Honored? Had he actually said I should feel “honored”?
Fucking dragon-shit bastard.
Kichi circled me slowly. “Here is what will happen, Little Fox. You will be led to the platform. You will stand where you are told. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not resist. You will comport yourself with dignity and grace, as though noble blood flowed in those beautiful veins, and not the sludge of a common fishmonger.” He stopped in front of me. “Your behavior will determine what kind of master you end up with.”
What kind of master? That sent a shiver across my skin. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t so much as flinch at my discomfort. “Buyers can tell the difference between a slave who will cause trouble and one who will be biddable. Fight, and you will end up with someone who enjoys . . . breaking spirits.” He smiled, a demented,hateful thing. “Behave, and you might land with someone kind, someone who will treat you well.”
It was a lie, probably, but I had no way to know that for certain.
“Do you understand, Little Fox?” Kichi asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“Good. Now come. It’s time.”
The dock rocked beneath my feet.
After weeks at sea, solid ground felt too still, too steady. My legs wobbled like a newborn calf’s as guards fell in around me. I glimpsed the other “special cargo” being led away in different directions—the elegant woman, the man, the others, each dressed in fine clothes, each being delivered to separate fates. I wanted to call out to them, to say something, anything, but fear and shame—and a guard’s grip—kept me silent.
The smell hit me as we left the ship. It wasn’t just salt and harbor water, but everything—rotting fish baking in the sun, human waste struggling to flow in gutters, incense smoke from a nearby temple, and underneath it all, spices I couldn’t name. They were exotic and foreign, the scent of a city so much larger than Tooi that comparison felt absurd.
Bara was overwhelming. The docks were more crowded than my entire village, with ships of every size and design packed together like fish in a barrel. Sailors shouted in languages I’d never heard as cargo swung overhead on ropes and pulleys. A child darted past, nearly tripping me, before she was swallowed by the crowd.
I’d never seen so many people in my life. I’d never known so many people existed in one place.
We moved through the dock district quickly, then into what must have been the merchant quarter. Buildings rose three and four stories tall, their facades painted in bright colors, banners streaming from windows. The streets were paved with actual stone, not dirt, and everywhere—everywhere—there were people.
Merchants called out their wares. Beggars huddled in doorways. Palanquins rushed past, carried by sweating bearers. Women with painted faces watched from second-story windows. A few waved fans. One giggled and pointed.
My heart hammered. Sweat trickled down my spine despite the fine silk.
Then I saw it and nearly tumbled forward.
A wooden stage rose in a market square, ringed by a crowd of perhaps a hundred. A man stood atop the stage wearing a simple but elegant blackkimono, his voice carrying across the square with practiced ease. Beside him stood a man in his forties, emaciated, barely able to remain upright. His ribs showed through torn clothing. His head hung low.
Finest auction in Bara, indeed. This looked like where the dregs of society met their fate, not well-prized men and women being sent to . . .
I realized before the thought could form. It didn’t matter. Slaves were slaves, no matter the iron or silk binding their wrists. One might live longer, a little easier. Both were owned by another. Neither were free.
“Is there as single bid?” the auctioneer called. “This man has experience in the fields. He is strong despite his appearance—”
Silence spread as the crowd stared, unimpressed, a collective scowl crawling from face to face. A few shook their heads. One man took a bite of a steamed bun, chewing mindlessly.
“No bids? Last call.” The auctioneer’s tone grew sharp. “Very well.”
He gestured, a crisp wave of one hand.
The crowd remained bored and disinterested.
A Samurai I hadn’t noticed looming on the edge of the stage stepped forward, his hand on hiskatana.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My head knew what came next, but my heart refused to believe it possible.
One fluid motion was all it took.
One fluid motion concluded the sale.
