The air smelled like sweat, spices, and cheap desperation. The slave market of Velbrin was a cacophony of auction chants, whip cracks, and the clink of coin. I made sure my silk wrap-dress caught the breeze just right, showing a tasteful bit of thigh. My parasol was tilted like a noblewoman's sneer, and my platform sandals clicked with every step like I owned the godsdamn place.
I sauntered past cages full of shivering flesh—some plump and pampered, some just bones with tits. Not my problem. Not today. Today I was Lady Fucking Virelene of House Who-Gives-a-Shit, here to "inspect stock" for my nonexistent estate on the coast.
Then I heard it.
A voice, hoarse and frantic.
"Saya?"
I froze. No. No, no, no, no, no.
"Saya! Please—Saya, don't leave me here!"
My parasol drooped.
She was gripping the bars of a narrow iron cage, skin smudged with travel grime, hair once-royal now tangled, mouth trembling.
Loma.
Shit..
"Loma?" I whispered, not even sure why.
She surged forward until her face pressed the bars. "It's me! It's me! The madam... the madam gambled me away..." she whispered.
"I thought you were dead! I thought—" Her voice cracked. "Saya, they said they'd sell me to the bathhouses in Lerida! Please. Don't leave me here. You promised!"
I glanced around. A fat merchant was already eyeing us, narrowing his eyes. Too long near a cage, and the illusion of ownership gets sticky. Paperwork gets involved. Questions get asked.
"Do not say my name again," I hissed, stepping closer. "You want to get both of us chained up, you spoiled teacake?"
She grabbed my hand through the bars.
"Please."
Gods. Her fingers were shaking.
I sighed, loud and dramatic.
Then I turned, gave a noblewoman's derisive sniff, and sashayed down the aisle like I'd just inspected a donkey with mange.
Behind me, I heard her crying my name again.
I didn't look back.
Yet.
It was past midnight when I slipped back into the market. No more barkers shouting about fresh flesh. Just shadows, piss-stained straw, and the stink of sweat clinging to the iron bars.
She was still there.
Loma.
Sitting on the floor of the cage, hugging her knees, bare and smeared with grime like a porcelain doll left in the gutter. Her eyes caught mine before I even spoke. They always did that. Like she'd been waiting. Like she knew.
I crouched beside the bars. "Couldn't buy you."
She didn't flinch. "Why not?"
"They're asking too much." I shrugged. "Apparently you're some sort of 'high-value noble product.'"
She gave a tired smile. "I am a princess."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't let them hear you say that. They'll throw in a tax."
She tilted her head. "What about the dragon?"
"Stingy old bastard keeps his hoard to himself. Says it's for his 'golden years.' Like he's got a pension plan or something."
"And your share?"
"Gone," I said. "Bracelets. Bangles. Spiced dates. One really good hat. Don't ask."
She just sighed.
I pulled a hairpin from my braid. "Shut up now. I'm picking the lock."
Her voice was quiet. "You can do that?"
"These are nothing." I slipped the pin in. "I learned on temple chastity belts and whorehouse footlockers. I was thirteen. Got locked in a pantry once for mouthing off. Picked the door open with a fishbone. Stole a pie on my way out."
Click.
One hinge. Then another.
I swung the cage door open like I was inviting her to a ball.
She just stared. "Why are you doing this?"
I leaned in, smirked. "Because you'd absolutely die without me. Now move before I change my mind."
She stumbled out, and I threw my wrap around her shoulders. Cold skin. Bruised pride. Same old Loma.
We didn't hold hands. We didn't speak.
We just ran.
Through alleyways, over crates, past a sleeping guard and a snoring pig.
Out into the night.
Two barefoot girls in stolen air, with nothing but lies and lockpicks between them and the world.
We moved through the city like smoke—quiet, clinging to corners, ducking lantern light. Eventually, I found what I needed. A laundry line, sagging under the weight of cheap tunics. I grabbed the simplest one: coarse flax, still damp, probably belonged to some dockhand who wouldn't miss it until morning.
"Here," I said, handing it over.
Loma took it with shaking hands, still wrapped in my silk. She changed behind a stack of barrels. When she stepped out, she looked smaller. Barefoot. Dirty. Slave collar still tight around her neck. The tunic hung just past her thighs.
"You look like a kicked dog."
She gave me a look. I ignored it.
"Sit," I told her. "Let's get that thing off."
She sat on a crate. I crouched behind her, pin already in hand.
"Don't squirm."
"I'm not—"
"Don't."
This wasn't a cage latch. This was a real collar. Merchant-issue, travel-safe, with a twist-latch that bit skin if you pulled wrong. Took finesse.
"I learned this one from a girl named Flame," I muttered. "She picked her own collar off with a fish bone and then lit the brothel on fire. Inspiration, really."
Loma snorted, but kept still.
Click.
The collar came loose and fell with a soft clank onto the cobblestones.
I stood. Reached into my sash. Pulled out a small pouch and handed it over.
She blinked at it. "What's this?"
"Coins. Not much, but enough. Buy you a spot on a merchant ship. Below deck, under the crates. They won't ask questions if you keep your mouth shut and don't smell too rich."
She opened the pouch slowly, thumb brushing the coins like she didn't trust they were real.
"Hide your brand mark," I added. "If anyone sees it, you'll end up in another cage."
She looked up at me. "Where should I go?"
"If I were you? Head upstream. Toward the Baronies. No one pays attention to names there, and they love stories. Say you're a runaway bride. Say you're a lost noble. Hell, say you're a princess. Someone might actually believe you."
She gave a sad little smile. "I am a princess."
"Then sell it better this time."
I stepped back. "Anyway. Good luck."
She didn't say thank you.
And I didn't wait for it.
I was already walking.
I turned. Took three steps. One—stone underfoot still warm from the day. Two—the smell of piss and roasted chestnuts. Three—the weight of her eyes on my back.
Godsdammit.
I spun around, marched back, grabbed her face with both hands, and kissed her.
Quick. Firm. No tongue. No promises.
Just lips against lips. Just enough to say what I wouldn't.
Then I pulled back.
"Don't die," I muttered.
And I vanished into the night before she could say a word.