The woman led the Celestial up the ramp to the stage and placed the chains in Draven’s hands. She went over to inspect Cassiel, walking around him as she thoughtfully tapped her chin. When she had her back to Draven, her lilac gaze met Cassiel’s, and she winked.
Lucenna.
She wore glamor to hide her appearance, but he recognized those eyes. Hope made his insides jump. He glanced away, feigning indifference.
“Other than a slave business, I poach Celestials,” Lucenna said, lifting Cassiel’s wing as she inspected it. “I collect them, you see. As I don’t have one with black feathers, I was interested in a trade, but alas, yours is damaged goods.”
Draven smirked. “Come off that blather, lass. He’s perfect.”
“He has bald spots on his wings.” Lucenna went to reclaim her chains, but he moved away.
“That’s because these idiots ripped out too many feathers.” Draven growled at his dwarves, then flashed her a grin. “But he will recover them in due time.”
“He’s too thin.”
“Nothing a good meal won’t fix.”
Lucenna narrowed her eyes and beckoned for him to return the chains. “Don’t take me for a fool. We both know my Celestial is more valuable than yours.”
“We can work out a deal.” Draven insisted. “You can have him in addition to a thousand silver pieces. I shall pay no more, mind you.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Silver? He’s worth gold.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Two thousand gold pieces, then.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“Five thousand. Final offer.”
“No, brother,” Galen whispered to him. “There must be more. We can hunt them ourselves.”
“Shut your gob,” Draven snapped at him. “Question me again, and what you will get is my ax in your hairy arse. Now get my gold ready.”
Lucenna crossed her arms. “I’m not interested.”
“Ten thousand pieces!” someone in the crowd called.
“That’s ridiculous.” The poacher glared at the sea of faces. “Twelve thousand.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come to auction my possessions.”
“Twenty thousand!” came another offer beyond the stage.
Cassiel suspected the tall slave under the hood was calling out prices. He pursed his lips to keep from smirking. That one must be Rawn, so the other slave was Dyna. He stared at the dainty-hooded figure, knowing without a doubt that it was her.
“Thirty thousand,” the poacher growled.
Lucenna filched the chains from his hands and strode away.
“You won’t get more than fifty thousand for him.”
She kept walking.
“Wait!”
She didn’t.
“A hundred thousand gold pieces!” the poacher shouted desperately.
