The hammer smacks.
“Sold.” The auctioneer turns to me. “Lot accepts?”
I look at the Naga.
“Lot accepts.”
The auctioneer writes the number in the ledger. Somewhere behind me, the demure girl makes a small sound. She has watched a creature pay a fortune for a woman with no trade and no visible reason to be worth that number.
I walk off the block.
Toward him, because that is what comes next. The crowd parts. The wolf lord does not look up. The stone troll inclines hishead a quarter of an inch, which is the most generous farewell I’ve had in months.
When I reach him, I stop about three feet out. Closer would be intrusive. Farther would be a flinch.
His eyes go over my face. Up close, their yellow-green is brighter than I expected. His pupils are vertical. His lashes are long in a way that should not work on a face that angular, but does.
A house agent appears beside us, a small round man with a leather folio. He does not look at the Naga directly.
“If you’ll follow me, there’s a settlement room.”
The room is small. Stone walls, a table, two chairs on one side. Neither chair is sized for a Naga. The house agent takes the seat behind the table and opens his folio. The Naga arranges his coils along the wall. The tip of his tail ends up near the door.
I take the remaining chair.
The house agent runs through the terms. Self-entered lot, standard house commission. He names the number. He slides a smaller sum across the table to me in a leather pouch. My lot share.
I take the pouch without counting it and put it in my pack. The money isn’t why I’m here.
The Naga watches this. His head tilts a fraction.
The house agent sets a second document on the table. Transfer of custody.
“This one needs both signatures before I file it,” he says. “Take your time.” He stands, takes his folio, and leaves.
The door closes.
We are alone.
He is very large in a small room. The coils take up most of the floor between us. The gold armor catches the light from the single high window.
“Before you sign that,” he says, “I should tell you what you would be agreeing to.”
I set the pen down and wait.
“I have a temple. Remote. Deep jungle. Hidden. The maintenance it requires is not something I can perform alone.”
He pauses. What comes next costs him something. The muscles along his jaw work before he speaks.
“It requires a second body.” He studies me, searching for any reaction. “There is a risk.”
I don’t react.
“My scales produce a compound. In most humans, prolonged contact causes harm. I have tried this arrangement twice before. Both times, the women were damaged. I sent them home. They recovered. But the harm was real, and I will not tell you otherwise.”
The auction noise is a low hum through the wall. Someone out there is bidding on the demure girl. Her price will be reasonable. Her buyer will get what he expects.
“If your body rejects the contact, I will pay your passage to wherever you want to go. You keep what the auction house gave you regardless.”
