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Briony glanced at him. She didn’t know if that was true or if it was part of the show he was putting on. Would the Bomardi who purchased her also receive her magical strengths?

Vein’s voice was low as he continued. “Miss Rosewood appraised as close to a five as anyone did in our scale of measured magical power.”

An intrigued murmur passed through the room. Mallow tilted her head.

“And in case you were curious …” His voice dropped low. “It will be an extra five thousand for this one.”

The acoustics shivered with the hum of whispered interest. The lonely Bomardi did nothing but cross one leg over the other.

“Mistress Mallow,” Vein said over the crowd. “Do we have your permission to begin the bidding at fifteen thousand gold?”

Mallow’s gaze never left Briony as she waved her hand magnanimously.

Fifty hands shot into the air, orange flames popping from fingertips, calling Vein’s attention.

Briony swallowed and looked down to find Reighven raising a lazy hand.

Hands were only raised on the ground floor, she realized. Perhaps they’d sold spectator tickets for the balconies.

“Let’s weed you out a bit, shall we?” Vein quipped. “Sixteen thousand.”

Only about five hands dropped.

“Sixteen five. Jumping up to sixteen five, ladies and gentlemen,” Vein began.

She watched as hands slowly descended, Reighven and Cohle keeping up with each other, laughing at their little game.

Her knees felt shaky, and she wondered if she would be seeing food again anytime soon.

“Eighteen thousand gold. Do I hear—Yes, sir, eighteen thousand. What about eighteen five?” He pointed to Reighven. “Eighteen five to Reighven. Several others still in. Nineteen?”

She let her eyes glaze over, watching the unmoving Bomardi. He sat still, one hand on his thigh, head supported by the other. He looked young. Wide shoulders. Tall. Briony shivered with the recognition. With the intimate knowledge of his lazy posture and his long fingers.

“Nineteen five? Yes, nineteen five to Quill. Do we have—?”

“Twenty-five thousand,” said a tense voice. Briony blinked as every person in the first three rows turned to look at that one solitary man. He’d raised his hand and produced a flare from his fingertips. Had she summoned his voice by staring at him?

Whispers and shuffling. She knew that Cordelia had just sold for a bit more than that.

“Er, yes. Twenty-five thousand to …”

“Twenty-six,” Reighven snarled, sending a glare back at the younger man.

“Twenty-six five,” from the fourth row.

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-seven five.”

“Twenty-eight!” Reighven yelled, irritated with the man in the fourth row.

The man whose voice drawled out, “Twenty-eight five,” as if money was no object to him. The man whose eyes she knew to be speckled with blue in certain light. Whose long fingers twirled his pen in class much as he was now, gathering the air and sparking it to produce flames.

Reighven hesitated, looking up to Vein. “Twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-nine five.”

And the thought floated through her addled consciousness that there was an auction, and she would belong to someone in a few short minutes.

And Toven Hearst was bidding.

The theater was buzzing. Most of the crowd had figured out that the Hearst boy was throwing his money against Lag Reighven.

“Thirty,” Reighven stated firmly, like he’d ended a game of cards.

“Thirty thousand, five hundred,” Toven hummed.

A crashing wave of whispers. Briony looked down at her feet, finding specks of blood on her shoes that they’d forgotten to clean.

“Do I hear thirty-one thousand?” Vein asked, speaking up again.

Reighven’s hand shot in the air. Toven’s followed.

Reighven had been so arrogant, so firm in his belief that he could afford her. But he didn’t have the gold to back this up. Did he?

Her blood ran cold.

Cordelia. Cordelia’s twenty-eight thousand gold now belonged to Reighven.

And Katrina. And the other women he’d caught.

Since he’d had several virgins, he now had a lot of money to spend.

“Thirty-two thousand,” one of them yelled, but Briony was concentrating on her head pounding, her shoulder aching.

As the bids rose higher, she thought about Toven Hearst. How the last time she’d seen him, he’d proven himself a dangerous man.

“Thirty-three thousand,” Toven said.

He’d chased her through a forest, toying with her, herding her like an animal.

“Thirty-three five,” Reighven hissed.

“Thirty-four.”

“Thirty-four five.”

There was a saying in Evermore: The demon who has shaken your hand is better than the one who hasn’t . She didn’t know which demon would be better. Reighven was interested in possessing her body as well as her magic, but Toven … What had he said all those years ago when he’d asked her to dance?

I am accustomed to having the finest thing in the room, after all.

Could she hope that’s all this was?

“Thirty-five thousand,” Toven said, crossing his legs again.

“Getting a bit steep for you, whelp?” Reighven stood and faced the fourth row. “Hesitating?”

“Steep for me?” Toven laughed. “I’m surprised you can count this high.”

Reighven turned to the stage again. “Forty-five thousand gold.”

Briony swallowed as she listened to the hissing. She looked to Toven, still and silent.

“How much of that inheritance did Daddy give you to play with, boy?” Reighven smirked back at him.

And Briony wondered the same. Orion Hearst was the richest man in Bomard, and inheritance laws would dictate that Toven would have access to some of it … but was it anywhere near this amount?

Mallow shifted, catching Briony’s attention. Her dark eyes were on Toven, assessing him.

Vein cleared his throat and said, “I hear forty-five thousand. Do I hear forty-six?”

Toven’s hand lifted. Orange sparks.

“I can go all night, Hearst,” Reighven said, throwing his arms out wide. “I’ve been making my fortune for a while now, and I just made fifty-two thousand off my lots for this evening.”

“Fifty-three thousand,” Toven intoned.

Reighven laughed and turned back to Vein. “Fifty-five.”

“Sixty.” Toven’s voice cracked.

“Sixty-one.” Reighven grinned, yellow crooked teeth shining at her.

She wasn’t sure if it was the concussion, or the stage lights, or the future bearing down on her, but her lungs were begging for air.

She’d known that this would happen. That she’d be leaving with Reighven. She’d been mentally preparing for a week.

She didn’t know if she would truly be better off with Toven Hearst, but now, as he hesitated before stating, “Sixty-two,” she wished he’d never jumped in at all. Now she would always wonder.

“Sixty-five thousand,” said Reighven, chuckling.

Vein was white next to her as he waited. “I hear sixty-five thousand,” he said at last. The crowd started twisting, buzzing with whispers. “Do I hear sixty-six?”

She didn’t dare look at him. Couldn’t bear the idea that if she looked, she might see indecision in the way he held his shoulders. Maybe she could guess his thoughts as she had in school, when he’d roll his shoulders back and reset his posture before diving back into a problem.

“Sixty-five thousand going once.”

Or the way he’d stare at the chalkboard in elixirs class, tilting his head to the side until suddenly grabbing for his pen, jotting his thoughts as if they’d disappear if he wasn’t quick.

“Sixty-five thousand going twice.”

Or in year three, when suddenly he stopped paying her any attention, not even to aggravate her. When he’d simply shut off, and only the strangest of circumstances would get him to fight with her or even just make eye contact with her.

A gavel banged.

The world cracked open, and a violent sound poured into her ears like lava.

Her eyes were on her feet as Reighven jogged up onstage and met Vein in the middle. The scroll. A burning on her left arm. And then a fist in her hair, dragging her head back. Reighven was there, grinning down at her.

She shoved at him, and the crowd loved that.

Mallow stood, applauding with the rest of them, as if asking for an encore.

Gains was smiling in the front row, like the cat who got the cream.

Briony couldn’t make out sounds anymore. Too much in her ears.

As the platform lowered, taking her down to the backstage area, she chanced one last look to see the crowd on its feet, one seat in the fourth row empty.