“She’s beautiful,” a dirty-faced guard sneered as he peered across the wagon.

Iliana awkwardly sat in her finely fashioned dress. A corset had been fashioned into the shiny black dress and it lifted her chest whilst barely covering it. She already missed her flax tunic and loose tights hidden beneath her cloak and hated feeling so exposed. Making matters worse, she only had one dress, and it would be needed for both entering the valley and Mont On’Mor.

Why didn't that witch just arrange a letter of employment for crossing the gates? Iliana wondered, but she knew exactly why.

“Can we go?” The driver asked pointedly.

The guard nodded without taking his eyes off Iliana. “Yeah, yeah. Got nobles in the back then?”

“What do you think?” The driver retorted. “You saw the papers, didn’t you?”

The guard’s brows bent angrily as he turned his attention back to the driver.

“More important people than you or I are waiting on my passengers.” The driver reminded.

“Cailag,” another guard said, pulling the other’s arm. “Let ‘em go. The capt’n will have your head on a pike for troubling proper folk.”

The guard sneered at his comrade. “Fine, in you go.” He said, stepping to the side so the wagon could pass through the Lards Gate.

“Bring all kinds of trouble to yourself, dressing like that,” an old woman sitting beside Iliana said.

“It’s not as if I want to.” Iliana sighed.

The woman huffed. “I was your age once. Don’t take me for no fool.”

“Shut up, ye old hag.” A man from across them yelled. “The girl’s clearly proper. Not just another housemaid such as ye self.”

“Like you’re any better,” another man chimed in. “Just a groundsman acting all prim. Makes me sick.”

“Never said I was, did I?” the man twisted his head. “But she is,” he pointed at Iliana. “No simple broad dresses like that.”

“Please,” Iliana said, raising her hands. “No need to argue over me.” She really didn’t need this kind of attention.

“No one’s arguing over you, miss. Just puttin’ some dogs in their place.”

“Who you calling a dog, groundsman?”

“The filthy mut looking across from me.”

The man rose, but as the traveling wagon wobbled against the rocky path, he slipped and only barely managed to catch himself, falling back into his seat.

“That’s right, back on ye seat, dog.” The groundsman said as if he had won something.

“The lot of you are acting like children.” A young woman with short, sandy hair said, from down the other end of the wagon. “If you cared about the lady, you’d drop your shenanigans and shut up.”

The two men stared each other down, grunting and grumbling but decided not to continue.

“Right, that’s better,” the young woman turned her gaze to Iliana and smiled. “You’re right to call ‘em out if they get uppity like that.”

“Thank you,” Iliana smiled, hoping that they would move on and forget about her shortly.

Passing through the towering mountain pass that connected Lards Valley to the Valley of Ome, evergreens shrouded by patches of white snow gradually shifted as they lowered in elevation, giving way to green fields, sprawling manors, hedge walls, and perfectly straight lines of manicured trees. Situated in its pocket of safety, accessible only through the walled entrances which lay past the fortifications of Ome itself, the valley had become a beacon of security and prosperity - attracting the realm's wealthiest people.

The wagon came to a halt in the small village of Lardstrad, which was basically an inn, general store, and guardhouse, surrounded by a few dozen homes. The village serviced the surrounding estates, and the streets were filled with servants and others in the employment of Ome’s wealthiest families, as they disembarked from wagons rolling into town, and readied to make their way to their respected estates.

Iliana, on the other hand, had a room waiting for her at the inn and tomorrow was Mont On’Mor.

"Take care to keep out of trouble," the girl from the wagon said, waving to Iliana as she walked away.

The next morning, Iliana mounted her prepared carriage with an errantly tapping foot.

After a short drive through winding roads and lush, green fields, the carriage rolled into the garden estate of Mor Fields. Immediately, it was caught in a line of traffic hundreds of carriages long.

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Iliana looked out from her curtained window across the green fields that rolled down toward the manor and its perfectly trimmed hedges, shaped into elaborate displays and lined by vibrant flowers.

With summer in full effect, guests walked with umbrellas to fend off the blazing sun above and wore loose dresses and airy gowns.

Iliana humpfted at the sight. Her tight black dress was regal enough, but it looked out of place in the summery setting of Mont On’Mor.

That bastard of a tailor would have known as much.

“Miss…” The driver called from his seat, seemingly unsure of how to address Iliana.

“Yes?”

“We’ve two entrances to decide on. One for noble houses, and one for other invitees. Which shall I use?”

“Other invitees,” Iliana replied. She should have guessed nobles wouldn’t have allowed others like herself to walk beside them.

By the time they reached the drop-off, hundreds of couples filled the grassy slope that steadily crept toward the estate that sat beside a lake covered in lilies and surrounded by giant yew trees.

Every inch of the manor was painted white, and most wore clothing to match, making Iliana stand out even more.

“You look as if you’re dressed for a dinner party in Ome,” came a snide voice from beside her.

Iliana turned. A proper-looking woman whose face was lost beneath a layer of thick powder pouted in her direction.

“Oh, be nice, Jeseret.” The thin-faced and narrow-chinned man beside her said. “This kind of outing is clearly new to the poor girl. You can’t expect her to learn the finer aspects of it straight away.”

“You’re too nice,” Jeseret replied. “I suppose if you’re in need of advice, one of my servants might be able to assist.”

“I'll think about it” Iliana nodded before lowering her head and stepping down from the carriage, hastily disappearing into the crowd that funneled toward the estate.

She hated the pretentiousness of the crowd, but those emotions needed to be contained. She needed to keep an eye out for that woman, and any clues that might help.

“Excuse me, young lady,” a straight-backed man with a pencil mustache and dressed in a well-ironed, white suit said.

“Yes?” Iliana turned as she eased her way past several others.

“You’re seat number?”

“Oh,” Iliana nodded, delving into a pocket for the envelope. “One-four-two.”

The man turned and pointed across the crowded seating area. “Over there, to your right and past the stage, you will find several larger tables. You’re sitting on table twelve.”

“Thank you,” Iliana smiled and followed the instructions.

Upon arrival, it became abundantly clear that her table was for less desirables. Wealthy merchants and war heroes of common birth surrounded her, and for once, Iliana was pleased with the discrimination shown to her.

Her eyes glanced around the table at the mismatched attendees, merchants covered in gold jewelry beside scarred war heroes in simple, gray togas.

“What’s your deal? Don’t see too many chimeras in a place like this.” Asked a broad, sharp-faced man beside Iliana.

“Invited by an old acquaintance,” Iliana replied flatly.

The man raised a curious brow at Iliana. “No offense was meant by that. Just the way it is.”

“And there was none taken.”

“Sure,” the man nodded. “I also kind of thought you might find this whole thing kind of, distasteful.”

Iliana shifted her gaze towards the man but remained silent.

“You know what this is right?” His brows raised.

“Some kind of festival for Ome’s rich?”

The man chuckled. “I guess you could call it that. But there’s more to it.” He pointed to the stage. “That isn’t for performers. They’ll be trading all kinds of exotic things here today. Including, but not limited to chimeras. The creations those witches make are quite popular amongst the rich. It’s why they tolerated their kind.”

Iliana's eyes widened.

“By the look on your face, I'm guessing you weren’t aware.” The man frowned and extended a hand. “Yaslin Forta, champion of the iron guard and hired thug of the king’s wimp of a son, Tasman.”

Iliana nodded.

“You’re kinda supposed to give me your name now.”

“Iliana.”

Yaslin sighed, “I suppose that’ll do. Look, I’m not a fan of these people either. Kinda thought I might have found a kindred spirit. Make this painful thing go a little quicker if you know what I mean?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Yaslin dismissively waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Perhaps one of these drunken merchants will have some banter on them.” He continued, picking up his glass and taking a large mouthful.

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve something important on my mind,” Iliana softly replied.

Yaslin nodded, his wide jaw and square chin creating an imposing presence even when he remained silent. “Wine?” he asked, picking up a nearby bottle.

“Absolutely,” Iliana nodded, pushing her glass toward him. As long as she only had a couple of glasses, she should remain clear-headed but at ease, she figured.

An hour passed and several items had gone before the stage whilst both Iliana and Yaslin had become increasingly drunk.

“Nobles, they think they’re safe behind their big walls,” *hiccup* “but when those monsters come streaming out of the scars, you watch.”

“Shh,” Iliana raised a hand, suddenly far too sober.

It was her - Annabey stood on the stage as the flamboyant auctioneer prodded her with a pointing stick whilst addressing the crowd.

Annabey shared many of Iliana’s features, but contrasting her sister, her feline ears and hair were perfectly white, along with her tail. She was shorter and appeared younger, her skin was soft and unblemished and she looked to be nearing the end of adolescence.

Heat swelled within Iliana as she squeezed the ends of her arms rests and fought to restrain herself.

“Shall we begin the bidding at say, two hundred silver coins?”

A paddle rose immediately across the hall. Then another from the other end of the hall. Within moments, paddles were flying up every other second.

“Twenty-nine-hundred, three-thousand. Thirty-two-hundred, thirty-four-hundred. Thirty-eight-hundred to the man in green. Four thousand to the lady in white at the back.”

A hammer dropped.

“Going once to the lady in white.”

The hammer dropped again.

“Forty-two-hundred to the gentleman in gray.” The hammer slammed again. “Going once, going twice. It’s hard to come by chimeras as well crafted as this one. Truly a one-of-a-kind opportunity. Can I get forty-four hundred?” the auctioneer raised the hammer. “Going three times and I cannot stress how good of a deal this is.” He looked around the hall, pointing his hammer at previous bidders. “Anybody? You do not want to miss out on this. Going three…” he drifted the hammer across the audience again. “Going three times. I repeat, going three times. This is your last opportunity ladies and gentlemen. When this hammer hits the bench our lovely chimera here will be sold for the final price of forty-two-hundred silver coins. Last call, can I get forty-four-hundred?” the hammer slammed against the table. “And sold to the gentleman in gray for forty-two hundred silver coins.”

“You okay?” Yeslin asked, bobbing side-to-side in his drunken stupor.

“Fine,” Iliana seethed through gritted teeth. “It’s nothing.”

“Sure,” Yeslin nodded unconvincingly.

“I must excuse myself,” Iliana said, bowing to the table and dipping away.

She could hardly restrain her pounding heart and the fury that was bubbling within.