"This one's barely breathing—how can you sell him like meat?" I shoved through the crowd before anyone could stop me. "Lady Griffin, step back—" Laylah's voice was tight behind me. The seller kicked the man's side and the groan that came out was a sound no one in this market should ever hear. Someone laughed. Someone else shrugged and moved closer for the spectacle. "He's a broken thing," the seller said, licking a coin between two fingers. "Three silver for the lot. Take him, or don't. Plenty more." His grin was brazen, practiced. "I said step back," I snapped, and the word carried farther than I expected. A hand grabbed my arm. "Ayla, father—" "Not now," I cut him off. "Do you see him? He's alive." The seller spat. "Live or dead, girl, it's a sale. We sell need and we sell utility. Take him if you want pity." I put my silver down in a slap that silenced a row of jeers. Coins skittered across the stall's rough table and clattered into a small heap. My hand didn't tremble. "Three silver," I told him. "Take it." He laughed, took two steps forward and flattened the man's chest with the toe of his boot. The man's breath hiccuped; his fingers twitched. "That's enough!" I moved faster than anyone thought I could. My palm hit the seller's face before his grin knew what had happened. The smack