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A sudden racket bursts from one of the cells, metal clanging, a woman crying out, and an old warden with a cane snaps the wood against the bars so sharply that the woman inside flinches away from him.

“Shut up,” he barks, raising the cane again. “You signed up for this place when you let your debt go unpaid, so no crying now because the Crown came to collect.”

The woman inside clutches the bars, her face wet, her voice shaking. “My husband died. I couldn’t pay. I told them I can work if they keep me on the island, I have children.”

The cane cracks against the bars again.

“Then your children should learn from your mistakes.”

The warden turns away from the crying woman and begins limping toward the registration desk, muttering under his breath about weak debtors, wasted cells, and the cost of feeding people who should be grateful anyone bothered to keep records of them at all.

My gaze travels to the old man on the crate.

Moves to the woman with the child.

Lastly I look at the boys in the corner, at the injured man, at the little girl who has not lifted her head once.

Then I look at Eagan.

His lips quirk in that small way it does when he has decided not to get in my way encouraging me to as I feel fit. I step through the iron gates.

The warden notices me halfway across the yard, his eyes moving over my cloak, my clean boots, the mark at my throat, then to Eagan walking behind me, and whatever insult he had ready dies in his throat.

“My lady,” he says, straightening as much as his back allows. “Markets are closed for public viewing unless you have business with the registry.”

“I do,” I say.

His gaze flickers to Eagan again. “If you are looking to purchase contracts, the next assessment begins at first bell tomorrow, and these lots have not all been priced yet.”

“No one is being priced.”

The warden blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

I turn slowly, letting my gaze move over the cells, over the faces watching now, over the people who are too afraid to hope and too tired not to.

“Open the cells.”

The warden stares at me for a heartbeat then lets out a thin, nervous laugh. “That is not how this works.”

“That is how this will work from now on.”

“My lady, these are registered debt contracts, and even with the new king’s rule, transfers have to be processed properly through the market ledgers.”

Eagan steps closer.

The warden stops talking.

I keep my voice calm because if I let it rise, the magic under my skin will rise with it, and I don’t know whether this market would survive that.

“King Zander’s rule is over,” I say. “King Kylian holds Purgatory now, and under Sangremere rule every contract in this yard is suspended until reviewed by the Crown.”

The warden’s mouth opens, and I take another step toward him.

“And because I am the king’s bonded and his queen, I am reviewing them now.”

The warden’s grip tightens on his cane.

“My lady, I cannot just release an entire holding yard because you dislike the look of it.” The warden swallows. “Some of them have nowhere to go.”