Page 2 of The Winner's Curse
Jess led the way now, slipping past a table with brass bowls holding powdered dye. “It’s my turn to buy something for you,” she said.
“I have everything I need.”
“You sound like an old woman! One would think you’re seventy, not seventeen.”
The crowd was thicker now, filled with the golden features of Valorians, hair and skin and eyes ranging from honey tones to light brown. The occasional dark heads belonged to well-dressed house slaves, who had come with their masters and stayed close to their sides.
“Don’t look so troubled,” Jess said. “Come, I will find something to make you happy. A bracelet?”
But that reminded Kestrel of the jewelry seller. “We should go home.”
“Sheet music?”
Kestrel hesitated.
“Aha,” said Jess. She seized Kestrel’s hand. “Don’t let go.”
This was an old game. Kestrel closed her eyes and was tugged blindly after Jess, who laughed, and then Kestrel laughed, too, as she had years ago when they first met.
The general had been impatient with his daughter’s mourning. “Your mother’s been dead half a year,” he had said. “That is long enough.” Finally, he had had a senator in a nearby villa bring his daughter, also eight years old, to visit. The men went inside Kestrel’s house. The girls were told to stay outside. “Play,” the general had ordered.
Jess had chattered at Kestrel, who ignored her. Finally, Jess stopped. “Close your eyes,” she said.
Curious, Kestrel did.
Jess had grabbed her hand. “Don’t let go!” They tore over the general’s grassy grounds, slipping and tumbling and laughing.
It was like that now, except for the press of people around them.
Jess slowed. Then she stopped and said, “Oh.”
Kestrel opened her eyes.
The girls had come to a waist-high wooden barrier that overlooked a pit below. “You brought me here?”
“I didn’t mean to,” said Jess. “I got distracted by a woman’s hat—did you know hats are in fashion?—and was following to get a better look, and…”
“And brought us to the slave market.” The crowd had congealed behind them, noisy with restless anticipation. There would be an auction soon.
Kestrel stepped back. She heard a smothered oath when her heel met someone’s toes.
“We’ll never get out now,” Jess said. “We might as well stay until the auction’s over.”
Hundreds of Valorians were gathered
before the barrier, which curved in a wide semicircle. Everyone in the crowd was dressed in silks, each with a dagger strapped to the hip, though some—like Jess—wore it more as an ornamental toy than a weapon.
The pit below was empty, save for a large wooden auction block.
“At least we have a good view.” Jess shrugged.
Kestrel knew that Jess understood why her friend had claimed loudly that the glass earrings were topaz. Jess understood why they had been purchased. But the girl’s shrug reminded Kestrel that there were certain things they couldn’t discuss.
“Ah,” said a pointy-chinned woman at Kestrel’s side. “At last.” Her eyes narrowed on the pit and the stocky man walking into its center. He was Herrani, with the typical black hair, though his skin was pale from an easy life, no doubt due to the same favoritism that had gotten him this job. This was someone who had learned how to please his Valorian conquerors.
The auctioneer stood in front of the block.
“Show us a girl first,” called the woman at Kestrel’s side, her voice both loud and languid.
