design, ostensibly covering my breasts, but in reality seeming more like an invitation than a visual barrier.
Turning my back on the guard, to offer him the least amount of a show as possible, I slip out of my torn and dirty garments and dress myself like the other women. Then I turn about, covering my body as best I can with my hands as he snatches up my old clothing and leers.
“Perhaps I will bid on you myself, fair one.”
Perhaps you can choke to death on your own vomit, ugly one.
He leaves us, and I sigh about the indignity of it all.
“Don’t worry, Fiona. Help is on the way.”
I turn around sharply, staring at the woman with her hair flung over her face.
“How do you know my name?”
The shoulders shake as she gives a slight chuckle.
“Would you believe I’m a psychic?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’m not.” She flings back her hair, and I gape at the smiling face of Varia.
How in the hell did she get here?
Chapter Eighteen
Montier
“Remind me again why I agreed to be hornswoggled into this ludicrous caper?”
Solair turns toward Thrase and offers a shrug as our shuttle puts down just outside the bustling marketplace teeming with sapients.
“Because you’re a noble woman who is willing to sacrifice some of her dignity in order to ensure the safe return of her friends?”
“Dignity?” She looks down at herself with chagrin. “What dignity? I have surrendered it all after being dressed in this…I hesitate to even call it a garment.”
Thrase, much like Lamira, the dark-haired woman who sits next to her mate Grantian, has been adorned in the appropriate fashion of women to be put on the market. Per se, her clothing, such as it is, is designed to put the goods on display. A short tunic-type garment covers her torso, belted at the waist to display her figure, barely decent by about an inch. It won’t be decent if she should bend at the waist to any degree. The neckline is plunging, the back nonexistent, and the gimmicked collar and leash padlocked around her fair throat give the illusion of our deceit some legitimacy.
I have to point out, Lamira isn’t complaining, but then again, she’s not Thrase.
“Zander likes it.”
She turns to glare at me sharply. I had intended my utterance to be private, but perhaps my volume was too loud.
“Cretin. Too bad for you Zander is far too mature and intellectual to be taken in by a mere display of naked flesh.”
Zander carefully turns his gaze out the window, pretending he isn’t blushing. Rumors have it that Zander has a thing for Thrase, and possibly vice versa, but I have no confirmation of that. Rumors swirl on a ship like the Queen on long voyages after all.
“All right, settle down and get into character.” Solair locks out the shuttle commands with a password since this isn’t the most reputable of markets. Hot desert winds whip around us. All around our group, the climate is arid and the terrain is desert-like. It’s hot. And dry.
And dangerous.
Getting into character means for Grantian, Solair, Zander and me to put up the hoods on our billowing, tent-like desert robes. Ostensibly it’s supposed to hide our horns, given that two Kilgari were seen infiltrating the Blue Dawn Facility on this planet.
Grantian’s search for a slave market was a short-lived one, and it turns out we had to go back to Perseus after all. While it saves us a lot of time, and I’m obviously gratified by the short delay, I try not to gloat about it. Too much.
We exit the shuttle and join the milling throng as they meander about the marketplace. While the slave auction is obviously the star of this particular locale—their prison-like building is by far the largest in the bazaar—plenty of other merchandise is on display. Trying to blend in, we don’t make directly for the slave auction, but mill about looking at the various wares.
Despite her protests, Thrase stays in character. She and Lamira meekly follow along behind us on their leashes, looking suitably indignant and dejected. Eventually we work our way up the street where a Kraaj hawker stands on a wooden slab, gesticulating wildly as he stands before a line of chained, completely nude human women. These women aren’t actually for sale—yet—but are being used as living advertisements for what awaits the patrons inside.
“Behold, my fellow sapients, feast your eyes upon the beauty that can only be found in human women. See their supple skin, just waiting for your disciplinary