The Glass Arrow(37)

The carriages roll to a stop behind a wooden platform, and suddenly the journey seems far too short. I don’t want to get out. I need to stay within the safety of these iron stems.

I am almost pushed out by the Watcher. One step down, then I’m on the ground. I teeter, my heel stuck between the bricks, before I right myself. It’s quieter back here, behind the stage. They’ll hide us from the public eye before we’re walked out, one by one, and put on display.

The girls congregate into buzzing little groups, and I can hear their giggles cut through the roar of the crowd. Someone’s just been hung, out there on that stage where I’ll be standing in a few minutes. Someone who robbed a Merchant or defiled one of the Magnates’ girls. One of the men from the jail who wasn’t lucky enough to be picked to become a Watcher. Maybe that boy who visited Straw Hair is twitching at the end of his rope beyond this wooden barrier. There’s nothing like a good hanging to get people in the mood for girls.

Behind us are two or three dozen country people from the outlying towns. With them are cages of chickens and goats, sheep, even cattle. That’s where we fit on market day. Between the executions and the livestock sales.

Gradually, Watchers begin filtering down the left side of the stage towards us. They’re dragging the still-warm bodies of the deceased. All the girls look away. Even me. It is too much to stand.

“Over here, ladies!” calls the Governess. The Watcher shoves me with the group towards her. “That’s it, that’s it. Now you all look beautiful, I must say. Just elegant!” She sounds so pleased with herself. “Now remember, this day may dictate the rest of your life. Your will to succeed will win you those bids!”

At least the Governess has stolen some of my fear. Now I’m annoyed, too.

“I will be at the auctioneers table where we’ll be recording your scores and tallying your bids. Potential buyers will set up your private sessions there. Good luck, ladies! Good luck!” She finishes with a crazed smile. It doesn’t look like she’s slept in a week.

We are being lined up. I count those before me. Twenty-three. I am the twenty-fourth girl to go. Just like my twenty-four days in solitary.

I hear the announcer make the call for auction.

The first girl takes the stage.

I run through my possibilities. I can’t bolt. The Watcher still has one hand on my shoulder. I can’t rip my dress or mess up my hair because of these stupid silky gloves. I can’t even tear them off because they’re glued to my hand with a skin adhesive. I think of the Red Right standing in front of our path on our ride in, but they’d fled when the Watchers approached. They won’t do me any good now.

I take a step forward. Number one is finished. She’s gotten only mild applause.

The crow of a rooster catches my attention. I look over all the farm animals again and feel sorry for them. Even the goats aren’t safe.

Number two gets several boos. I wonder what she’s done. My heart beats faster. I wish I could have seen her so that I can do the same.

Number three gets resounding applause. Several encouraging shouts from the audience.

And then someone runs right into me, knocking me away from the Watcher. It’s a tall man, holding a horse. A Driver. He must be trying to sell his animal during the livestock sales. But the horse has gotten out of control and is whinnying and spinning in a small circle around his owner.

The man crashes into me again, and I catch myself just before falling. His chest bumps against mine, and the large, calloused hand not holding his animal’s lead rope grasps just below my rib cage for support.

Then I see his clean red handkerchief. And the dark eyes, flecked with copper.

Kiran.





CHAPTER 9

MY MOUTH FALLS OPEN. I nearly cry Kiran’s name, but before I can, he is whipped away by the chestnut mare I recognize from the barn. Four girls around me are screaming. One seems to be afraid of the horse, the rest of its owner.

I wonder for a split second if Kiran is my salvation. If he’s somehow going to throw me up on that crazed animal so we might escape, right through the city walls. But even with the blood pumping through my temples I know that this is the stuff stories are made of, not real life.

Kiran is trying to contain the horse, but I’ve never seen him, or any Driver for that matter, lose control of an animal. It occurs to me that maybe he’s making the mare spook and buck. If this is right, he’s a fine actor. Kiran looks like he’s about to be trampled.

“No!” I shout as the horse rears back. Kiran’s fallen right beneath where the front hooves will land.

She shies away from my waving hands, and the lead, still attached to her halter, jerks Kiran to a stand. But now he’s fumbling, and falling again. Right into my Watcher.

The impact is enough to knock the Watcher back a few steps. Kiran collapses into him and they both scramble to stand. The Watcher rises faster, and before Kiran is up, the Watcher kicks him, his black boot connecting to Kiran’s middle with superhuman strength. Kiran’s mouth flies open as the air is forced from his body and flops to the side, still silent.

Our eyes meet. Mine wide with horror, his pinched tight with determination. I hear his voice in my head.

“Run!”

This was Kiran’s plan. He’s picked a fight to give me an out. There’s no time to thank him. To help, even. That throbbing, stabbing pain is back, right between my ribs and my stomach.