes moved from the side to my face. “Avoiding you, Sephania? I have an organization to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Why are you angry with me, too?

My eyebrows arched sadly. Hopelessness filled my body and it took everything not to let tears spring to my eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, Seph, I thought, steeling my emotions.

You haven’t wept in years. Don’t start now, especially over something so silly.

“Did you not enjoy . . . what we did?” I implored in a weak tone.

It took Master Lukain a long moment to answer. He looked over at the slatted wall of the carriage, the hull, but there was no window there for him to gaze out from. “I did,” he finally said in a grunt. “More than you know.”

So I was right. I’ve been a distraction. It made me feel slightly better. Not much, however, since his words were belying his actions of ignoring me.

“Then why haven’t you called me to—”

“Have you joined this ride simply to hound me, little grimmer?”

My lips stayed parted. The frustration inside swelled. “I’ve come because your rules allow active fighters to join. To give opinions. You made me a fighter, Lukain.”

“Perhaps it was a mistake.”

I scoffed, flapping a hand at him, trying to act as dismissive as he sounded. “I am allowed to give my opinions on the slaves you barter for. Are you worried I’m going to get hurt in the ring? Your prizefighter?”

His nostrils flared. “You nearly lost your life in your fight against the grayskin. You’re not as powerful as you think you are.”

I began to wonder if his apprehension regarding me stemmed from worrying about my safety; if he concluded he’d made a mistake training me, because now he had to worry about me dying, when in the past he didn’t give a single shit what happened to his slavefighters.

I crossed my arms under my chest defiantly, glancing away and raising my chin. “Fine. You needn’t worry about me any longer. Think of me as any other Grimson. When I die fighting for my freedom you can forget I ever existed.”

“Brat,” he snarled, leaning forward. “You’ve made that impossible. Besides, I won’t let that happen. You must protect your blood, Sephania.”

My eyes slowly made their way to his handsome face. It was an odd choice of words. My brow furrowed and I opened my mouth to respond—

“We’re here,” Antones announced from the front.

I thanked the True for it. Lukain and I were about two seconds away from spouting off words we’d regret, our anger taking hold.

Lukain stood and shoved his way out of the carriage before the wheels had even fully stopped turning.

The auction took place in an old rundown building tucked away from the main road and smashed together with other buildings.

The Bronze tried to bear down on illicit activity and flesh trading but there were simply too many black market specialists and too few lawmen to make a dent in the proceedings.

The frequency with which Lukain attended these bidding venues showed me how fruitless the Bronzes were in exacting any sort of meaningful change in Nuhav.

We were in a southwestern tenement. Homeless, vagrants, and redcloud addicts surrounded the streets of the two-story building. A small family sat by a flickering trash-fire nearby, huddled together for warmth.

Guilt filled me as I entered the loud main room of the structure with Lukain and Antones. I’m “one of the lucky ones,” as Helget would say. Having a place to sleep, food to eat, people to speak with on a daily basis.

Everything was not perfect. I was a slave to a half-vampire who could be an absolute ass at times. But I couldn’t forget what he had done for me, either.

The volume of the main room blared and barreled over my thoughts as we entered. It was a stuffy, enclosed space with exits to the left and right that spit out into alleyways or connected with other nearby shops. A staircase rose to the second level near one of the exits.

My eyes scanned the room to spot danger. There were a lot of tall, older men here, scrunched together. Foul breath and body odor were the prevailing scents, mingling to create a nauseating stench that gave me a headache.

At the front of the room was a stage with a bowed middle, the wood cracking underfoot. Circled around the stage was a group of twenty bidders. I noticed a lot of gray hair, overweight men chatting to each other in loud, drunken voices, and a few scared women passing drinks around.

These are the leaders of Nuhav’s underground gangs? A grotesque bunch if I’ve ever seen one. It was the polar opposite of the refined nature of the lords and ladies at Manor Marquin—refined at least until the blood started spilling.

Each man here reminded me in some way of Dimmon Plank, who likely attended these monthly auctions to bolster his number of Diplomat children or to sell off his wares like he’d done with me and Jinneth.

A speaker stepped onto the stage, hauling three girls behind him. The girls were roped together by their wrists. Anger ignited when I saw their shivering dispositions, their young, dirtied faces, and the sheer fear in their big eyes.

The oldest couldn’t have been more than fourteen. The youngest, maybe ten summers.

“Right, right, let’s get to it, y’bastards.

I’m hopin’ for an early night.” The speaker’s brash voice hushed the gathering.

He lifted the arm of the youngest, shortest girl in the group.

“Got three good’ns here. Young thing might look frail now, but those hips?

She’ll be stout and sturdy in three to four, ready for whatever purposes y’lot might have. ” He sneered in an ugly, knowing grin.

A few of the men in the crowd chuckled.

“How y’know that, Pukren? Tested the goods yourself, have ye?” one man called out.

“Hoy, shut your fuck-trap!” Pukren answered, eliciting more howling laughs from the gathering.

Lukain, Antones, and I stood near the back. Lukain stared ahead, arms crossed, face serious and unreadable. I had a hood pulled over my head to hide my hair and features. So far, no one noticed I was a woman, or noticed me at all.

The auctioneer’s sweaty pate and his disgusting sales pitch made me sick to my stomach and furious.

Lukain glanced over. “You’re the one who wanted to join, little grimmer.” When I scowled at him, I noticed his gaze had moved past me.

Once he faced the stage again, I followed where his eyes had been but saw nothing amiss—just a doorway off to the side.

The speaker Pukren continued his lewd speech. “The tallest o’ the bunch got legs on her, don’t she? Perfect for daily chores or nightly duties. She’s childless, ready to work. We’ll start her off at three coppers.”

Three copper coins?! It was a pittance. It was disgusting, and I couldn’t believe Lukain and Antones could keep a straight face here.

I had to remember this was normal for these people. Despite the kindness Ant had shown me during our walks, and the seemingly gallant behavior Lukain occasionally exhibited, these were awful men. Wretches of society who preyed on the weak and destitute, offering a false promise of a better life.

I noticed my mistake in coming here. This flesh-house was something I wouldn’t be able to get out of my mind for weeks.

“Eight for the whole lot,” cried out one man in the audience, raising a paddle. “I like the middle one. Nice and plump.”

I wanted to break his nose and worse.

Pukren snorted. “Then y’have to do lot better than eight for that, Radigan, y’cheap bastard!”

Paddles lifted in earnest, popping up like gophers from their holes.

“Five for the oldest, ten for the lot!” wailed one man.

“Four apiece!” yelled another.

Thus started the bidding war.

Halfway through, once the price of the girls had risen to around five or six copper each, Pukren added new kindling to the fire. “Hoy, forgot to mention the best part, I did!”

The shouting fell to low murmurs. Paddles lowered.

His ugly smile returned. “They’re sisters .”

Gasps came from the crowd. Paddles jumped in a flurry.

“Eighteen for ‘em!”

“Twenty three!”

“ Ten coppers each!”

The girls ended up going for thirty-three total, or eleven coins each.

However you wanted to divvy up the amount, it was appalling to witness.

They were dragged off from the stage, and the man who bought the trio received pats on the back and good-natured ribbings from his friends as he pushed through the throng of men with his prizes.

“Next up, got us two boys. Twelve and sixteen, thereabouts,” Pukren began.

They were skinny and wide-eyed like the girls, dressed in tatters. The one who had seen sixteen summers stood taller than Pukren himself, who was a stoop-backed man of middling years.

“Sixteen?!” cried out one man. “That’s too old for any of the purposes I have for ‘em!”

Another man laughed. “Keep it in your pants, you lout!”

“Aye. You don’t like it, don’t bid!” said another.

I shook my head, sighing heavily. My hands clenched into fists at my sides. It was good I kept my nails short or they would have drawn blood against my palms, I clenched so tightly.

“Take over,” Lukain muttered to Antones. “Keep an eye on the older one.”

He strode past me. My brow furrowed as I watched him disappear into the crowd, headed away from the stage.

Antones said, “I’m not seeing it. He looks lanky. Too scared.”

“I was lanky too when you got me,” I said. “Look how I turned out.”

Ant smirked. “Good point.”

My gaze remained on the crowd, not the stage, watching as Lukain’s tall form vanished past the door where he’d been looking earlier.

Grinding my teeth together, I bounced my knee impatiently.

Antones lifted his paddle. “I’ll put ten on the older one.”

“They’re a two-package deal, ol’ Ant,” Pukren answered. “Ten for each?”

“Twelve.”

“Fourteen,” countered someone I couldn’t see.

Antones’ focus was on the stage, battling for the lives of these two boys.

It made it easy for me to slip away once curiosity got the better of me. I zigzagged through the crowd, head bowed low, and stopped near the door where Lukain had disappeared into.

A hulking man stood in front of the door now. He wasn’t glaring at me—the stage had caught his attention—but he was still in my way.

I circled around him and took the nearby staircase instead, cinching my cloak tightly around my body. My fingers danced over the hilt of the dagger at my belt.

At the top of the stairs, the din from below became a muffled murmur, a coagulation of raised voices.

I walked down a rickety, dark hallway with doors on either side—likely bedrooms, if this was some kind of brothel. Only a single torch kept the hall lit in a dim orange glow.

I turned a corner and aimed for doors at the end of the hall, ajar from a breeze cracking them open. The doors opened onto a balcony overlooking a drab alleyway. The balcony connected with another building in a second-story bridge, and I started to wander over the bridge—

Before I froze at the railing of the plank-bridge, my throat catching. My gaze swept down into the alley below, where Master Lukain stood. He spoke to a man hidden in shadows at the back of the alley.

I made myself small and popped my head over the railing, trying to eavesdrop without making my face noticeable against the backdrop of the purple sky.

The wind on the second level amplified their words, pushing their conversation upward, but they spoke in hushed voices and I could only pick up every third word or so.

“. . . The one?” asked the man. “. . . You’re sure?”

They were huddled closely. The man wore a hood. The only characteristic of note I picked up was the paleness of his skin and the fact he spoke with his hands, and his left hand was missing its pinkie finger.

Lukain nodded at the man’s question. “. . . Tasted . . . cursed . . . rid me . . .”

“Mistress Mortis . . . information . . . liars.”

Mistress Mortis? I wasn’t sure if I had heard the man correctly. Either way, I’d never heard the name before.

Is this man working for this “Mortis” person? What could Lukain want from him?

It was frustrating being unable to hear more. If I was on level ground, it would’ve been different. It also would’ve been easier for Lukain to spot me spying on him.

Their voices became even lower, until I could hear nothing but babbling. But I heard one more word that made my hackles rise, spoken from the hooded man.

“. . . Gala . . .”

I leaned away from the railing, my forehead creasing with wrinkles, trying to play over the words I’d heard and what they could mean. Cursed, tasted, information, liars. It all means nothing to me.

When I glanced down a minute later, Lukain and the shadowy man were gone.

I hissed, “ Shit ,” and dashed down from the bridge balcony, rushing through the hall and no longer attempting to keep myself unnoticed.

I took the stairs three at a time to the auction room, hopping down the last few to the base, ducking low—

Just as Master Lukain emerged from the doorway and walked past me without noticing, heading for Antones, who was still locked in a bidding war with a few other men.

I tiptoed behind Lukain, coming to stand next to him.

He glanced over. “Where were you?” Narrow-eyed suspicion was rich in his voice.

“Had to find a place to piss. I could ask you the same, Master.” My eyebrows bobbed snootily, trying to hide the vying emotions flooding through me.

His jaw muscles tightened as he stared daggers at me. “Difference is, little grimmer, I’m not obliged to answer your questions, but you are obliged to answer mine. I’m the owner, you’re the property.”