The crowd quieted. Thirty-five thousand was an astronomical sum. The cyclops lowered his head in quiet defeat and sat down. Alecto folded her wings, giving up. House Keres could have matched that, but the pretense was no longer necessary.
Phix stood on her rostrum, absorbing the spectacle of the city’s desperation. “Thirty-five thousand crystals.” Her voice rang clear through the sudden silence. “Do I hear more?”
The silence stretched, heavy and inevitable. Medea looked up at the gallery. Her gaze finally found the deep shadows where I stood. Even if she couldn't see me, she knew where I was. But it wasn't enough.
The profound, quiet despair in her eyes pierced directly through my chest. A look that twisted the knife of my own inadequacy. She was bracing herself. She knew what came next.
“Fifty thousand.”
The new offer echoed through the agora, far louder than it should have. The crowd turned as one.
Skaros emerged from the shadows of the harvesters’ box. Every muscle in his leonine body was rigid, his scorpion tail glinting with poison at the tip. “I pledge fifty thousand death crystals for the death-touched bride, Medea. And I’ll go higher than that, if I must.”
A murmur of absolute shock rippled through the tiers.
The cyclops leaned over his railing, staring at Skaros. “How does a harvester command a hoard rivaling that of the Moirae?”
Skaros ignored him. He kept his amber eyes fixed entirely on the sphinx. “The crystals are already in the vault, Phix. I can pay.”
The monsters fell silent. Skaros was an elite harvester, a working soldier who dragged raw energy back to the city. He didn’t havethat kind of wealth. But no one would lie to Phix. No one would ever dare.
I myself had no idea why Skaros had agreed to do this. I hadn’t spoken to him. Phix had been the one to come up with the whole arrangement.
It was just as well. Even knowing that he was helping us, I could barely make myself look at my friend.
The other bidders backed away from the railings. To challenge fifty thousand crystals was to invite total financial ruin.
Phix moved with the decisive grace of a predator closing a trap.
“The bid stands at fifty thousand.” Phix swept her gaze over the defeated crowd. “A claim of such magnitude cannot be challenged. However, as is the absolute law of the agora, the final choice remains with the bride.”
She turned her dark gaze to Medea.
“Medea.” Phix’s voice dropped, carrying directly to the center of the stage. “The harvester Skaros has offered an unprecedented fortune for your hand. Do you accept his claim?”
Medea stood perfectly still on the obsidian floor. She looked at Skaros, our choice, our way forward. Then her gaze drifted back up to the gallery, locking onto the darkness where I stood.
A heavy, agonizing ache settled into my core. This was the only legal shield against Jason. If she chose Skaros, she would become a citizen of Asphodelia. She would be safe.
But she would be legally bound to him. Not to me.
“Show her,” Theron murmured. “Step into the edge of the light, Aion. Let her see you.”
I forced myself to move. I stepped just to the edge of the shadows, letting the ambient light of the braziers catch the broad curve of my shoulders. It was the only quiet strength, the only love, I could offer her across the dark distance. I would bear the humiliation of this moment if it meant she survived.
Medea saw me. Her shoulders slumped, the panic fading into sheer determination. She straightened her back, accepting the weight of her new chains. “I accept.”
The curved basalt walls of the amphitheater carried the simple words to every tier. The reaction from the crowd was immediate—a collective, hollow groan of profound disappointment. The nekroi sank to his knees, his hands covering his face in grief over his denied salvation. The energy in the amphitheater deflated, the religious fervor turning into bitter, heavy resentment.
Phix ignored their despair. She unfurled her wings and lifted her paws in satisfaction. “The claim is recognized!” she declared, her voice ringing out to seal the transaction. “Medea is bound to Skaros.”
Phix’s decree carried a magical weight that severed the final hopes of the watching monsters. It was done. The most valuable bride who had ever set foot in Asphodelia had now found a groom.
The crowd began to disperse, a low, defeated rumble of conversation filling the air as the monsters retreated to their dens.
Skaros pushed himself up from his seat and descended the stairs with a slow, heavy gait. His massive form cast a long shadow over the stage. He didn’t approach Medea. Perhaps he knew that his own ability to play along with this farce had its limits.
As for Medea… She took one last look at Phix and Skaros, then fled the stage. I stayed frozen. I’d never felt more of a failure than I did today.
