My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 237

Jace

The border market was a sensory overload. There were no neon signs here. No music playing from hidden speakers. Just the sound of five hundred voices haggling over the price of salt, the rhythmic clink of a blacksmith’s hammer, and the heavy, earthy smell of the pack. The market was neutral ground. The South provided grain and textiles. The North provided iron, pelts, and the kind of hard-grade timber that didn't rot.

I adjusted the strap of my satchel. I wasn't here for timber. I was here for a bridge.

Mistwood was strangling Blackwater. They’d moved in like a parasite, taxing our merchants and taking forty percent of our timber cut. Kane was a mess, drowning in the vacuum his ex had left behind. I needed a threat. I needed a whisper in the right ear to make Mistwood realize that Blackwater had friends they couldn't handle.

I started walking down the central aisle. The mud was thick, sticking to the soles of my shoes. I saw a group of Northern warriors sitting on a pile of crates, drinking something from a wooden flagon that smelled like fermented honey and jet fuel. They watched me pass, their eyes tracking the way I moved. I felt like a prize poodle walking through a wolf den, even in these rags.

I couldn't go to her empty-handed. Not after all this time. I needed a gift. And the Alpha and his Luna had recently married. They deserved something too. I needed them to like me. I needed the Butcher to feel well-disposed toward Blackwater when I asked for his shadow to fall over the East.

I spotted a merchant leaning over a table of trinkets and jewelry. He had one eye and a beard that looked like it had never met a comb. He pointed a scarred finger at my satchel.

"You looking for silver? I got pieces that were pulled from the mountain's heart before your father was a pup."

"I'm looking for a pendant," I said, stopping at the table. I looked at the arrangement. There was a lot of junk—heavy iron rings and crude bone charms. "Something for a friend. Someone with refined taste."

The merchant snorted. "Refined taste gets you killed in the frost. You want something that holds a spirit."

"I want something beautiful," I countered.

I scanned the table. My eyes landed on a small, elegant pendant. It was a piece of white bone, carved into the shape of a falling leaf, but the edges were reinforced with thin strips of beaten silver. In the center sat a dark, polished stone—not amber, but a piece of obsidian that caught the grey light and turned it into a deep, bottomless black. It was balanced. It was beautiful, but it was a weapon’s material. It reminded me of her. The way she handled herself, and everyone around her.

"How much?" I asked.

"Three gold," the merchant said. He didn't even look at me. He started sharpening a knife on a stone.

"One gold," I replied. I’d spent years haggling with human property developers in the human world; a one-eyed wolf was an easy mark. "And I won't tell the Master of the Market that you're selling Southern silver as Northern ore."

The merchant stopped sharpening. He looked at me with his one good eye, his jaw tightening. "Two gold. And you keep your mouth shut."

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