“Of course, as a German citizen, Oskar Kruger will never be allowed to purchase his mark,” the auctioneer concluded.
Onstage, Oskar frowned.
“I’ll start the bidding at ten thousand.”
Chairwoman Hardwicke raised her paddle.
A man beside them countered it, another proxy for a foreign bidder, by the look of his coat. “The boy doesn’t belong here,” he hissed, his desperation overriding his propriety.
“He doesn’t belong in Germany either,” Lila said. “I suppose you’ll help shuffle him along if your patron wins the bid.”
“Of course not. It would be illegal for me to conduct business on behalf of a Roman citizen. The laws are strict—too strict, if you ask me.”
“That’s almost treason.”
The laws weren’t too strict, and they both knew it. Only citizens of the Allied Lands had the right to bid on slaves. If a non-American won the auction, Chief Shaw would have to verify everything before allowing Oskar out of the country. Papers would be signed, contracts would be validated by both governments, and many promises and assurances would be made on both sides.
None of that set Lila’s mind at ease. Some of the less scrupulous matrons likely had a plan for smuggling Oskar out of the country, right under Bullstow’s nose.
The lowborn ignored her parting shot. He turned on his heel, stalking closer to the stage.
Lila wondered whom he represented.
She could find out. It wouldn’t be that hard.
“Fifty thousand to Chairwoman Hardwicke,” the auctioneer said, offering a slightly inebriated chuckle. “I bet that flawless opal around her neck cost more.”
After his comment, so many bids came in that he could hardly keep track. But as the amount pushed higher and higher, fewer paddles flashed throughout the room. Oskar’s price had quickly soared above what most were willing to spend. The winner would still have to pay for the boy’s education, medical fees, and security. Oskar Kruger would cost a great deal in upkeep.
That lesson had been burned into the heirs less than an hour before.
It didn’t take long for the bids to dwindle away. Soon only Chairwoman Hardwicke and Chairwoman Holguín flashed their paddles.
“Six point five million to Chairwoman Hardwicke.”
Chairwoman Holguín narrowed her eyes, peering at her rival. “Seven,” she called out.
Half the room clucked their tongues. Calling out over the crowd was tacky. Highborn eyes bounced back and forth as though they watched a tennis match.
“Do I hear seven point five, Chairwoman Hardwicke?” the auctioneer asked.
The matron nodded, and the bidding started anew.
After Chairwoman Holguín raised her paddle for ten million, Chairwoman Hardwicke shook her head, letting her rival take the boy.
“I didn’t know the Hardwickes were interested in Oskar,” Lila said.
“They aren’t,” her mother replied. “Everyone knows that Chairwoman Holguín likes ones and fives and tens at these things. Chairwoman Hardwicke just wanted to drain her coffers.”
As soon as the gavel banged against the podium, Chairwoman Holguín click-clacked toward the ballroom entrance, the hand-crafted lace on her orange dress swaying with every step. The twin tigers on her coat of arms, stitched on the breast of her silvercoat, snarled at one another.
“It’s the loyalists,” her father said as the LeBeau militia led Oskar back to the holding cells. Phillip Wilson stepped up beside the podium next, his chin raised, his lips frozen in a pout. “I suspect killing Oskar was Plan A. Plan B is dealing with the Holguíns. They’ll buy the boy and murder him to secure the empire, and it will only cost them ten million to do it. I should never have let you sell him, Bea.”
“The prime minister does not let the matrons do anything. And I sincerely doubt that Chairwoman Holguín has found a loophole around the slave regulations. She’s not smart enough for that.”
“She doesn’t need a loophole,” Lila reminded them. “If I wanted the boy dead, I’d promise one of the families whatever it took, just so I knew where the boy would be after the auction ended. It would only take one shot from a high-powered rifle a kilometer away. A trained sniper—someone like Commander Sutton—could make that shot easily.”
Her mother’s face paled. Clearly, she hadn’t thought of the most obvious solution.