Page 3 of The Dragon Sacrifice

2

There was not much to see at the market.

The little makeshift shops and awning-covered carts, with strings of sausages hanging off like paper streamers or hand-woven tapestries, were mostly gone, leaving yellowing grass squares where they normally parked. Sellers had all gone home to prepare for Selection and Festival that would follow.

A few cats slunk around, darting like arrows as she cut down the path. Her eyes rose to the king’s banners, red and gold and sparkling, hung from poles above three sides of the square. The king’s crest, a severed dragon head with two spears crossed above it, seemed to glow red in the afternoon light. Troops were already stationed around the stage erected at the far end. Dozens of men in gleaming metal helmets and chest plates, the king’s crest on their breast and sword hilts, stood at attention, more guards than the village saw the rest of the year.

Seela’s eyes trailed over the guards beginning to ring the large grassy square. Their swords were so large, so sharp. A show of force. And a show of force was exactly what Selection was all about. The king took what he wanted, when he wanted, and they all said thank you.

Remember, you are under the king’s thumb even this far west. He is not through with you yet.

An old woman darted out from behind the stall Seela was passing. Like a witch from the fairy stories, her hooked nose and arthritic fingers made her terrifying at first glance. Seela jumped, her hand reaching for the knife in her boot.

“Lucky Gems. Magic Gems,” her ruined voice crooned. She had the veiny nose of a drinker and the smell of someone who slept with pigs. She shoved painted stones into Seela’s palms.

“Oh no, but thank you.”

“Girl like you, a pretty girl. You need luck this day. Luck they won’t steal you. Luck they won’t grind your bones into bread.” The hag’s yellow eyes roved over Seela’s face as she leaned close. The smell was nearly intolerable, but Seela tried to be kind.

“I don’t need luck. The chances of my being selected are very slim.”

The hag’s eyes rolled in her head, showing more yellowish-white than Seela would have thought possible. “Black cloud on your head.” She pointed a crooked finger above Seela. “Bad, bad cloud.”

“This old hag bothering you?” A guard strode up, his hand on the pommel of his sword. He looked like he wanted an excuse to use it.

“Oh no,” Seela said, throwing on a smile. “This is… my friend… Ginna. Thank you for the lucky tokens.” She dug a coin out of her trouser pocket, then pressed it into the old woman’s hand while using her eyes to warn her.

Sensing the danger, the old woman slunk back behind her stall and disappeared.

“It’s a good thing I was here.” The guard stared down at her, peering through his vertical helmet slit and catching her eye. She saw bushy eyebrows go up and down within the depths of his shiny helmet. Many girls bedded the knights that came by for Festival, something about the red and gold uniform, the unchecked power, and the black horses. Some knights came back after Festival to carry their loves back to the kingdom. Some disgraced women were left to bear fatherless children alone, ashamed, and destitute.

She wanted none of that. Tucking her head, she hurried to the butcher.

The butcher’s shop was one of the few permanent buildings that ringed the square. Horace had run it as long as she could remember, his son at his side. Seela found the squat wooden building with the smokehouse in the back empty. No line this close to Selection. After slipping inside the open door, she hurried up to the counter.

“Seela!” Horace boomed the minute he saw her. Setting down his clever and the hunk of meat he was dividing, he wiped his hands on his bloody apron and bellied up to the other side of the counter. He was a bear of a man, well fed on meat and strong from slinging sides of beef all day. His blond beard and thatch of matching hair was full and thick. He was round-faced and pleasant, the type of person who smiled at everyone he passed on the street. “Just in time. I was about to close.”

“Sorry to be so late. I was helping my mother tend to Mr. Whelp.”

Horace’s face fell. “Ah yes. Poor old Mr. Whelp. To die on Festival is a bad omen. Then again, to die at all doesn’t bode well for the rest of your life expectancy.” He chuckled, his apron shaking around his barrel chest.

She grinned, though laughter seemed impossible today. “Mum requests goat, if you have it.” She dug the coin out of her boot, then plinked it on the table.

“Goat it will be. Tommas!” Horace bellowed behind him. A few moments later, a small, squat young man with a matching blond beard came rushing out from the back. He, too, was covered in splatters of animal blood.

“Yes?” the boy asked, wiping hands on his already-soiled apron.

“Goat. Our finest cut for the lady.”

Seela smiled at Tommas and Horace. But as she met their eyes, she saw Horace’s cheerful expression fade.

Boot thumped on the wooden floor behind her, making her freeze. Slowly, she turned around.

The dark figure in the doorway was just a shadow as the light spilled in around his frame. He took another step inside, revealing himself. Shiny boots, a long, luxurious cloak in crushed velvet, and something silver gleaming on his lapel. A chill ran down Seela’s body like a stream of ice.

The Bishop of Danbury stood in their butcher shop, appearing unamused and irritated. Seela recognized the man from the portrait in the king’s courthouse the one time they’d gone in an attempt to garner wages from a man who’d accidentally killed her father. The court fees had been more than the man had owed for an accidental death and they hadn’t recovered any coin, so it had been a lost venture.

Now, staring up at one of the most powerful men in the country, Seela felt herself shrink under his gaze. His clothes were regal—shiny black boots of expensive leather. His tunic and pants, gray on bottom and a royal blue on the top, were made of the finest silk with not a speckle of mud to be found. His cape was clasped at the nape of his neck with a broach sporting the largest dorst gem she’d ever seen. His ring finger had a matching gem, slightly smaller, but just as eye-catching and expensive.

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