Page 4 of Bought By the Revenant
“Excuse me,” I approach an apothecary’s stall where bundles of dried herbs hang from wooden poles, filling the air with familiar scents. “I’m new to town and looking for work. I’m knowledgeable about medicinal herbs and…”
“Don’t need help,” the older woman interrupts without lifting her gaze from the roots she’s grinding with a stone pestle. “Town’s full of healers already.”
I thank her anyway and move to the next stall, pushing down the sour taste of disappointment. Three other merchants give me the same cold response when I inquire about employment. No one needs extra hands, especially not from a stranger who’s just arrived in their town and has no one to vouch for her character or skills. I should have expected this, but hope is a persistent weed.
The market square fills with more people as the morning progresses, and the noise of haggling voices and clattering goods grows louder around me. I find a quiet corner near a cooper’s shop to eat my meager breakfast, positioning myself with myback against the rough wooden wall so no one can approach without my knowledge. As I chew the dry bread and hard cheese, I calculate how long my remaining coins will last. Two more nights at the inn if I’m careful, perhaps three if I skip meals. After that, I’ll have nothing left.
A flash of movement at the market’s entrance freezes the bread halfway to my mouth. My blood turns cold and my stomach clenches, the food I’ve just eaten making me sick.
Thorne.
His gaunt face appears among the shoppers, his eyes scanning the crowd. Behind him towers Elgar, his exceptional height making him visible above everyone else. Brone follows them, his muscular frame unmistakable despite the limp and the white bandage wrapped around his thigh.
I shrink back, pressing myself flat against the wall. They shouldn’t be here in Crosshold. It’s impossible. I took a train to a random destination and left no trail for them to follow. How could they have tracked me to this particular town among dozens of other possibilities? But the question of how they found me doesn’t matter now. They’re here, in the same market square, searching for me with the patient determination of hunters who believe their god demands my blood. I watch as Thorne stops at a vegetable seller’s stall and speaks to the merchant, who listens and then points vaguely toward the eastern section of the market, far too close to where I’m currently hiding.
I need to move.
Slipping my remaining food into my cloth bag, I begin edging along the wall, keeping my face angled away from their line of sight. A narrow alley runs behind the butcher’s stall twenty yards away. If I can reach it without being spotted, I might escape into the maze of back streets that web through Crosshold.
“Make way for the bride market setup!” a loud voice bellows across the square, and several burly men push through the crowd carrying long wooden planks and support poles.
The disruption they create provides perfect cover. I duck low behind a large cart loaded with cabbage and follow in the wake of the construction crew as they haul their supplies to an open area at the edge of the market square. They begin assembling what appears to be a raised platform, while a man in a gaudy purple vest decorated with rows of brass buttons waves his arms and shouts directions.
“Higher on that side! We need the ladies visible to all bidders!”
Bidders? I watch as several women of various ages gather near the half-constructed stage. They range from girls who look barely past their youth, to women well into their middle years, all dressed in their finest clothes, though I can tell from the worn fabrics and careful repairs that none possess real wealth. Their faces show a mixture of nervousness and grim determination.
“First time at a bride market?” A woman approximately my age sidles up beside me, her brown hair twisted into a neat braid.
“I… yes,” I stammer, still keeping watch for my hunters through the crowd.
“It’s not so bad,” she says, smoothing down her patched skirt. “Better than starving. My family’s farm failed last season. The fee to enter is steep, but if you’re chosen, your buyer pays you a sum. Most monsters aren’t cruel, just lonely.”
“Monsters?” I repeat the word carefully.
She gives me a peculiar look. “That’s what the bride market is for. Humans don’t need to pay for brides. It’s for creatures, aliens, non-humans. You know, monsters.” She gestures vaguely. “They come from their territories to find companionship. Or whatever else they want.”
A desperate plan begins to form in my mind as I listen to her explanation. If I were purchased by one of these creatures – claimed as legal property according to market law – would that protect me from Witherglen’s hunters? Would Thorne and his companions dare to challenge a monster’s rightful ownership?
The man in the purple vest – clearly the auctioneer – now moves among the waiting women with a wooden clipboard, taking down their information. He records names, ages, and useful skills in a bored voice that suggests this is routine business for him.
“Stand straight, smile, highlight your skills. Remember, you have final say on who purchases you but be realistic. The prettier and younger you are, the more choices you’ll have. The rest of you...” He shrugs meaningfully.
I glance back toward the main market. Thorne and the others continue their search through the stalls, moving steadily in this direction. They’ll reach the bride market area soon.
My throat tight with fear, I approach the auctioneer.
“Sir? I’d like to join the auction.”
He looks me up and down, assessing my potential value. “Entry fee is ten silver coins. Payable now.”
My heart plummets. “I have three silver and seven copper.”
“Not enough.” He starts to turn away.
“Please,” I catch his sleeve. “I’ll pay the rest from whatever I get when I’m purchased. I promise.”
He frowns and examines me more carefully. “Why the rush? Most women think about this for weeks before deciding.”
