The cloth hit the stage floor.
Gasps rippled through the chamber like thrown stones across water.
Inside the iron cage crouched a girl perhaps sixteen or seventeen, wrapped in torn gray cloth and chains etched with suppressing runes. Her hair fell wild around a narrow face. Silver eyes gleamed beneath it—bright, feral, furious.
When she bared her teeth, small fangs caught the crystal light.
Half the crowd leaned forward in fascination.
The other half leaned forward in pricing.
Sun's jaw tightened.
"What is she?"
The host smiled the way only professionals and snakes could.
"A rare Moonfang Bloodline variant. Exceptional senses, accelerated healing, trace beast transformation potential, difficult temperament already discounted in the reserve price."
Brin swore softly.
"They're selling a person with prettier wording."
Samira's expression cooled by several degrees.
"Blackstone often does."
The girl rattled her chains and lunged at the bars.
Three handlers jumped backward.
The audience laughed.
Sun did not.
Lucan Teryn's voice floated from the next gallery.
"I bid twenty silver for the little animal."
Sun leaned over the divider.
"You couldn't manage a goat."
Lucan sputtered. Someone in his box told him to sit down.
Below, bids began climbing.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
Forty.
Collectors, nobles, a sect elder with dead eyes.
The girl's gaze kept scanning the chamber.
Then returning to Sun.
He disliked that his conscience had found eye contact.
Varen watched him.
"Do not confuse pity with strategy."
"She's chained."
"Yes."
"She's being sold."
"Yes."
"She keeps looking at me."
"That part concerns me more."
Samira sipped tea.
"If you buy every injustice in Blackstone, you'll need larger pockets."
Sun looked at the coin pouch she'd loaned him.
Then at the black plate he'd already bought.
Then at the cage.
Then back at Samira.
"How expensive is heroism?"
"Usually ruinous."
The bid reached sixty.
Sun stood.
"Seventy."
The room turned.
Whispers spread instantly.
"Gallery Nine."
"The mountain boy from the gate."
"The fountain incident one."
Lucan nearly choked next door.
"You idiot! She'll bite your face!"
Sun called back, "Then I'll finally match your personality."
Laughter rose from nearby boxes.
The host beamed. Drama was profitable.
"Seventy silver from Gallery Nine. Do I hear seventy-five?"
"I hear foolishness," muttered Brin.
A heavy voice from the lower noble tier boomed:
"Eighty."
The bidder stood so all could see him.
Huge man. Thick beard braided with gold rings. Fur-lined coat despite the season. Axe across his back because subtlety had abandoned him at birth.
Someone whispered, "Garron Bale."
Another whispered, "Pit owner."
Sun grimaced.
"What's a pit owner?"
Brin answered flatly.
"The kind of man who feeds chained things to other chained things."
The girl in the cage had gone very still.
Sun hated stillness in the trapped.
He raised a hand.
"Ninety."
Samira closed her eyes briefly.
"I lend money once."
Garron Bale glared upward.
"One hundred."
The crowd oohed.
Lucan laughed delightedly.
"Yes! Bankrupt the peasant!"
Sun checked the pouch again as if numbers might improve under pressure.
They did not.
He looked at Samira.
She looked back.
"No."
He looked at Varen.
Varen folded his hands.
"Pain teaches."
"You two are terrible."
The girl in the cage met his eyes one last time.
Then slowly lowered her head.
Something old and ugly in Sun rose.
Not bloodline.
Memory.
Powerlessness.
Watching lies kill his parents.
Watching systems price human lives.
Watching himself do nothing.
He placed the black plate on the table.
"Can this be collateral?"
Samira blinked.
"For an unknown rock?"
"An important unknown rock."
Varen's silver eyes narrowed.
"Very."
Samira studied both men.
Then smiled slowly.
"I adore bad decisions."
She raised her bidding paddle.
"One hundred twenty."
The chamber erupted.
Garron Bale roared to his feet.
"Who dares—"
The host practically glowed.
"One hundred twenty from Gallery Nine!"
Lucan screamed something muffled by richer relatives.
Garron pointed upward.
"I'll skin whoever's in that box!"
Brin leaned over the rail.
"Get taller first!"
More laughter.
Garron's face purpled.
"One hundred thirty!"
Samira didn't even look at him.
"One hundred fifty."
Silence crashed down.
Even greed needed a breath.
Garron opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened again.
Then spat on the floor and sat.
"Keep the cursed mutt."
The gavel slammed.
"Sold! One hundred fifty silver to Gallery Nine!"
The crowd exploded into chatter.
Sun sat down hard.
"I may be ill."
"You're in debt," said Samira.
"Same symptoms."
The handlers brought the cage to their gallery entrance.
Up close, the girl smelled of metal, rain, and old fear.
She crouched low, silver eyes darting between them all.
Brin unlocked the outer wheel.
"Careful."
Sun approached slowly.
"We're not hurting you."
The girl lunged through the bars fast enough to slice his cheek with a clawed hand.
He jumped back.
"She disagrees," said Brin.
Blood trickled warm down his face.
Sun touched it, then laughed once.
"Good spirit."
The girl froze.
No one had hit her.
That confused her more than kindness would have.
Varen stepped closer and studied the suppressing chains.
"These are not standard auction restraints."
Samira's tone sharpened.
"What are they?"
"Old sect make. Hunter-grade."
Sun looked at the girl again.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning someone wanted her contained long before today."
The girl suddenly spoke.
Her voice was rough from disuse.
"Run."
Everyone turned.
She stared not at them—
but behind them.
The wall of their private gallery bulged inward.
Marble cracked.
A second impact shattered it entirely.
Dust blasted across the room.
Through the broken wall stepped three masked figures in dark leather carrying hooked chain weapons.
The nearest one pointed directly at the cage.
"Retrieve the Moonfang."
The second pointed at Sun.
"Kill the bidder."
The third looked at the black plate on the table.
Then laughed.
"Oh… and take that too."
Brin drew steel instantly.
Samira rose with terrifying calm.
Varen smiled for the first time all day.
Sun drew the runed blade.
"Well," he said, wiping blood from his cheek, "my name really is spreading."
To be continued...