“And I would thank you for that, and it would help today.” She well knew that Tats had stalked off without her. There’d be no catching up with him. “But it won’t do a thing about Sintara being hungry tomorrow.”

He bit his upper lip and wriggled thoughtfully as if he were a child. “I see. Very well. I’ll help you hunt today to feed your lazy dragon. And tomorrow, I’ll think of something so that she can be fed without you spending the whole day on it. Then would you come with me to Kelsingra?”

“I would. With my most hearty thanks!”

“Oh, you will be more than thankful at what I wish to show you! And now, let’s hunt!”

“Get up!”

Selden came awake shaking and disoriented. Usually they let him sleep at this time of day, didn’t they? What time of day was it? The light from a lantern blinded him. He sat up slowly, his arm across his eyes to shelter them. “What do you want of me?” he asked. He knew they wouldn’t answer him. He spoke the words to remind himself that he was a man, not a dumb animal.

But this man did speak to him. “Stand up. Turn around and let me take a look at you.”

Selden’s eyes had adjusted a bit. The tent was not completely dark. Daylight leaked in through the patches and seams, but the brightness of the lantern still made his eyes stream tears. Now he knew the man. Not one of those who tended him, who gave him stale bread and scummy water and half-rotted vegetables, nor the one who liked to poke him with a long stick for the amusement of the spectators. No. This was the man who believed he owned Selden. He was a small man with a large, bulbous nose, and he always carried his purse with him, a large bag that he carried over one shoulder as if he could never bear to be parted from his coin for long.

Selden stood up slowly. He had not become any more naked than he had been, but the man’s appraising scrutiny made it feel as if he had. His visitors from earlier in the day were there also. Big Nose turned to a man dressed in the Chalcedean style. “There he is. That’s what you’d be buying. Seen enough?”

“He looks thin.” The man spoke hesitantly, as if he were trying to bargain but feared to anger the seller. “Sickly.”

Big Nose gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Well, this is the one I’ve got. If you can find a dragon man in better condition, you’d best go buy him instead.”

There was a moment of silence. The Chalcedean merchant tried again. “The man I represent will want proof that he is what you say he is. Give me something to send him, and I’ll advise him to meet your price.”

Big Nose mulled this over for a short time. “Like what?” he asked sullenly.

“A finger. Or a toe.” At the outrage on Big Nose’s face, the merchant amended, “Or just a joint off one of his fingers. A token. Of good faith in the bargaining. Your price is high.”

“Yes. It is. And I’m not cutting anything off him that won’t grow back! I cut him, he takes an infection and dies, I’ve lost my investment. And how do I know that one finger isn’t all you really need? No. You want a piece of him, you pay me for it, up front.”

Selden listened, and as the full implication of their words sunk into him, he reeled in sick horror. “You’re going to sell one of my fingers? This is madness! Look at me! Look me in the face! I’m a human!”

Big Nose turned and glared at him. Their eyes met. “You don’t shut up, you’re going to be a bloody human. And you heard me tell him, I’m not cutting anything off you that won’t grow back. So you got nothing to complain about.”

Selden thought he had already experienced the depths of cruelty that these men were capable of. Two cities ago, one of his tenders had rented him for the evening to a curious customer. His mind veered from recalling that, and as Big Nose’s grinning assistant held up a black-handled knife, Selden heard a roaring in his ears.

“It has to be something that proves he is what you say he is,” the buyer insisted. He crossed his arms on his chest. “I’ll pay you ten silvers for it. But then if my master is satisfied and wants to buy him, you have to take ten silvers off your price.”

Big Nose considered it. His assistant cleaned his nails with the tip of the knife.

“Twenty silvers,” he countered. “Before we cut him.”

The Chalcedean chewed his lower lip. “For a piece of flesh, with scales on it, as big as the palm of my hand.”

“Stop!” Selden bellowed, but it came out as a shriek. “You can’t do this. You can’t!”