Lady Evara cut her off. “Then purchase the unreasonable. Win with a beast that others undervalue. Choose a rider who hasn’t yet proven his or her worth. You must find yourself an uncut emerald and polish it until it gleams.” She flashed her rings, catching glints of sunlight that filtered in between the flowers. Several of her jewels were emeralds. Others, rubies. One, a priceless black diamond. “Think, Tamra, what do you have to lose by accepting my offer? And think what you have to gain.”
“What do you have to gain?” Tamra asked bluntly.
“Why, amusement, my petal,” Lady Evara cooed. “I will have the pleasure of shaping the greatest triumph-against-adversity story that the Becaran Races has ever seen. Or I will have the entertainment of watching you destroy yourself in the effort. Either way, I will not be bored. And boredom, my dear, is the greatest enemy of all.”
Tamra stared at her for a moment, speechless. That wins for the most horrible thing I’ve heard a human say to another, at least recently. How empty did your soul have to be to take joy in the destruction of another’s hopes and dreams?
How rich did you have to be?
“Well?” Lady Evara asked. “This is a onetime offer. There are other river leeches who desire my money too, you know, especially in this time of uncertainty, and they may prove even more entertaining than you. Come, Tamra, will you seize your destiny and dare the sands once again?” There was a mocking lilt to her voice, but her eyes were fixed on Tamra like a jackal on its prey.
Gathering her dignity, Tamra tried not to feel as if she were making a deal with a kehok. “I accept your offer, Gracious One.”
“Splendid!” Lady Evara beamed at her. Like her laugh, her smile vanished as quickly as it had come. “Now leave, and don’t break anything—or anyone—on your way out.”
Tamra gritted her teeth against the insult. “The gold pieces?”
“Oh, I don’t handle such trifling amounts myself. One of my servants will meet you by the gate with my tokens.” She made a shooing motion with her hand.
Tamra held on to her manners. Barely. “May your next rebirth bring you peace.” Silently, she added, Even though I’m certain you’ll be reborn as a river slug.
Chapter 3
Tamra traveled by river to the famed Gea Market. She both heard and smelled the market long before she saw it: the sound of the musicians’ drums, the cheers from the gambling pits, the pervasive scent of garlic and the irresistible smell of baked pastries. Closer, she joined the other passengers near the front of the riverboat to see the riot of colors come into view.
Unlike her home city of Peron, where every building had white walls and blue-tiled roofs, Gea Market boasted buildings painted in every color under the sun, and between the poppy-red and sky-blue houses were clusters of tents made from rich purple, green, and gold fabrics. It was all so bright and beautiful that it made Tamra’s eyes ache.
Shalla would have loved this.
She used to come with Tamra, before the augurs swooped in and changed their lives. Tamra would sneak her out of her reading and math lessons, and they’d travel together on the ferry. Shalla would point out everything she thought was interesting: the smooth curve of a hippo beneath the water, a stick floating by that looked like a crocodile, a man who wore bracelets from his wrists to his armpits, a woman with a leashed monkey on her shoulder that might have once been the woman’s cousin. At the market, Shalla would be running in a dozen directions at once, so much to look at and see that she’d collapse exhausted in Tamra’s arms before the sun was at its zenith, and they’d squeeze themselves into an unused bit of shade and rest until Shalla was ready to run and point and shout again. Often, they wouldn’t even buy anything—it was just the joy and the spectacle that made the trip worthwhile.
Now, as she was jostled by other passengers eager to taste the wonders of the marketplace, she disembarked the ferry with a very different sense of purpose. Most of her fellow shoppers would return home with far less than they’d come with, but they’d be sticky with honey and bone-weary with dancing and draped in silks they didn’t need and didn’t mean to buy, and they’d be happy.
She wasn’t looking for happiness, though.
She needed a miracle.
Specifically a two-hundred-gold-piece miracle.
After giving her name to the dockmaster, Tamra strode through the market, weaving between flocks of laughing customers, vendors hawking fragrant perfume vials, and dancers who’d tied bells to their wrists and ankles. Everywhere vendors sold tokens in the shape of birds and animals to honor one’s ancestors, as well as lucky charms said to brighten one’s aura (which there was no evidence actually worked). She evaded the usual pickpockets, keeping a tight grip on her purse with Lady Evara’s tokens. A thief wouldn’t get much use out of them without Lady Evara’s approval, but the hassle of having them replaced would take time Tamra didn’t have (and earn further ire from her patron). The auction closed at sundown, and she intended to spend every minute seeking out the best bargain.
The market had other ideas, though, and even the focused found themselves distracted. As she neared a purple tent selling jewelry, she saw a customer shove the shop owner. The owner grabbed a hammer used for pounding silver flat and waved it at the customer, who was screaming in his face about higher prices. The owner screamed back that the increase wasn’t his fault—instead he blamed everyone else under the sun: the River-blasted trade agreements were on hold because the River-blasted emperor-to-be, Prince Dar, couldn’t sign, and the corrupt Ranirans were milking the mess for every coin they could, and on and on . . . A crowd began to gather, making it impossible for Tamra to pass. She looked for another way around, trying to worm her way backward.
I don’t have time for this!
As the crowd began to join the shouting, the market guards converged, bringing with them an augur. The robe-clad augur, with his pendant displayed, weaved through the crowd, murmuring to the men and women, calming them. You didn’t misbehave when there was an augur nearby to bear witness—which made them excellent at diffusing escalating situations. The holy presence was enough to remind people to do better, to be the best version of themselves, for the sake of their future lives.
“Be as peaceful as the heron,” the augur said. “Let your anger wash beneath you. Anger is an unworthy emotion, born of powerlessness. Choose instead to embrace your own inner strength and find serenity . . .”
Thanks to the augur and his string of crowd-soothing platitudes, Tamra was able to squeeze by.
Someday that could be Shalla, she thought. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that—no, that wasn’t true. Shalla would be an amazing augur. Even without a robe and pendant, she already made Tamra want to be a better person.
Halfway across the market, Tamra smelled the auction—the stench of kehok was unmistakable, undercutting even the sweetest baked goods. She heard the shrill screams of the trapped beasts, the shouts of the owners trying to keep them from savaging potential customers, and the crash of the kehoks thrashing against their cages and shackles.
The kehok auction was marked with black flags embroidered with the symbol of the Becaran Races, the victory charm given to the winning kehok. Imbued with rare and complex magic, the kind that few (if any) understood, much less mastered, the Becaran victory charm allowed the winner to do what no other monster could: be reborn as human.