Darotha didn’t make a stink. She didn’t confront Derog. She simply waited and held on to her grudge. Derog had no idea, but she’d stab him in the back with a rusty knife in a heartbeat. When I offered her that knife two hours ago, she’d grabbed it with both hands.
“I still don’t understand why we need her,” Reynald muttered.
“We need her because I can’t sell myself, and you can’t sell me either. Derog’s people might have seen you before, when you were asking questions about your son, and even if they hadn’t, you’re too scary.”
There was no way to tone him down. The slavers would never open the door to him.
“I’m not going to buy my vengeance with your life.”
“I’m Maggie the Undying. It’s not a figure of speech.”
Darotha saw us and headed right over.
“We’re not doing this.”
That sounded very final.
“I’m going into that house one way or another,” I told him softly. “There are children in there who will be sold and brutalized unless someone stops it. I need to know if you have my back. If you don’t help me, I’ll have to stab Derog myself, and I’ve never stabbed anybody in my whole life.”
I only hit people with rocks. That was more my speed.
Darotha was halfway across the plaza.
“Are you going to abandon me?” I asked. “In or out?”
“In, damn it,” he growled.
Darotha reached us and looked at me. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I am.”
“Follow me. Keep your head down, look at your feet, and don’t talk.”
I looked down and trailed her across the square. At the mouth of the street, I glanced over my shoulder. Reynald was still under the arch, deep in the night shadows. I gave him a little wave. He didn’t wave back.
We walked through the dark streets until we reached Derog’s estate, one solid wall facing the street, a single door like black satin in the center of it. The woman knocked on the door. A small window opened, revealing a slice of a man’s face.
“I have merchandise,” Darotha said.
The window shut. Metal clanged. Win. Darotha had cost me three nomas, and she was worth it.
The door swung open, revealing a hard-faced man in his thirties. A thin scar carved through his cheek, drawing a pale line on his skin that ran all the way into his dark hair. I caught a glimpse of a long stone tunnel behind him.
Darotha reached over and slapped the back of my head. “What did I tell you about staring?”
I bowed my head.
The guard’s gaze slid over me, long and sticky, almost viscous. A cold draft swirled from the tunnel, throwing damp air into my face. A nauseating shiver squirmed through me. I didn’t want to go into that house. I wanted to turn around and run away as fast as my legs would carry me.
“Come with me.”
Darotha started moving, and I followed her into the tunnel. It punched through the entire width of the building, exactly sixty feet, and at the other end, another archway led to the courtyard, brightly lit by a row of lanterns. The courtyard was large, at least thirty-five, maybe forty yards across and paved with cobblestones. A well rose to the right, and in the center of the courtyard, an old wine tree stretched its branches from a flower bed. I concentrated on the tree. If I looked nervous in any way, it was game over.
Reynald was right about Derog’s business preferences. He liked to buy young. Slavery had been illegal in Kair Toren for over three hundred years. The very first Savaric king had outlawed it, and their entire dynasty rested on that law. Buying and selling slaves fell under Crimes Against the Kingdom, federal treason with an automatic death sentence. Even a noble of a prominent family caught with slaves would be purged. Most of the slaves Derog acquired would be smuggled outside of the country to be sold at foreign markets.
Despite the law, a few Rellasians still risked buying human beings, and they wanted them young, so they would be easier to control. Cute kids and attractive teenagers were in high demand. At twenty-six, I was way out of Derog’s favorite age bracket, which was why I had chosen to pretend to be a vulnerable adult. Explaining that term to Reynald had taken some time.
The guard who let us in was staring daggers at me. I raised my chin a little and looked at the tree. It really was a pretty tree. Stout, with a thick trunk that spiraled up in that corkscrew way particular to wine trees. During the day, it would bloom with pale pink flowers that looked a lot like oversized roses. If you cut it, its sap would run ruby red, like cabernet sauvignon . . . And the door in the far wall opened.
