Onyx jumped into my arms, nestling into the crook of my elbow and hiding his face. “He does not have fleas.” “That you know of,” Kingfisher said. “What about this one, then? Is this one for sale?” The stable hand thumbed a hand in the direction of Carrion. “What's your best offer?” Fisher asked. “No!” Kingfisher had the audacity to look bored when I slapped his arm. “No, the human isn't for sale either,” he said in a flat, annoyed tone. “Put him in a stall with some hay and cover him with a blanket.
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