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.
Perhaps there was hope for her yet.
“Lila, you need a vacation.”
“I’m only saying what someone has already planned, Mother. An assassin doesn’t even have to take the shot tonight, especially if half the journalists in New Bristol follow the boy. They can just keep him in sight and wait for a clear shot. My advice, Father? Get Chief Shaw on it, and advise the Holguíns to keep the boy underground. It’s hard to find someone on thermal through several tons of dirt.”
Her father pulled out his palm and began typing a message. “I’ll have Chief Shaw escort the boy to the Holguín compound and keep a few patrols in the area. The chairwoman can contest our interference with the council later.”
“She will,” her mother predicted. “I suspect two groups are out tonight, Henri. The loyalists want Oskar dead, but the traditionalists will want him alive. At ten million credits, the boy would make for a cheap and grateful puppet, one still young enough to be molded.”
“It beats being a slave, doesn’t it?” Lila asked.
“It’s just a different kind of slavery. We should all be more concerned with the empire’s aristocracy. If they fetch Oskar and take his father from King Lucas, then they could gain control of the empire, so long as they can sway public sentiment and gain the support of their clergy. Warmongers, the lot of them. King Lucas does a fair job of holding them all in check, but if he loses the reins…”
The chairwoman took a sip of wine and fixed her daughter with a stare. “War is generally bad for business, unless you’re the one supplying the bullets and the rations and tossing someone else’s children into the breach. It only takes one excuse to beat the drums.”
“Well, let’s hope they don’t find an excuse.”