Elian sat in his dressing room, staring absentmindedly at the candle flickering on the table. His fingers tapped against the wooden surface as he waited.
The Pavilion was alive tonight, the usual hum of conversations and the quiet murmurs of patrons eager for entertainment filled the air just beyond his door. But Elian's mind was elsewhere, wrapped around a thought that had been lingering in the back of his mind for weeks now.
Izan.
The merchant who had become a constant presence in his life. Night after night, Izan came to him, winning the bidding with ease, each time outbidding the other patrons.
Elian never saw the bidding himself, he was never allowed to. But every evening, he felt a strange sense of relief knowing that Izan would come through that door.
