Page 3 of Bought By the Revenant
I put on my clothes carefully. Black trousers, a deep red waistcoat over a white shirt, and a long coat with silver buttons. Money is the only thing I have going for me, so I should at least show it. The hood will hide my face until I will be forced to reveal myself.
The ride from Aura Glade through Luminea is nice enough. The revenant lands are beautiful – grand houses set among rolling hills, forests carefully tended, roads smooth and well-maintained. I helped build this place after the Shift, when humans needed help and monsters stepped up to save them. Funny how humans don’t remember that part of the story anymore.
As we cross into human territory, the landscape changes. The roads become rutted, the buildings more crowded and less well-kept. Signs of poverty are everywhere – children in worn clothing, fields that struggle to produce crops, houses with patched roofs. I’ve watched these problems and patterns for centuries, and it doesn’t matter who’s in charge, because nothing ever changes.
“Crosshold, sir,” my driver, Olaf, calls back to me. “We’ve arrived.”
I take a deep breath before I speak.
“Find a place near the market square.”
The carriage stops, and I get ready for what’s coming. My hood shadows my face, but I know it won’t be enough, because people always see what I am. The market square is busy with stalls selling vegetables and handmade things. Children run through the crowds, and musicians play in one corner. All this normal life feels strange to me. I go to a bookseller first, since his stall has fewer people and books are always worth buying.
“Do you have any texts on medicinal herbs?” I ask and keep my face turned away.
“Yes, sir. Several.” He points to a shelf behind him.
I pick one and reach to pay, but my sleeve pulls back and shows the stitches at my wrist. The ugly black threads hold different shades of skin together, and the bookseller’s eyes widen.
“Here,” I say and put coins on the counter. I give him more than the book costs.
He won’t touch the money. “Just take it,” he whispers and steps backward.
Shame burns through me, then anger. I leave the money and take the book before my temper causes problems. The same thing happens at three more stalls. One woman drops my coins instead of touching my hand, and a child points at me and asks loudly what’s wrong with my face, until his mother hurriedly pulls him away.
I’m ready to go back to my carriage when I overhear two women talking.
“The bride market’s starting soon. You should see the monsters that show up for that.”
“Better than starving, I suppose,” her friend answers.
I follow the flow of people toward an open area where a wooden stage has been erected. An auctioneer wearing a gaudy vest organizes papers on a podium, while about a dozen women of different ages stand to one side looking nervous. Humans and non-humans fill the audience, and I see two trolls, a lycan, several fae creatures, and others I can’t identify right away.
I stay at the back, where the shadows are deepest, and watch how this works. The auctioneer calls the first woman forward. She’s young, maybe twenty, with red hair and bright eyes. He tells everyone she’s healthy and hardworking, and knows how to weave, then the bidding starts.
I figure out the pattern fast. Monsters bid, and whoever offers the most money gets to approach the woman, then she decides if she’ll accept or not. Most women pick whoever looks the most human, even when they’re offering less money. A troll offers a huge amount for a plump middle-aged woman, but she picks a fae lord who looks almost human except for his shimmering skin. After watching several women get sold, I decide to bid on the next one. I will offer more than anyone else. Perhaps, if the sum is high enough…
When I call out my bid, everyone turns to look. The crowd parts slightly as people try to see who’s talking from theshadows. The woman on stage squints in my direction, while the auctioneer only cares about the substantial sum I just offered and declares me the winner. I step forward, and what always happens… happens again. People gasp and whisper. The woman’s face drains of color when she sees me. I reach the edge of the stage, and she shakes her head almost violently.
“I decline,” she says with a shaking voice. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
The auctioneer shrugs at me because this is just business to him. “Next bidder,” he calls out.
I try again with the next woman, then the one after that. Every time my money gets me the right to approach, and every time my appearance makes them say no. Some are nicer about rejecting me than others, but they all say no.
The sun gets higher in the sky, and my hope gets smaller with each woman who turns me down. This was stupid to try, and I should go home and stop humiliating myself. But something keeps me standing here anyway, wanting one last chance, clinging to hope.
“Final bride of the day,” the auctioneer announces.
I decide this will be my last try. If she says no like all the others, I’ll leave and never do this again.
Chapter Three
Amity
The market comes alive in the morning light as vendors arrange their goods on wooden tables, and early shoppers move between the stalls searching for the freshest produce and best prices. I keep my head low and my eyes moving constantly from face to face, watching for danger while I walk through the growing crowds. Old habits from weeks of running don’t disappear after one night of relative safety in a cheap inn.
My coins clink pathetically in my small pouch as I purchase a wedge of hard cheese and half a loaf of yesterday’s bread. The apple I add is an expense I can’t really afford, but my body craves fresh food after surviving on scraps. I’ll need energy and strength if I’m going to convince anyone to hire me today.
