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“And you want me to look?”

“I want you to understand what you are walking into before you decide how.”

Kesta forced herself to stop. The male led the woman toward a stall selling chemical concentrates. He was broad, four-fingered and dressed in armor patched with strips of dark hide. The tether hung loosely between them, but the woman's eyes remained lowered even when she nearly collided with a crate.

“Does Ash Camp allow that?”

“No person may be sold inside our walls,” Sera said. “No trader may beat, mate, or punish a dependent here. But we cannot rewrite another camp's law for the six hours they trade with us.”

“You can refuse them entry.”

Sera's mouth tightened. “And lose antibiotics, seed stock, sterile mesh, condenser parts, and sometimes water.”

The answer was ugly because it was practical. Kesta hated practical ugliness. The trader noticed her staring. His gaze traveled over Kesta, lingering on the black band around her wrist where the copper protection symbols remained visible. His mouth widened.

“She is not available,” he said, nodding toward the tethered woman as though Kesta had asked a price. “Skilled labor. Good with vats.”

Kesta's stomach turned.

“I wasn't shopping.”

The male chuckled. “Your claimant may be.”

A shadow fell across the stall. Dreven had crossed the market without Kesta noticing him approach. He wore no armor beyond a broad leather chest harness and a knife at his hip, but the people nearest him shifted instinctively to make room. His gaze settled first on the tether. Then on the raw skin beneath the woman's collar.

“Inside Ash Camp, remove it.”

The trader's smile disappeared. “She runs.”

“Then keep up.”

A faint sound came from somewhere behind Kesta. Sera might have laughed.

The trader's jaw hardened. “You allow your own claimed female to speak freely while demanding I release mine.”

Dreven glanced toward Kesta. He did not answer for her.

Kesta met the trader's eyes. “His protection gives him no ownership rights.”

The trader snorted. “Words.”

“Most laws are.”

He looked at Dreven. “Does she always answer for you?”

Dreven's tail shifted once behind him. His expression remained calm, but Kesta had learned enough to recognize annoyance tightening the scales around his temples.

“She answers for herself.”

The trader's hand closed around the tether. The woman flinched. Dreven's face changed. Not dramatically. His mouth simply lost whatever softness had been there, and his tail stopped moving.

“Remove it.”

This time the trader obeyed. The clasp opened with a hard metallic click. The woman immediately rubbed the reddened skin beneath her collar, but she did not run. Instead she remained beside the goods, one hand pressed against her throat while her gaze moved toward the food stalls and the armed gate beyond them. Kesta understood why.

Freedom lasting six hours did not provide food when the gates closed. The realization kept her from doing something satisfying and useless. As the trader moved away, Dreven stayed where he was for a moment.

Kesta looked at him. “You hate that.”