Felicia nodded. “Like I said, my father is a genius.”
“Yes, I find your wine worthy of purchase,” Aron slurred. He’d been drinking steadily during the trip here from the engraved golden flask he always kept with him. At this point, it was a surprise that he continued to stand upright without assistance. “I want four cases today and another dozen shipped to my villa.”
Silas’s eyes lit up. “That can certainly be arranged.”
“I’ll give you fifteen Auranian centimos per case.”
The tanned skin of the wine seller paled. “But it’s worth at least forty per case. I’ve received as much as fifty before.”
Aron’s lips thinned. “When? Five years ago? There are not enough buyers these days for you to make a living. Limeros hasn’t been such a good customer over the past few years, have they? Importing expensive wine is at the bottom of their priority list given their current economic straits. That leaves Auranos, because everyone knows your goddess-forsaken countrymen don’t have two coins to scrape together. Fifteen per case is my final offer. Considering I want sixteen cases—and perhaps more in the near future—I’d say that’s a good day’s work. Wouldn’t that be a nice gift of money to give your daughter on her wedding day? Felicia? Wouldn’t that be better than closing up shop early and getting nothing?”
Felicia bit her bottom lip, her brows drawing together. “It is better than nothing. I know the wedding is costing too much as it is. But...I don’t know. Father?”
Silas was about to say something but faltered. Cleo was only half-watching, concentrating more on trying to resist the urge to sip from the glass that Silas had already refilled for her. Aron loved to barter. It was a hobby of his to get the best price possible, no matter what he was after.
“I mean no disrespect, of course,” Silas said, wringing his hands. “Would you be willing to come up to twenty-five centimos per case?”
“No, I would not.” Aron inspected his fingernails. “As good as your wine is, I know there are many other wine sellers at this busy market, as well as on our way back to the ship, who’d be more than happy to accept my offer. I can move my business to them if you’d prefer to lose this sale. Is that what you want?”
“No, I...” Silas swallowed, his forehead a furrow of wrinkles. “I do want to sell my wine. It’s the reason I’m here. But for fifteen centimos...”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we make it fourteen centimos per case?” A glint of wickedness appeared in Aron’s green eyes. “And you have to the count of ten to accept or my offer decreases by another centimo.”
Mira looked away from the debate, embarrassed. Cleo opened her mouth—then, remembering what Aron could do with her secret if she chose, closed it. He was determined to get this wine for the lowest price he could. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to pay any more, since Cleo knew he had more than enough money on him to buy many cases even at the top price.
“Fine,” Silas finally said through clenched teeth, although it seemed as if it deeply pained him. He flicked a glance at Felicia before returning his attention to Aron. “Fourteen per case for sixteen cases. I’ll give my daughter the wedding she deserves.”
“Excellent. As we Auranians have always assured you…” With a small smile of victory, Aron dug into his pocket to pull out a roll of notes, counting them off into the man’s outstretched palm. It was now more than obvious that the total sum was only a small percentage of what Aron had with him. By the look of outrage in Silas’s eyes, the insult wasn’t missed. “…Grapes,” Aron continued, “will never fail to feed your nation.”
Two figures approached the stall from Cleo’s left.
“Felicia,” a deep voice asked. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your friends, getting all dressed up?”
“Soon, Tomas,” she whispered. “We’re about to finish up here.”
Cleo glanced to her left. Both boys who’d approached the stall had dark hair, nearly black. Dark brows slashed over copper-brown eyes. They were tall and broad-shouldered and deeply tanned. Tomas, the older of the two in his early twenties, studied his father and sister. “Is there something wrong?”
“Wrong?” Silas said through gritted teeth. “Of course not. I’m dealing with a transaction, that’s all.”
“You’re lying. You’re upset right now. I can tell.”
“I’m not.”
The other boy cast a dark glare at Aron and then at Cleo and Mira. “Are these people trying to cheat you, Father?”
“Jonas,” Silas said tiredly, “this isn’t your business.”
“This is my business, Father. How much did this man”—Jonas’s gaze swept the length of Aron with undisguised distaste—“agree to pay you?”
“Fourteen a case,” Aron offered casually. “A fair price that your father was more than happy to accept.”