Allegiance Sworn (27 page)

“A generous opening offer!”

Another bid, this time from farther left of the first patron. More came as the auctioneer singled out each human with a prod of his staff, then proceeded to outline their attributes. Within minutes the number of stones sitting in bowls had multiplied. The higher the price, the more excited and vocal the crowd became.

“First call, good
Na’Reish
! As it stands the lot belongs to
Na
Eayl. . . .”

Imhara fingered the pouch at her belt, feeling its weight, and wished she possessed ten times as much so she could buy every lot on offer and avert the fate she knew awaited those on the block and chained to the posts behind. Watching so many lives bartered for a handful of precious stones, seeing their frightened expressions, made her heart ache.

Looking away from the dais, she scanned the crowd. As the first auction of the Gathering and one of the more reputable, it had attracted quite an audience. The majority of the stands reserved for Clan
Na’s
and their blood-kin were full.

Urkan Yur occupied the Gannec platform, surrounded by a smattering of Gannec
Na’Reishi
females. Those closest to him weren’t paying any attention to the auction. Instead they fawned and leaned toward him, trying to engage him in conversation. Imhara shook her head. What they saw in the conniving side-winder was beyond her.

They weren’t the only females in attendance. The brightly colored dresses of others stood out in the crowd. The more stylish, the higher ranked the female.

The gossamer fabric draped on the overhead frame provided relief from the midday sun, as did the gentle breeze, but not enough, if the flushed faces of the
Na’Reishi
females were any indication.

Shifting on the padded bench, Imhara plucked at the ties on the neckline of her shirt, glad she’d chosen to wear her customary breeches and shirt. Her choice might have earned Sere Jirri’s silent disapproval, but she’d rather endure that than the discomforting layers of material and rising temperature of the arena.

Rassan and a half dozen of her
Na’Hord
as well as several Jirri warriors—their escort this morning—stood at the foot of their platform. Her Second nodded, one dark eyebrow lifting as she caught his gaze. She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated movement, conveying her opinion to his unspoken question of how her meeting was going. His lips twitched upward.

“Second and last call!” The auctioneer’s call drew her attention back to the dais. Lifting up the staff, he brought the end of it down hard, closing the bidding. “Bought and sold to
Na
Eayl of the Vos Clan!”

The five humans were herded off the block, the handlers exchanging them for another lot. All children, and none over the age of ten. They huddled together in the center of the stage, wide-eyed, shying away from the approaching, seven-foot auctioneer.

“Now for a real treat. A mixed dozen. Young enough to train without too much trouble!”

He grasped the smallest child by the back of her tunic and lifted her high in the air. The girl kicked and squirmed. Her efforts to free herself drew a smattering of laughter. Her chin trembled but she held on to her tears, a brave front given her circumstances.

“Perhaps you’re looking for that special Gathering feast gift. All are sweet enough to satisfy the most discerning palate!” The burly auctioneer placed the child back on her feet, and she ducked behind an older boy. They looked similar enough to be siblings. “Opening bids?”

They came quickly. Imhara’s gaze narrowed, recognizing two of the opening bidders. Both well-known traders who preferred purchasing children to train as blood-slaves as they proved more cost and time efficient than purchasing who knows how much
haze
to sedate an older slave. An added expense most traders tried to avoid, given the price of the drug.

“A drink,
Na
Kaal?” A tap against her leg accompanied Arek’s soft inquiry. Head bowed, he held up a cup.

Imhara realized then just where her hand rested and took a slow, deep breath. Loosening each finger, she moved her hand away from her dagger and took the cup Arek offered.

A timely interruption.

“Water.” At least her voice remained steadier than her temper.

From where he knelt at her feet, Arek shifted to grasp one of the stoppered jugs beneath the small table between her and her host, then poured water into her cup. He placed a second one within reach of the Commander.

The model slave. Circumspect and attentive, particularly given he’d noticed her slip in character.
Light
, she was getting tired of hiding behind a personality and a lie, and this time around, enduring seemed a lot harder.

Imhara drained the cup, almost tempted to ask for something stronger as a refill, but then set it aside. A quick feel through the gems in her pouch, she extracted the largest stone she could find and held it up high, making sure it caught light and auctioneer’s eye.

“Ahh, someone with a keen eye for quality.” The auctioneer pointed his staff in her direction. His smile revealed both rows of pointed teeth. “
Na
Kaal holds the highest bid.”

Heads turned her way, and she made sure everyone saw the gem before she placed it in the dish in front of her. The exorbitant bid might seem like overkill, but she’d had enough.

Of the auction and of Sere Jirri.

Damn Savyr’s instructions to get to know her potential mates.

“You could have taken the bid with a gem half that size,
Na
Kaal,” her host murmured, tone disapproving. “Why so determined to purchase this lot?”

She slanted him a sideways look. “How often does a slave-raider bother to bring such young humans back across the border? A rare occurrence, given they’re high maintenance and a nuisance to transport.” The barest of smiles curved her lips. “They’d certainly make a unique betrothal gift to my future mate.”

The lie slipped easily from her tongue. Immediate interest sparkled in his gaze.

“First call!” came the cry. Imhara rose from her seat, satisfied when no one bid against her. “Second and last? Sold!”

She gestured Arek to leave the platform. Below, Rassan murmured to their
Na’Hord
, and she knew they’d be ready to accompany her once she descended. She signaled Barrca to make arrangements for delivery of the children to their campsite. The
Na’Chi
nodded, collected the gem from the dish, and threaded his way through the crowd to the registrar. He’d also see the children safely to the campsite.

“Where are you going,
Na
Kaal?” Sere Jirri’s imperious question grated. As much as she didn’t want to, she paused at the stairway to the stand. “Surely you can’t be leaving so soon?”

“This meeting is over.” Projecting a bored expression, she faced the older warrior. “My
Na’Hord
have training to attend in preparation for the Games, and I have other business needing my attention. Thank you for your hospitality, Commander.”

Confirming the presence of the amassing
Na’Hord
on the western side of the fortress was more important than wasting time with a pompous warrior old enough to be her father. Clasping the hand Rassan held out to her, she took the half-dozen steps to the ground.

“
Na
Kaal, this is a betrothal meeting!” Jirri’s voice rose a notch, loud enough to draw the attention of those in the nearest stands and the back of the crowd. “Your behavior is most inappropriate.”

Muffled chuckles narrowed Imhara’s gaze. Her mood soured further. The next stand over,
Na
Tanea watched their interaction with keen interest. He’d long opposed her holding a position of leadership.

Did the second son of the Jirri Clan think by scolding her like an errant child he could embarrass her into sitting down again? Even if she were willing to ignore his rudeness, backing down equaled submission. Something
Na
Kaal would never do.

“How much longer would you suggest we continue this farce, then?” A calm response accompanied by a pointed look. “We’ve met and I’ve seen and heard enough to know our mating would end in disaster.”

The warrior glared. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need to do that.” She met his furious gaze. “I find your self-absorbed arrogance unacceptable. I like a good conversation and would have been quite happy to engage you in any topic you spoke about today, but you’ve shown no interest in acknowledging my opinion on anything.”

“Your opinion?” His surprise said a lot about his attitude toward the females in his family and didn’t bode well for any potential mate. The warrior’s gaze flickered to Rassan. “Matters of war and military campaigns are best discussed by those with knowledge and experience.”

She’d spent the last five years butting heads with stubborn
Na’Reishi
males who assumed her Second actually made all the important decisions while she remained a figurehead, one with the undeniable bloodline.

“That’s an unfortunate error in judgment.” Imhara pinned her host with a stare. “I hope this isn’t how you’d treat
Na
Tanea if he were your guest instead of me. Would you allow another to ignore your rank, Arras?”

The thin-faced warrior straightened in his seat, his amused smile freezing as she included him in their conversation. Imhara held back a satisfied grin as she watched him weigh the implications of his answer from the corner of her eye. He wasn’t laughing now.

The way his mouth pursed betrayed his displeasure with having to answer. “Of course not.”

“So, as a
Na
I’d be within my rights to issue a challenge for the insult?” she inquired, voice flat and hard.

All talk in both stands ceased. Jirri’s gaze widened while Tanea’s narrowed. Imhara waited, letting the interested spectators and their expectations pressure the Clan leader into answering.

He shifted in his seat. “You’d be within your rights,
Na
Kaal.”

Forcing his support would likely give him another reason to hate her, but Imhara didn’t care. Not when his answer was the one she wanted.

She cocked her head to one side. “Perhaps you might be interested in what I have to say now, Commander Jirri?”

Her unspoken threat hung in the air between them. Listen to her or risk a challenge.

Which would he choose, given she had the option of facing him in combat or appointing another, and that someone would likely be Rassan?

Humiliation or death?

Personally, either outcome suited her mood.

Jirri looked to Tanea. Expecting help or advice? But the other male could do nothing, not without contradicting himself in front of two stands full of witnesses. Maintaining his reputation worked in her favor.

“Commander Jirri?”

The older warrior’s gaze snapped back to her, his nostrils flaring. Very slowly he dropped his head in a nod.

Submission.

He’d listen.

“If you’re looking for a trophy mate who’ll sit quietly by your side while you scold and browbeat her when she does something you don’t like, I’m not it. I speak my mind, quite often.” She gave a half shrug. “You’re just not suitable mate material in my ledger, and if my honesty insults you, then just add that to the list of reasons why our mating wouldn’t work.”

Her comment drew some snickering, quickly muffled but audible all the same. This time it wasn’t aimed at her. Jirri’s mottled skin flushed a deep red. He rose from his seat, one large hand fisting.

Rassan shifted beside her to take up a defensive stance. She laid a hand on his arm.

“Commander Jirri, I’m clearly not the
Na’Reishi
female you were expecting as a mate. Perhaps you’d best withdraw your petition. I am who I am and any mate of mine must accept that.”

“Accept you as you are?” The warrior issued a sound of disgust. “No male of worth would put up with your attitude. A lesson you’d learn swiftly with the help of a strong arm and a good thick belt.”

Imhara didn’t bother wasting breath replying. She jerked her dagger from its sheath and sent it flying.

A dull
thunk
accompanied Sere Jirri’s yelp as he leapt up from his seat. He glanced down at the blade buried in the wooden panel between his legs, just beneath the seat cushion he’d vacated.

A move no
Na’Reishi
could or would protest despite any dislike of her or her behavior. Her rank demanded respect, regardless of her gender, and Jirri had stepped over that line.

“Is that your temper speaking, second son?” She waited a heartbeat for the deliberate reminder of who outranked whom and the consequences of his actions to sink in. A sudden indrawn breath betrayed him. She tsked him. “I didn’t think you’d be careless enough to try and bully me a second time.”

A familiar scowl transformed his face.

Imhara dropped her hand to the hilt of her sword. “That
attitude
might work with your kin, but any warrior who lays a hand on me can expect to lose it.” She gave him a cold smile. “Keep the dagger. Consider it a parting gift. Enjoy the rest of the auction.”

Imhara nodded, and her
Na’Hord
led the way, clearing a path through the crowd. She left a seething yet silent Sere Jirri behind. Two dozen strides later, Rassan drew level with her.

“Well, you certainly left an impression on him,” he murmured, then shot a swift glance over his shoulder. “He’s headed straight for Urkan Yur. No doubt to complain about your rude behavior.”

Imhara refused to look back. “You expected me to placate him?”

“I didn’t know that word was in your vocabulary.”

She jerked her head around, a heated retort on her lips, then saw the corner of Rassan’s mouth curve upward. Her temper fizzled and she shook her head.

His deep chuckle grazed her ears. “Some canny moves there, Imhara. Nicely done.”

“It felt good.” She grinned. “I won’t deny it.”

“Remind me never to play Battle Squares with you,” Arek murmured.

His quiet reference to the widely popular
Na’Hord
leisure-time game widened her grin.

“Nothing like providing the highborn with some light entertainment,” Rassan murmured. “I wager the Clan Challengers will be debating the contest-that-almost-was by the time I reach the training grounds this morning. Care to join me today, Imhara?”