Chapter 4

The air in the hallway seemed to freeze at Vane’s words. Elara’s heart, which had been racing from the sight of the Duchess’s agonizing "eviction," now felt like it had stopped entirely.

"What do you mean, sold her debt?" Elara’s voice was a ragged whisper. "I signed the contract. You saved her. That was the deal."

Vane adjusted his cufflink, the silver glinting like a predator’s tooth. "I saved her from the Soul Rot, Elara. I cured the disease. I did not, however, clear the three generations of spiritual debt your family accrued with the Lesser Courts. While you were sleeping in my silk, the creditors came calling. They don't have my... refined tastes. They don't want a consort. They want raw energy."

He began to walk toward his office, and the brand on Elara’s neck gave a sharp, commanding tug. She had no choice but to follow, her bare feet padding softly on the cold marble behind him.

Inside the office, the green fire was higher now, casting long, dancing shadows that looked like grasping fingers against the bone-carved furniture. Vane sat, not behind his desk, but in a wingback chair of deep crimson leather. He gestured to the floor at his feet.

"Sit," he commanded.

Elara bristled, her pride sparking through the terror. "I am not a dog, Vane."

Vane’s eyes didn't flash with anger; they stayed unnervingly calm, which was worse. "No. You are a sacrifice. And a sacrifice that stands too tall often finds itself shorter by a head. Sit. Now."

The weight of his will was a physical force. Elara’s knees buckled, and she sank onto the white fur rug. The contrast of her dark silk nightgown against the stark white fur made her look exactly like what he had called her: a lamb.

"Better," Vane murmured. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, bringing his face close to hers. "A man named Silas has purchased Mia’s debt. In your world, he would be a loan shark. In mine, he is a Soul-Collector. He intends to harvest her to pay back the interest your grandfather owed. She is currently being held in the 'neutral' territory of the Iron Market."

"You have to get her back," Elara pleaded, reaching out instinctively to grab his hand. His skin was like ice, but she didn't let go. "Please. You’re a Duke. You have the power."

Vane looked down at her small hand gripping his. A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or a dark curiosity crossed his features. "I have the power, yes. But I am a demon of contracts, Elara. I do nothing for free. My previous contract with you covered her health. It did not cover her protection from third-party collectors."

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice trembling. "More blood? More years?"

"No," Vane said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "I want you to play a part.

*********

Tonight, there is a gala at the Iron Market. Silas will be there to flaunt his new 'acquisition' to the other collectors. I want to walk into that room and show them that what belongs to the Seventh Circle is not to be touched. But I cannot simply kill him not without starting a war that would bore me."

He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with a cold finger. "I want you to provoke him. Silas has a weakness for 'pure' things. He will try to buy you from me. You will lead him on, draw him into a wager, and get him to stake Mia’s debt against something of mine."

"And if I fail?"

"Then he keeps her," Vane said simply. "And I keep you. But you will spend the rest of eternity knowing that your sister is being drained drop by drop in a cage of iron because you couldn't play your part."

"You’re using her as bait," Elara realized, her eyes filling with hot tears of rage. "You’re using both of us."

"I am providing a solution," Vane corrected. He stood up, pulling her up with him. "Marcus!"

The hollow-eyed butler appeared instantly in the doorway.

"Take her. Prepare her for the Market. She needs to look... delectable. I want her dripping in the Vance family jewels the ones I bought back from the pawn shops this morning. And Marcus?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Make sure the brand is visible. I want everyone to see my name on her skin before they even look at her face."

The next few hours were a blur of sensory torture. Marcus and two other silent, servant-like entities scrubbed Elara’s skin until it glowed pink. They dressed her in a gown of gold chainmail that was so heavy it made her shoulders ache, yet so sheer it felt like wearing nothing but a gilded cage. Around her neck, they draped a heavy collar of emeralds the lost Vance Heirloom that sat just above the glowing brand of 'Sacrifice.'

When Elara was finally brought back to the grand hall, Vane was waiting. He was dressed in a suit of midnight black, but he had traded his silk tie for a cravat pinned with a skull made of a single diamond.

He looked at her, and for the first time, Elara saw a genuine flash of hunger in his frozen grey eyes. He walked a slow circle around her, his gaze lingering on the way the gold mesh clung to her hips.

"You look like a queen about to be executed," Vane whispered, stepping into her space. He reached out and touched the emeralds. "It suits you."

"I hate you," she breathed.

"Hate is a very passionate emotion, Elara. I’ll take it over indifference any day."

He offered his arm. "The Iron Market is not like this manor. It is loud, it is filthy, and it is full of creatures that will try to lick the scent of fear off your skin. Stay close. If you move more than three feet from me, the contract will snap your collarbone to bring you back. Understood?"

"Understood."

They stepped out of the manor, but they didn't go to the car. Instead, Vane walked her toward a massive archway of bone at the edge of the garden. As they stepped through, the world twisted. The cold, quiet mist of the manor was replaced by a deafening roar of voices, the smell of roasting meat, and a sky that was a permanent, bruised red.

The Iron Market was a sprawling city of tents and stone hovels, built into the side of a massive crater. Thousands of creatures—some looking human, others with too many limbs or eyes that glowed like embers—jostled in the streets.

Vane didn't walk through the crowd; the crowd parted for him like a wound opening. The aura of power he radiated was so thick that even the drunkest demons scurried away into the shadows as he passed.

They reached a high-walled pavilion guarded by two massive, armored brutes with tusks.

"Duke Vane," one of them grunted, bowing low. "Silas is expecting you. He says he has a new treasure to show the Duke."

Vane’s grip on Elara’s arm tightened slightly—the only sign that he was annoyed. "He has a stolen item. I am here to discuss the return of my property."

They entered the pavilion. Inside, it was a den of inequity. Low tables were laden with strange drugs and blackened wines. In the center of the room, hanging from the ceiling in a cage made of rusted iron, was Mia.

She looked small and terrified, her hands clutching the bars. She wasn't screaming; she looked like she was in a trance, her eyes staring blankly at the floor.

"Mia!" Elara tried to run forward, but the brand on her neck flared with white-hot heat, jerking her back against Vane’s chest.

"Rule number one, Elara," Vane hissed into her ear, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her steady. "Control yourself, or I will let him keep her just to teach you a lesson."

From the shadows behind the cage, a man stepped out. He was short, oily, and dressed in a suit of bright, garish violet. His skin looked like old parchment, and he had a rows of needles tucked into his lapel.

"Duke Vane!" Silas chirped, his voice like glass grinding on stone. "I see you brought a guest. And oh... what a guest she is. The elder Vance sister. I had heard you claimed her, but I didn't believe you’d bring such a delicate thing to a place like this."

Silas walked around the cage, his eyes raking over Elara with a disgusting, slimy greed. "She’s even more beautiful than the little one in the cage. Tell me, Duke... is she for sale? I have a collection of souls that would make even the Seventh Circle envious."

Vane let out a low, dangerous chuckle. He pulled Elara closer, his hand splaying across her stomach in a possessive gesture. "Everything has a price, Silas. But I doubt you could afford even a strand of her hair."

"Try me," Silas countered, his eyes narrowing. "I have the debt of her bloodline. I own her sister’s future. That’s a powerful bargaining chip, wouldn't you say?"

Vane looked at Elara, a silent command in his eyes. Now. Play your part.

Elara swallowed her fear. She looked at Silas, forced a tremulous, seductive smile, and stepped out of Vane’s shadow—just far enough for the contract to hum but not bite.

"Is that true?" Elara asked, her voice breathy. "You own the Vance debt? Vane told me I was the only one left. He told me I was... special." She looked back at Vane with a staged look of betrayal. "He’s been lying to me, hasn't he?"

Silas’s eyes lit up. He saw a rift he could exploit. He stepped closer to Elara, the scent of rot coming off him. "He’s a Duke, my dear. To him, you’re just a shiny new toy. But to me? You could be a partner. Help me get what I want from him, and I might just let your sister go for free."

Vane’s face was a mask of cold fury, but Elara knew it was an act. "Silas, step away from her," Vane warned.

"Or what?" Silas laughed. "We are in the Neutral Zone. You can't touch me here without breaking the Covenant. Unless... we settle this with a game?"

*********

Silas pulled a small, silver box from his pocket. Inside was a set of three dice carved from human teeth. "A simple wager, Vane. Your girl’s freedom against the Vance debt. But if I win... I don't just get the debt. I get her. Both sisters. To do with as I please."

Elara looked at the dice, then at Mia in the cage, then at Vane. Vane was looking at her, and for a split second, the act dropped. His eyes weren't cold; they were dark with a terrifying, absolute confidence.

"One roll," Vane said. "But the stakes are too low, Silas. If I win, I don't just want the debt. I want your life. I want to watch you dissolve in the Grey Wastes like the thief you are."

Silas hesitated, but the greed in his eyes won out. "Deal."

As Silas prepared to throw the dice, Elara noticed something. Vane wasn't looking at the dice. He was looking at the iron cage. And as the dice hit the table, Elara felt the brand on her neck go cold—so cold it felt like her heart was freezing in her chest.

"Wait!" Elara shouted, but it was too late. The dice stopped.

Silas began to scream, but not with joy. He was staring at the table in horror. The dice hadn't landed on a number. They had turned into two small, black spiders that were currently burrowing into Silas’s palms.

"You cheated!" Silas shrieked, clutching his hands.

"I didn't touch the dice, Silas," Vane said, stepping forward and picking up the iron cage with one hand as if it weighed nothing. "But I did mention that my Consort has a very loud soul. It seems her fear was enough to... alter the local reality. A side effect of the Sacrifice Clause you weren't aware of."

Vane turned to Elara, his eyes glowing with a fierce, triumphant light. But before they could leave, the floor of the pavilion began to shake.

"You think you can just take her?" Silas’s voice was different now—deeper, older. His violet suit tore as his body began to swell, his skin turning into jagged, rusted metal. "The Iron Market belongs to the Collectors! Guards! Kill the Duke! Claim the women!"