The auction house wasn't the grand marble building gilded in light and banners that I had expected. It was underground.
Literally.
Nestled deep beneath the bustling merchant district of the capital, masked behind the grimy façade of a raucous, third-rate tavern, the true auction hall lay hidden from the prying eyes of the surface world. A warded, downward-sloping tunnel, wide enough to drive a small carriage through, led us deep beneath the city's foundations of stone and soil. The further we descended, the heavier the air grew—thick with the cloying scent of raw, untamed mana, the bitter tang of greed, and something else, something more foul and ancient.
The smell of coin and blood.
This wasn't a place for the delicate sensibilities of the nobility, with their carefully constructed masks of honor and propriety. This was a market of shadows, a place where power was the only currency that mattered, open to anyone who could pay the price.
