Page 113 of Claimed By the Condemned Alien

Kesta had expected Dreven to use the weather as a reason to postpone market day. Instead, he had spent most of the hour before sunrise walking the wall with Keth and examining the approaches through a battered optical scope. When he finally came down, he reported that the western wreck route remained unsafe because wind had buried sections of the glass field beneath unstable salt crust, but the eastern trade road was passable.

“The courier hull will still be there tomorrow,” he told Kesta when she met him near the gate.

She looked toward the western ridge. After the previous day's lesson, she had no intention of pretending she could read Kharon-Veil's weather better than he could.

“You're certain the route is unsafe?”

“Yes.”

Kesta sighed. “Then tomorrow.”

Dreven stared at her for several seconds.

“What?”

His silver eyes warmed. “Nothing.”

“That expression is becoming insulting.”

“I am appreciating progress.”

“You were more attractive when you were quiet.”

The words escaped before Kesta considered them. Dreven's eyebrows rose. Keth turned away so abruptly that the mechanical side of his face clicked against his shoulder guard. Heat climbed into Kesta's cheeks.

Dreven's mouth curved slowly. “Was I?”

“Go manage your market.”

His quiet laugh followed her all the way to the infirmary awning. By the time the gates opened fully, Ash Camp no longer resembled the guarded settlement Kesta had entered less than a week earlier. Patched sails appeared first on the horizon, followed by improvised crawlers, sledges, six-legged pack animals and walking groups carrying goods across their backs. Colored flags marked camps and declared temporary neutrality, although nearly every adult still carried a visible weapon.

Children flooded the square before the traders had finished setting up.

Kesta stood beside Sera and watched two small Kharovians argue over a carved flying animal while their mother negotiated for condenser filters three stalls away. A blue-skinned merchant arranged polished stone toys beside a table covered with ammunition. Someone farther down the lane was roasting something that smelled unexpectedly like cinnamon, although Tavi had warned her not to ask what it was unless she was prepared to eat the answer.

“Your market has toys,” Kesta said.

Sera glanced toward the children. Her expression softened enough to make her look years younger.

“Children still need birthdays even when the empire dislikes their parents.”

The statement held more affection than bitterness, which somehow made it hurt more. Kesta turned her attention toward the adults moving through the square. Market day revealed forms of relationship law she had not seen inside Ash Camp. A tall insectoid trader wore three silver loops around one forelimb, while a smaller member of the same species carried an identical set and controlled the household money pouch. Another pair had painted matching blue marks over their hearts.

“Claims?” Kesta asked.

“Some.” Sera pointed discreetly toward the insectoid household. “Among the Vask, the loops mark shared obligation. The person who receives protection controls household trade.”

“That seems almost sensible.”

“Do not become excited. Every species has had centuries to invent foolishness.”

Kesta smiled. Then she noticed the collar. The woman wearing it was humanoid enough that Kesta's first glance registered her as human. A second showed faint silver scales beneath the skin of her throat and eyes too large for a human face. A heavy black iron band circled her neck, connected by a tether to the male walking several steps ahead. Kesta's body tightened before thought caught up. She started toward them. Sera caught her lightly by the forearm.

“Look first.”

“She is tethered.”

“Yes.”