Page 14 of Fierce Highland Magic

The market exhaled.

Music started again. Softly. Cool and light. The figures in the nearby stalls looked away.

The old woman with the silver cup lowered her gaze.

The pressure did not disappear, but it shifted.

It no longer pressed only against me. It ran through me, toward Rowan.

I understood nothing about what he had done. But I understood enough to know it had cost him.

"What did you just say?" I asked.

He turned back to me.

His smile had returned.

It was thinner now.

"I said you are my guest."

"I heard that."

"Then we are making excellent progress."

"You said my debts are yours."

"Yes."

"I do not have debts."

His smile faltered.

Only slightly.

"In this market," he said, "that is a very hopeful thing to believe."

"I didn't agree to this."

"No."

"Then undo it."

"I cannot."

"Why not?"

"Because the market accepted."

"That is not consent."

"No," Rowan said quietly. "It is not."

The answer was too honest.

It cut through my anger before I could stop it.

I looked at him.