The merchant’s assistant is standing beside me. He looms over the buyers and makes up attributes about me, of which he knows nothing and believes none of. What a sideshow.
The bidding starts low. Despite the aching slash in my neck, I stare into the faces of the individuals yelling out prices, evaluating them as they freely evaluate me. Their ballooning silk hats and ruffled shawls, I swear, look strikingly similar to a pair of lady’s panties I saw in the sale booth last year. These people appear well-off compared to most I’ve known in our kingdom. Not as fancy as the politicians from the High Court, but clearly living above the poverty of the peasants. Panty shawls and all.
The bidding begins to climb with the same frenzy the onlookers have been possessed by for the past half hour. Suddenly, a male voice clamors above the rest, “Take off the hood and give us a better look at her. Let’s see what she’s made of.”
I scowl and lean forward, jerking on my reins to yell back, “Why aren’t you off helping win the war, you wastrel?”
“Right there, let’s see her!”
“Yeah! Take off her cloak!”
The assistant grabs my shoulder. I bristle, but his hand is already reaching for my hood.
I shove an elbow into his skinny stomach, hard enough to knock the wind from him. “Don’t touch me.”
He yelps. Staggers back like the weakling he is.
Then the merchant swears, and before I can blink he climbs onto the stage and lunges for my wrists.
I kick him in his crotch.
He screams but doesn’t crumble. A noise erupts behind me and just as I’m turning to check, two men grab my arms and the merchant is up and plows into my side, nearly knocking me over. He grips my cloak and yanks it off in one harsh sweep.
Before I can count to one, the three of them are stumbling back and tripping off the stage.
The crowd falls silent.
CHAPTER 2
MY HAIR SLIPS DOWN MY BACK AND shoulders and around my face like fresh snow falling on the forest floor. Pure white. I raise my chin as the onlookers stare. Yes. Look.
You don’t want me.
Because, eventually, accidentally, I will destroy you.
It’s what I do.
A child’s gasp breaks the silence and out of the corner of my eye, I see the little redheaded girl at the outer edge of the crowd. The reins of her collar are in her master’s hand. He’s stalled in horror like the rest of them. But the little girl’s features—they’re painted in awe. Which, of course, makes a lump climb up my throat. The childlike mercy her innocence brings touches something within me. She’s too young to recognize the perverse significance of my snowy-white hair and sea-blue eyes. Apparently no one’s told her about Elementals, or how they are not allowed to exist. No one’s told her that a female version is not even possible. That I shouldn’t be.
The hush has rippled out to the market stalls. Vendors and customers alike pause to find the source of the unnatural silence. I wonder if they’re terrified as well. They should be.
Offstage, the merchant suddenly lets loose a string of curses, equally distributed between the long-gone Brea and me. I find his anger a bit funny, and it effectively shatters the spell of quiet and triggers an uproar in the crowd.
“What is she?”
“How can she be?”
“Is she dangerous?”
“Yes. Very,” I whisper.
“What are all those tattoos on her arms? Are those owner circles?”
“What about the markings on the other arm?”
Memorials, is what I won’t say.
The assistant I knocked the wind from recovers himself when he realizes the merchant standing just off the stand is now swearing at him. He scrambles back over and tries to start the bidding up again, but suddenly even those who’ve named prices are ducking their heads and backing away.
A gaudy laugh erupts from the sideline. It’s so melodramatic and mocking that everyone pauses to look in its direction. It’s the man holding the redheaded girl’s reins. His face is as strikingly cruel as it is handsome. He waves a hand in the air toward me. “She doesn’t look like much! How about loaning her out and letting me test her? Let’s see what she’s good for!” He jerks the small slave girl’s collar and struts his way toward the stage, dragging her behind him.
Swine.
I force myself to look away from them both. Hold it in, Nym.
“C’mon! No one else is going to want her. Let me have her, and I’ll pay you more if she ends up being worth it.” The man uses his hands to boast, and the redhead’s reins yank her little neck around as he swaggers through the captive audience who’ve parted to create a path for him. She begins to cry. He doesn’t even notice.
My chest ignites. Stop, I warn my insides. She’s not you.
In the back of the crowd, a noblewoman strolls over from one of the stalls. Her shimmery, gold-lined eyes match her brilliant hair and painted lips as she studies me. My shoulders smooth out. My eyes hope. “Please take me,” I whisper. Before I can’t control it.
Her gilded lips press together in a thoughtful line, then she turns away.