Page 5 of Bought By the Revenant
I cast another nervous glance toward the market. Thorne has stopped at a fabric merchant’s stall and is showing her something, probably a rough sketch of my face.
“I need to leave town quickly,” I say, holding out my meager pouch. “Please.”
The auctioneer heaves a dramatic sigh but takes my coins. “Name and age?”
“Amity. Twenty-seven.”
“Skills?”
“I’m a midwife. I know herbs, how to patch wounds, make healing teas…”
He writes this information with elaborate pen strokes. “You’ll be last. Stay behind the stage until called. Don’t wander off, or you forfeit your fee.”
Relief washes through me as I hurry behind the now-completed platform. A large canvas tarp hanging from the back creates a makeshift waiting area where the other women sit on rough benches or pace nervously. Through small gaps in the fabric, I can observe the crowd gathering for the auction. The audience contains a mixture of curious humans and various non-human creatures – hulking, gray-skinned trolls, elegant fae with delicate pointed ears, a being that must be a lycan, with his wolf-like features.
The auction begins with formal announcements. One by one, women are called to the stage. Some return quickly, faces flushed with either relief or disappointment. Others don’t return at all, having departed with their new owners. A plump woman in her forties comes back with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“He offered so much,” she whispers to no one in particular. “But those teeth... I couldn’t.”
I look through the tear in the canvas. My hunters haven’t appeared in my limited field of vision yet, but that means little. They could be approaching from any direction.
“Final bride of the day!” the auctioneer calls at last.
My legs feel stiff and uncooperative as I climb the wooden steps to the stage. The afternoon sun hits my face with blinding intensity after the dimness behind the tarp. I blink rapidly, trying to see the faces staring up at me.
“This is Amity, twenty-seven years of age,” the auctioneer announces. “A skilled midwife who knows herbs and how to patch up wounds and make healing teas.”
The crowd stirs with interest at the mention of medical skills. I focus on a point above their heads, afraid to make direct eye contact with anyone, though I keep scanning the edges of my vision for any sign of Thorne and his companions.
“Opening bid?” the auctioneer calls.
A deep voice from the back of the crowd names a sum that causes audible gasps throughout the square. Even the auctioneer’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise.
“We have an extraordinary opening bid,” he says, excitement breaking through his professional demeanor. “Any other bidders?”
An unnatural silence falls over the crowd, and I notice people shifting away from someone – a tall figure wrapped in a hooded cloak who stands in a circle of empty space. Everyone maintains their distance from him, even the other monsters who, by their nature, shouldn’t be afraid of anyone. As I try to make out this mysterious bidder’s features, movement in the crowd draws my attention. My stomach drops. Thorne stands at the fringe of the gathering, his eyes locked directly on mine. His thin lips pull back in a smile of triumph and anticipation as he nudges Elgar and points toward the stage where I stand exposed. Panic rises in my throat. They’ve found me.
“Going once,” the auctioneer continues. “Going twice...”
Thorne and the others begin pushing through the crowd toward the stage, shoving people aside. They’ll reach me before I can flee the platform.
“The bid goes to the gentleman in the back,” the auctioneer declares. “Miss, you may approach your bidder and make your choice.”
The hooded figure steps forward into a shaft of bright sunlight. The crowd draws back even further, and several people gasp aloud. The hood falls away from his face, revealing features that belong in a nightmare. White hair frames a face that has been stitched together from different pieces of skin, some sections paler than others, all connected by thick black threads that crisscross his flesh in irregular patterns. His eyes emit an eerie white glow, completely lacking pupils or irises. The stitching continues down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of what I now see is an extremely expensive coat. Despite his fine clothing, people recoil from him in obvious horror.
In any other circumstances, I would be paralyzed with fear. But as I look from this monstrous figure to Thorne, who has now reached the platform’s edge, I make a desperate calculation. This creature terrifies everyone present, including the other monsters who carefully avoid looking at him. He possesses enough power and wealth to offer a fortune for a bride without hesitation. Most importantly, his appearance is so horrifying that perhaps even Thorne would think twice before confronting him.
“Sold,” I shout, pointing at the stitched monster. “I choose him. Sold!”
The crowd erupts in shocked whispers and exclamations. The auctioneer’s mouth falls open. Several women in the crowd shake their heads at my apparent madness, while others simply stare in disbelief.
Thorne has reached the platform’s edge. His eyes burn with the fever of a man who believes he does holy work. Elgar and Brone flank him, ready to grab me if I try to run.
I meet the glowing white gaze of the monster who has just purchased me. For a moment, our eyes lock across the distance separating us. I expect to see triumph or lustful anticipation in those strange, pupilless orbs. Instead, I glimpse raw surprise mixed with uncertainty and what almost looks like pain.
But there’s no time to analyze any of it. I leap from the stage in a desperate jump that sends my skirts flying, my feet hitting the packed earth hard enough to jar my teeth. Then I run straight toward the stitched creature who is now my only chance of survival, pushing through the crowd that parts before me.
Behind me, I hear Thorne shout my name. I don’t look back. I run toward the monster who bought me, telling myself a life with him must be better than certain death.
