"I don’t want that ugly child—let her go!" Torsten spat. They all turned. I stood on the straw-strewn ground and listened to voices I had heard before and new ones that meant trouble. "She’s paid for," Candace said, holding the little square of paper like it could still sear her fingers. Her voice was thin. "Paid and finished." "Paid how? You sold my daughter off as if she were a basket of turnips," Torsten’s mother cried. Her hands made the sign of a bargain, as if money could be pushed back into a pocket. Maja laughed and slapped a silver piece down on the table. "Here," she said. "Take it. The paper says she belongs to whoever pays. I paid." Torsten’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. "You—this girl—" "Shut up," Maja said. Her hand ran the rim of the coin. "You think this is a joke? She’s mine now." A man by the well muttered, "Maja’s not one to haggle." Another snorted and made a face at Torsten. "She’s scarred," Torsten said. "Ugly. Useless in a marriage. Who’d take her?" "Who’d take her?" an old trader thundered, and the yard filled with laughter. "Maja Atkinson takes what she wants." The laughter smacked like a slap. Torsten went red and turned his gaze away. "Give me the child," Torsten’s mother ordered Candace. Her voice quivered. "You promised my family first." "I promised you nothing," Candace said