Who was there, above in the crowd of Valorians?
The general himself?
And Arin, stupid Arin, had squandered his chance at revenge. Cheat would never choose him for the sale.
Yet when the auctioneer turned to face the holding pen, his eyes looked straight into Arin’s. Cheat’s fingers twitched twice. The signal.
Arin had been chosen.
“That day,” Arin told Tensen as they sat in the winter light of his father’s study, “was different. Everything was different.”
“Was it? You were ready to do anything for your people then. Aren’t you now?”
“It’s a ball, Tensen.”
“It’s an opportunity. At the very least, we could use it to find out how much the emperor plans to take of the hearthnut harvest.”
The harvest would be soon. Their people needed it badly for food and trade. Arin pressed his fingertips against his brow. A headache was building behind his eyes. “What is there to know? Whatever he will take will be too much.”
For a moment, Tensen said nothing. Then, grimly: “I’ve heard nothing from Thrynne for weeks.”
“Maybe he hasn’t been able to get out of the palace and into the city to reach our contact.”
“Maybe. But we have precious few sources in the imperial palace as it is. This is a dicey time. The empire’s elite are pouring out gold to prepare themselves for the most lavish winter season in Valorian history, what with the engagement. And the colonists who once lived in Herran grow increasingly resentful. They didn’t like returning their stolen homes to us. They’re a minority, and the military is solidly with the emperor, so he can ignore them. But all signs point to the court being a volatile place, and we can never forget that we are at the emperor’s mercy. Who knows what he’ll choose to do next? Or how it will affect us? This”—Tensen nodded at the invitation—“would be a good means to look into Thrynne’s silence. Arin, are you listening? We can’t afford to lose such a well-placed spy.”
Just as Arin had been well-placed. Expertly placed. He hadn’t been sure, that day in the market, how Cheat had known that Arin was the perfect slave to pitch. Cheat had a knack for spotting weakness. An eye for desire. Somehow he had peered into the heart of the bidder and had known how to work her.
Arin hadn’t seen her at first. The sun had blinded him when he stepped into the pit. There was a roar of laughter. He couldn’t see the mass of Valorians above. Yet he heard them. He didn’t mind the prickling shame spidering up his skin. He told himself that he didn’t. He didn’t mind what they said or what he heard.
Then his vision cleared. He blinked the sun away. He saw the girl. She raised one hand to bid.
The sight of her was an assault. He couldn’t quite see her face—he did not want to see her face, not when everything else about her made him want to shut his eyes. She looked very Valorian. Golden tones. Burnished, almost, like a weapon raised into the light. He had trouble believing she was a living thing.
And she was clean. A purity of skin and form. It made him feel filthy. It distracted him for a moment from noticing that the girl was small. Slight.
Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that could have any power over him. Yet she would, if she won the auction.
He wanted her to. The thought swept Arin with a merciless, ugly joy. He’d never seen her before, but he guessed who she was: Lady Kestrel, General Trajan’s daughter.
The crowd heard her bid. And at once it seemed that Arin was worth something after all.
Arin forgot that he was sitting at his father’s desk, two seasons later. He forgot that Tensen was waiting for him to say something. Arin was there again in the pit. He remembered staring up at the girl, feeling a hatred as hard as it was pure.
A diamond.