KIAKOA
The Ward Seed pulses on the auction block, throwing purple light across the warehouse walls. Each pulse drives deeper into my jaw, making my teeth ache. Four thousand credits already bid. Perilously close to the limit of what I have left after last season's border skirmishes drained our reserves.
The tentacled merchant beside me shifts, sulfur wafting from his breathing vents. His appendages flash orange. Five thousand.
I should leave. Save what little remains in my territory's coffers for food, repairs, basic defenses. But without the Ward Seed, those defenses mean nothing. Vasek will break through within weeks.
“Six thousand.” The construct near the front raises a mechanical hand.
I cannot match it. Cannot protect what is mine. Failure tastes bitter on my tongue.
Movement at the warehouse entrance draws my attention. The crowd parts. Vasek enters with two guardsin matching white armor, their breastplates catching the phosphorescent fungi that lights this place.
He is young for a lord. Maybe three centuries. He walks directly to the auctioneer's platform, whispers something. The auctioneer's face goes gray.
“Ten thousand,” Vasek announces. His eyes find mine across the crowd. “And one copper.”
The insult is clear. He knows I need this. Knows I cannot match him.
It will be one copper more than whatever I could bid, even if I had it.
“Fifteen thousand,”the construct drones.
“Fifteen thousand and one copper.”
The game is obvious now. He will pay anything, just to keep it from me.
“Twenty thousand.”
“Twenty thousand and one copper.” Vasek does not even look at the Ward Seed. Just watches me with pale eyes that track like ice hunters.
My teeth extend another quarter inch. The ache sharpens, but I keep my lips closed. Violence here means expulsion from the market for a year. He knows this.
“Going once at twenty thousand and one copper,” the auctioneer says. Will not meet my eyes. “Going twice.” He pauses. “Sold to Lord Vasek.”
Vasek approaches the platform to claim his prize. As he passes, he pauses. “Expensive, protecting one's borders.”His voice carries only to me. “Perhaps you should consider alternative arrangements. I could be persuaded to share my protection. For the right price.”
The Bone Orchard. He wants my trees, my fruit, the concentrated pain that takes decades to ripen. I bare my teeth instead of answering.
He smiles, collects the Ward Seed, and disappears into the crowd with his guards.
I should leave. Return to my territory. Shore up what defenses remain. I gesture to my guards, dismissing them to the transport circle to await my return. At least the return journey costs nothing.
But Scratch appears at my elbow, all six eyes blinking in sequence. “Master. You failed to acquire the Seed.”
“Your observational skills remain intact.”
“Lord Vasek will attack within the week.”
“I know.”
The market crier's voice echoes across the warehouse. “Evening bride auction begins in the main hall. Final inspection in ten minutes.”
“We should return home.” Scratch's eyes swivel toward the sound. “Unless you intend to acquire something else?”
“No.”
But my feet move toward the main hall anyway. Information has value. Knowing who buys, what theypay, which territories are wealthy enough for brides—all useful.
