37: THE DUKE’S WIVES

Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Miya’s hatred of Darzin ceased not being personal

Kihrin stared at Qown with wide eyes. “Damn.”

Qown nodded. “Oh, indeed. I, uh … he seems so reasonable. That’s the hardest part. You find yourself wondering if you’re the one who’s being unfair.”

Ninavis looked over at Dorna. “You know, it never occurred to me how deep under I am. Just underwater. Here I’m worried about how we’re going to convince the Adoreli to stop warring with the Gadurans.” She paused as she saw the confusion on people’s faces. “Those are Marakori clans we’re recruiting. It’s not important. Anyway, you people are on a whole different level…” She leaned over toward Janel. “Tya? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Janel shook her head and shrugged. “It wasn’t my choice.” She paused. “At least I’m fairly sure it wasn’t my choice … I’d hate to think it was.”¹

“Teraeth’s got Janel beat, though,” Kihrin offered. “Besides apparently being an angel—my new favorite definition of irony—he’s Thaena’s son and Khored’s grandson.” Then he held up his hand. “But I don’t know if his parentage means anything. Divinity doesn’t seem to be a thing you can inherit.”

“No,” Qown agreed. “It wouldn’t be.”

Kihrin looked over at Janel. “Your turn?”

She nodded. “My turn.”

Janel’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.

“Where could he have gone?” I rushed into the room, checked the water closet, the wardrobe, any place he might hide.

Brother Qown’s satchel was missing.

Senera didn’t answer me. She took the stone from around her neck, rubbed her index finger against it, and drew a phantom line against the marble wall. She read the fading warmth against the glossy surface and looked relieved. “It’s fine. Relos Var sent Pragaos for him.”

“By what definition is that fine?” I snapped. I knew having Brother Qown as a hostage against my good behavior meant nothing if they harmed him. But if Qown had managed to wake and commit suicide in my absence, the sensible response would have been to lie.

She looked up, surprised by my venom, and then smiled. “Oh, darling, you really do think Relos Var’s the villain here, don’t you? Are you the hero?”

“At least I haven’t wiped out whole villages.”

“No, but you support a government that does,” Senera said. “Did you think I invented Lysian gas?”

“What is Lysian—?”

Senera waved her fingers. “The blue smoke. That’s a present straight from your Academy of Magic in Kirpis. Quur used it against the Yorans during the invasion. Against, oh yes, whole villages.”

“T-that was a war,” I stammered to hide my shock. I dismissed her claims as fabrication. They had to be.

“Pay attention. This is a war. Do you think Quur sat down with the Yoran rulers and said, ‘Oh yes, very good. Now we shall accept your formal surrender, whenever you’re ready, to bring a lasting peace’? No, the Quuros stomped until blood turned all the ice red. When they concluded they’d well and truly broken the Yoran spirit, that’s when they moved in.” She laughed. “I suppose subjugation worked in Jorat. All that thudajé business. You people know how to accept you’ve been beaten.”

The casual way she spoke the words belied their razor edge. I felt it even though—if Relos Var had told the truth—my lineage was Khorveshan rather than Joratese.

And what did that mean, anyway? I knew little about Khorvesh except that they have a reputation for being good soldiers, at the forefront of every Quuros military push. I knew they lived in a land opposite from Jorat in almost all respects: dry, hot, and arid. I knew the army that had helped us—helped the Joratese—defeat Khorsal had been Khorveshan.

Well, so much for my pride at being descended from Atrin Kandor.²

“We weren’t beaten by Quur,” I said. “We joined forces with Quur and accepted their aid in destroying the tyrant who enslaved us. And no matter what the Quuros did to Yor, you can’t expect me to shrug and say, ‘Oh, well, that’s okay, then. Go ahead and use a horrible weapon against unsuspecting, innocent people since Quur did it first.’”

“No, but I do get to say Quur made the rules. We’re just playing by them.”

I didn’t answer. There seemed no point. We wouldn’t convince each other.

I reminded myself I needed to start pretending she was convincing me.

Senera walked over to the couch and sat down. “I know you think he’s a terrible person, but maybe you should take a moment to rethink your assumptions. He’s the finest man I’ve ever known.”

“If the group we met at lunch is any measure, you should meet a better class of men.”

She chuckled. “You may have a point. I wasn’t much older than you when I first met Relos Var. Except unlike you, I was a sex slave owned by the High Lord of House D’Jorax. Believe me when I say that compared to royalty, Relos Var looks very good indeed.”

I felt a shudder pass through me. “I’m sorry.”

“I’d say it was worse than you can imagine, but you’ve known Xaltorath, so I doubt that’s true. In any event, you see why I’m biased in Relos Var’s favor.”

Looking at her, I understood too. After all, what could ever compete? Var had rescued her from horrors. Why would she ever turn against the man who freed her from that?

But he’d done more than rescue Senera: he’d educated her, trained her, given her a cause. Senera didn’t believe she was an evil person. She might do terrible things, yes, but she clearly felt the wrongs she committed were for the greater good, justified by a greater and better future. She wasn’t a demon but an angel, fighting a holy war against the monsters who had put her through more pain than any man, woman, or child should ever endure.³

I couldn’t look at her and tell myself I’d never fall into the same trap. How easy is it to convince ourselves we’re infallible, that our way and point of view are the only ones that matter. Oh, it is the easiest trap, and it always comes loaded with the most effective bait, our own desperate need for self-worth.

“Look, would you mind … leaving me be? I need time.”

Senera started to say something, paused, and nodded. “Of course.”

She walked out the door.

As soon as she left, I drew a deep breath and then let myself succumb to what I’d been holding back for as long as I remembered. Holding back because I had been raised to believe my duty required me to be a symbol of strength for others.

But I no longer existed as a symbol of strength for anyone. No one was counting on me to be the one in control.

I was anything but in control.

I wanted my grandfather. I wanted my parents. I wanted my mother.

Except they weren’t my real family. She wasn’t my real mother. She never had been.

I collapsed into tears and didn’t stop crying until at some point my sobs rolled over into my own parody of sleep.

---

I woke to find myself back in the Afterlife.

And about to be attacked by demons. Of course.

I didn’t hesitate. I waded into the battle, screaming.

In the middle of fighting demons, ankle deep in blood, I realized I wasn’t alone. I hadn’t heard the elephants this time. I’d seen no arrows from Thaena’s troops.

And yet, Teraeth was fighting alongside me, destroying demons too, slicing knives across throats and slipping blades under armor with the most elegant precision. He gave me no sign but a nod, and then we both fell back to killing.

I wasn’t done crying. I sobbed even as I discarded the sword as inadequate to my rage and began using my bare hands to rip and maim and slaughter.

Even though I had always acted as though my strength was a curse, this time I reveled in the power denied me in the Living World. I let my savage delight show in every skull crushed in my bare hands or throat ripped out by curled fingers.

And finally, we were the only ones left.

“Janel…” He sheathed his knives, his eyes on me filled with concern as he rushed over to me. “What happened? I heard—”

I almost sat on a demon’s corpse, but chose a rock instead, knowing the body would fade in minutes. I took a deep, shuddering breath and wrestled my emotions under control.

“Teraeth, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

He knelt next to me, touched my cheek as delicately as I had once touched his. “I’ll organize a rescue party. Mother told me what happened. It’s not worth staying there.”

“They gaeshed Qown.” I winced. “Relos Var gaeshed Qown.”

He bit his lip. As he did, I realized he had no idea who Qown was. I’d never mentioned the priest to him before. But even without knowing Qown’s identity, Teraeth must have understood my guilt.

“Okay,” he said. “My mother can help. We can pull you out.”

“No, No. I—” I took a deep breath. “I still have to find the spear. Who knows how many more people across Jorat are going to die until I do?”

His expression tightened. “Thaena said the spear may be able to kill a dragon. May. She doesn’t know for sure. It’s never been done. It’s not worth putting you in jeopardy.”

I almost felt flattered at the concern in his voice. Almost. Except for the healthy dose of “I know better than you do” condescension that also lurked there.

I wasn’t in the mood.

“No,” I repeated. “I refuse to retreat when I’ve come this far. I need to find a way to recover Qown’s gaesh and the spear, and in the meantime, I’m learning invaluable information. For example, they have in their possession a Cornerstone called the Name of All Things, which can be used to answer any question. If it has seemed like your enemies know too much, it’s not your imagination.”⁴

Teraeth’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You see? Now you know something new. You’re welcome.”

“So you mean the only thing keeping them from finding out you’re a spy is they haven’t asked?” His voice rose. “No. Absolutely not. I’m coming after you right now. I’ll go to Mithros. He’s been worried sick about you—”

“Mithros knows where I am, Teraeth.”

He stopped, flustered. “No, he doesn’t. I spoke to him yesterday. He said he hadn’t spoken to you since the morning of the tournament.”

I stared at him. “No, that’s not—” I stood up from the rock and paced several times, casting my gaze toward the Chasm. “When I saw him here in the Afterlife, he wouldn’t go to the Chasm. In fact, he led me away from the Chasm.”

“So?”

“You’re never more likely to encounter a god than at the Chasm.” I looked at Teraeth. “I thought I was speaking with Khored—to Mithros. You do know who Mithros really is—?”

He waved a hand. “I know. But go on.”

“What if I’ve been speaking with someone else? Xaltorath? But why would she—” I resisted the urge to wring my hands. “Teraeth, if it was her … she did something to me that stopped Relos Var from gaeshing me. Why would Xaltorath do that?”

“Stopped you from being gaeshed?” Teraeth blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“Khored—or Xaltorath, or whoever it was—did something that would protect me from being gaeshed. Which, since I’m not gaeshed right now, must have worked.”

Teraeth shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

“Clearly not.”

He frowned. “What if Xaltorath gaeshed you? As far as I know, you can’t be gaeshed twice.”

“I think I’d know if I’d been gaeshed.”

“Would you?” Teraeth raised an eyebrow. “Do you sleep without dreams? Do you feel weakened?”

He already knew the answer to one of those questions: I possessed no dreams except for my journeys through the Afterlife. And I did indeed feel weakened—because of Senera.

So if I had been gaeshed, would I notice the difference?

I paced. “You think it was Xaltorath?”

“Who else? It couldn’t have been Khored. That would make no sense.”⁵

“Why would Xaltorath help me? That makes no sense either.”

“No more sense than demons ever make.”

I sat back down again. “Xaltorath breaks many rules for a demon. She ignored the emperor when he ordered her to leave me. You should have seen his mouth drop open.” I blinked at Teraeth, who stared at me with a shocked expression. “Rather like that.”

Teraeth rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you realize what you just said? When all the demons were bound, they were gaeshed. Who do you think controls those gaeshe? The emperor does. That’s what the Crown and Scepter were created to do. You’re telling me a demon just laughed off a gaesh command?” He exhaled. “That would only be possible if Xaltorath isn’t a demon, which is obviously not true.”⁶

I found myself standing again. “Are you suggesting I’m ‘mistaken’ about the single most traumatic experience of my entire life?”

“Janel, it was traumatic! It’s not unreasonable to think the horror of what you experienced distorted your memory.”

“The high general was there. Emperor Sandus was there. Do you think Sandus forgot to order a demon to leave a possessed child?”

“Damn it, Janel, I’ve worn the things. I’m telling you that’s not how this works!”

I paused, whatever defense I’d planned on shouting back at him dying on my lips. Instead, in a normal tone, I asked, “How has a Manol vané ever worn a human crown—never mind the Crown and Scepter of Quur?”

He froze.

“Teraeth…,” I started again. “How has a Manol vané—?”

“I heard you the first time.” He inhaled deeply. “Fuck.”

“Then answer the question, please.”

He didn’t, not for a long time. Then he walked away from me and sat down on a rock overlooking the cliff. The Afterlife’s broken, twisted trees spread out ahead. In the distance, yellow mist floated fingers over a lake’s surface, more creepy than romantic.

I walked toward him.

“The cycle,” he said, “is that we die and we’re reborn and we’re not supposed to know what happened to us from one life to the next. Except I remember perfectly. And in my last life, I ended up as emperor of Quur.”

“Which one?”

He grimaced. “Janel, that’s not important—”

“Which one?”

“Atrin Kandor.”

I stared at him in shock. “What?”⁷

He rolled his eyes. “I was Atrin Kandor. You remember, the man who—”

“I know who Atrin Kandor is! Everyone knows who Atrin Kandor is! Most of Quur wouldn’t exist without Atrin Kandor. The man who built Atrine in a single night and slew the god-king Khorsal and kicked the Kirpis vané out of their homeland. That was you?”

“You forgot the part where I ordered a goodly chunk of the Quuros army to their deaths, trying to invade the Manol.”

“Did you … lose a bet with your mother Thaena? Because the idea that Atrin Kandor would be reincarnated as—as you—is the punch line to a joke. You were the single greatest threat to the vané to ever walk the earth, and she reincarnates you as a vané?”⁸

“She does love her poetic justice.” He raised a finger. “But for the record, I’ve been saddled with sins I never committed. For example, I did not wipe out the dreth. They’re still around. Just underground. Literally.”

“I see,” I said. I did too, since as Janel “Danorak” I knew all about the power of distorted myth. “Are there any other confessions you feel like making while we linger here?”

He didn’t answer. Teraeth sat there, drumming his fingers against the rock.

“Teraeth—”

“When I was Atrin Kandor, you were my wife.”

I waited, just in case he felt like revealing that last part was a joke.

He didn’t.

I couldn’t fault him for his honesty, but the confession felt awkward. Intimate and also ugly. Like finding out you’d been so drunk, you’d done something you didn’t remember. Even if I had been willing at the time, the idea I couldn’t remember the choices I’d made or the reasoning behind them left me with a blank, heavy feeling in my stomach.

“I suppose it was a romance for the ages,” I said at last, because I didn’t know what else to say.

“No,” he said, his voice ragged. “No, not in the least. I treated you horribly, I didn’t deserve you, and by the time I realized, I couldn’t make it right.” His voice was smooth and dark and dripped, dripped, dripped with the deepest regret. “When I met you—”

“Don’t,” I said.

“I just want you to know—”

I put my hand to his mouth. “Shut up.”

He stared at me.

“I don’t care,” I said, which I tried to make myself believe was true. “Some other woman who shares my soul married some other man who shared yours.” I lifted my hand away from his mouth. “Are you still Atrin Kandor?”

He laughed. “No.”

“And I’m not her. How could I be? What was she? A princess? Some duke’s daughter?”

“No,” he said. “No. She was nobody.” He winced. “I mean, a musician. Played the harp—” His eyes went wide. “Oh gods. I have a type.”

“See, if that’s your type, then I don’t qualify. I don’t know how to play any instrument but slaughter. I don’t even know how to sing. I like to dance and dress up for parties, although not quite as much as I love to win. I’m no man’s wife, although I cannot promise someone won’t be my wife or husband or both. I may not limit myself to just one.”

He gave me a stunned look, but he didn’t seem upset. “Will you marry me?”

“Given our history, I don’t think we should ask that question until we know each other much better. I would wager you had no clue of your wife’s favorite color or food or what personal goals she carried in her heart. I doubt marrying you capped her life’s ambitions.”⁹

Teraeth pulled me into his arms. “That is all very true, but I still think you’re amazing.”

“That’s a good start.” I tucked myself against his side and waited.

He waited too.

I whispered into his ear. “This is the part where you ask me what goals I carry in my heart.”

“Oh! Uh, I—” He didn’t let me go, but the awkwardness returned.

I leaned back to look at him. “Let’s start with something easy. My favorite color is turquoise.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Turquoise? Really?”

“The color of a cloudless sky in summer. Really. Now what’s yours?”

“If I say red, you’ll think I’m flattering you.”

“Not if it’s true.”

“It’s true.” Teraeth’s eyes went far away. “There’s this red, a shifting crimson, which results from using copper to glaze porcelain. It’s very difficult to create it on purpose. Most people use copper to create green glazes. But if you know what you’re doing, you can make red and shade it anywhere from Khorveshan sandstone to the freshest arterial blood. My father used to make—” He stopped himself. “I mean, my father in my last life. Not this life. I don’t really know my father in this life.”

“I’m beginning to think it’s not an advantage to remember one’s past lives.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. But then—” He smiled an acid and self-deprecating smile. “Sooner or later, one’s blessings are always one’s curses.”

“Yes.” I leaned up to him and …

Well.

Let’s just say we proceeded to make a start on the “getting to know each other a lot better” part of our relationship and leave it there.¹⁰

---

I woke the next morning in a good mood.

For about two seconds.

And I can’t even blame waking in Yor for my ill humor.

I can, however, blame the strange woman leaning over my bed.

She was old. Not a well-aged, graceful old. Dorna is old, but she has a face anyone would love in a grandmother, all warm eyes and sweet smiles.¹¹ This old woman looked like she’d be a danger to any child. Her wrinkled skin looked lizard-like, if an albino lizard with watery brown eyes. Her hair evoked rat kings and knotted string.

Her grin made my skin crawl. “I made you breakfast, dearie.” On the nightstand beside the bed, she set a platter loaded with cooked oats and apples, crusty bread, and red meat stew.

I was reaching for the bread when Senera walked through the door, took one look at the old woman, and snapped, “Don’t eat anything she gives you!” She upended the tray, splattering stew and oatmeal all over the floor.

I blinked, even as the old woman snarled. “Bitch! I was trying to be nice!”

Senera hit her across the face.

“Hey, now hold on—”

“What meat did you use, Wyrga? Kitten? Puppy? Or did a local woman leave another baby out in the cold?”¹²

I stopped protesting, and sat there, horrified, more horrified still by the gleeful look that stole over the old woman’s face. “Aw, you spoil all my games. I found a stillborn foal last night.”

I leaned away, fighting back bile.

“Damn it all, Wyrga. How many times do we have to tell you to stop doing this?”

“Forever,” the old woman snarled. “Let me have my fun.”

Senera grimaced. “Come on, Janel. We’re leaving, anyway. Wyrga, clean this up.”

“I’m not your maid,” the old woman said. “Clean it up yourself.” She turned her attention back to me as I stood. “I know you. I knew your mother too, back in the day. She was a whore. Are you a whore too?”

“By the Eight, what could’ve happened to turn you into such a nasty piece of work?” Even as I said the words, I remembered how I knew her. She’d tended the fire at the banquet, the woman who’d stared hate at me like a spear’s throw.

She cackled. “Ha! Ha ha! Oh, now that’s a story! Best question anyone’s asked me around here in years.” She pointed a bony finger at me. “You come around sometime and I’ll show you, just see if I don’t.”

“Wyrga, don’t you dare,” Senera snapped. She tugged again on my chemise. “Come on. Let’s leave before I do something I’ll regret. Wyrga’s one of the duke’s favorites, for reasons that escape me.”

The old crone grinned toothily. She wasn’t missing any. On the contrary, she seemed to have too many, all sharp. “He likes what I can do with my mouth.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much. Also, you’re disgusting.”

I didn’t hesitate to go, even though technically speaking I hadn’t dressed. I didn’t care about leaving behind clothing that wasn’t mine, for a start.

“Where are we going?” I asked when we were out of earshot.

“I’m going back to work, which I doubt you’ll want to have anything to do with. And since I don’t dare leave you here alone, I’m putting you with the duke’s wives. It’s the most guarded area in the entire palace. You’ll be safe there.”

“Wait, what? I don’t want to be—”

Senera stopped and turned back to me. “Two minutes. You got into trouble less than two minutes after being left alone with the men here. I have no reason to think it would be any different this time. And neither I, Brother Qown, nor Lord Var will be around to heal your hand when you break it on someone’s face again. So I’d prefer to put you someplace secure.”

“Fine.”

“You might like it. A few wives are under the laughable impression the duke will impregnate them, but most women are just enjoying not being forced to have anything to do with the men. They even have books.”

“Sounds fantastic. I don’t suppose they have a stable…?”

“In this climate? No. Honestly, I shudder to think where Wyrga found a horse. She might have lied. The closest thing you’ll find to a mount around here are the snow hyenas that pull the sleighs, and the occasional mammoth.”

I nodded and reminded myself I needed to find the spear, discover who had Brother Qown’s gaesh (and for that matter, Brother Qown), and escape.

The sooner the better.

---

I had yet to gain a real sense of what the palace looked like from the outside. The walls had all been made from the same windowless black stone. It seemed like an endless and twisting maze, lit by mage-light lamps. The air seemed fresh, though, I assumed because of magic. Indeed, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn a team of servants patrolled the halls, painting damn air sigils under every chair and behind every painting.

The single guarded entrance to the wives’ quarters led to a massive hall. One wall derived from the same transparent crystal I had seen in the main dining room. Several balconies interrupted its near-invisible expanse, jutting out into teal skies. Reflecting pools and blooming flowers lined the hall. The room looked like the personification of winter made fluffy and comfortable. Pillows and furs and all the silks anyone might desire had been tossed about.

Even though cold never bothered me, I still felt the chill. The wives didn’t seem to notice.

Their ages ranged from a little older than I to the same age as Ninavis, but no one older. They were all Yoran, pale-skinned and ice-colored, not necessarily attractive.

“No males?” I whispered to Senera.

She gave me an odd look that I couldn’t quite interpret, then shook her head. “No, no men allowed. The guards outside are the closest any man besides Duke Kaen ever gets, and even they aren’t allowed inside when the duke is in attendance. Duke Kaen insists he should be his wives’ only pleasure.”

I had to stop myself from choking. “Um, but … uh…”

Senera stopped fighting her smile. “Yes?”

“Has no one told Kaen we don’t need males for that?”

Her eyes turned bright. “Don’t spoil their fun. There’s more than a few long-term romances tolerated here, but only because their husband doesn’t seem to realize it’s a possibility.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.”

A woman noticed us and drifted over. “Bringing us the Khorveshan girl?” She pursed her lips. “You don’t look Khorveshan.”

“Thank you,” I said and meant it. “I don’t feel Khorveshan.”

“Bikeinoh, this is Janel.” Senera nudged me forward. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep an eye on her while I’m gone.”

The woman raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Of course. We don’t have anything better to do, do we?” The bite in her words hinted at previous unpleasantness.

“Just do it. And get her something to wear. Wyrga broke into her room this morning, so I didn’t dare leave her there.”

I would bet metal the sign the woman made warded against evil spirits.

Senera turned to me. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

She rolled her eyes and left.

“Who is Wyrga?” I asked as soon as Senera left.

Bikeinoh looked around before answering. “Kaen’s monster. And the trainer of Kaen’s monsters. She deals with the animals. Polar bears and snow hyenas. She’s been here for longer than I have, and she’s horrible. Not everyone here feels that way about her, though, so I wouldn’t be too loud about criticizing her.”

“Someone likes her? That’s hard to believe.”

Bikeinoh looked around again. “Wyrga claims she’s the last witch-mother.”

I blinked. “Witch-mother? What’s a witch-mother?”

“So this is the wizard’s new Khorveshan wife, huh?” Another woman approached. She looked near to me in age, and she didn’t walk so much as strut. This woman intended to make sure I didn’t entertain any fallacies about the pecking order and my place in it.

I looked at her sideways. “Is that a problem?”

The woman shrugged. “No. As long as you stay away from Azhen.”

“Who?”

“From my husband,” she elaborated. “Azhen Kaen.”

“Oh, Veixizhau, please. You’re wife number twenty-eight. Do you think he’d even notice if you went missing?”¹³

“Well, he wouldn’t care if you went missing. How many years have you been married to the man and no child yet?”

“You keep assuming I care.”

“You should. He keeps taking me to bed like this and I’ll be first wife soon.” Veixizhau rolled her eyes and sauntered away, shaking her hips with extra rigor. They were beautiful hips, mind you. But her personality made them easy to ignore.

I stood there, blinking. “She seems nice.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just upset because she’s not pregnant yet.” Bikeinoh laughed and then lowered her voice to a whisper. “As if we’ll ever conceive. Kaen wants Exidhar to inherit. It’s his insurance against being assassinated by the clans.”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you met the Hon’s son?”

I thought back to our very unfortunate meeting. “I have, yes.” I paused. “They don’t wish Exidhar to inherit because he’s half-Khorveshan?”

With the unwelcome news that I was at least half-Khorveshan, I found myself interested in the answer. Would I be forced to contend with some deeper prejudice besides my sex?

“Yes. It was a terrible scandal when the Hon married his Khorveshan wife. So much so the clans felt they had to do something about it. They say her ghost still haunts the tunnels underneath the palace. If you go down to the storerooms and listen, you can still hear her screams.” She chuckled. “Not that we’re allowed to go down to the storerooms.”

“Why kill the wife? Wouldn’t it make more sense to assassinate the duke and his son?”

“The Hon,” Bikeinoh corrected.

“Fine. The Hon.”

“Yes, they tried to assassinate him. When Azhen Kaen started outlawing the old ways, started talking about education and rights, the clan leaders thought it was their chance. Azhen and Exidhar survived. His wife Xivan didn’t.” Bikeinoh made a face.”All my life, my father used to say the Kaen family was soft. Too much Quuros blood.¹⁴ Well, the clans did nice work there. Killing the Hon’s wife hardened Azhen Kaen up just fine. And by Cherthog did he ever make us regret it. Tracked down the Simoshgra and wiped out the entire clan. Every single last one. As soon as we heard the news, I told my father we’d better give Kaen assurances. We’d better demonstrate just how sorry we were about what happened, or he wouldn’t stop with the Simoshgra. So that’s what I am. What all these women are. Assurance. Been here ever since.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not so bad. Never had a reason to complain to Suless about it, anyway.”

“No, I suppose not.” I looked around the room. This all seemed very pampered and even more boring. “With all these wives, I assume he must keep busy.”

“Oh no,” Bikeinoh said, laughing. “I think he’d prefer to forget we existed, but occasionally, he remembers and does his duty. But I think if we ever gave him the excuse, he’d be all too happy to send us all packing back to our families again.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

Her eyes widened. “No.”

I didn’t understand. Back in Jorat, arranged marriages rarely occurred but could be successful if the families had done a good job with the matchmaking. Forced marriages with multiple partners? Unheard of. The likelihood of a partner feeling saelen and just … wandering … into other relationships made such an option unpopular and unwise. And if a spouse kept their mates imprisoned to ensure they didn’t leave, they’d label themselves as thorra. Nobody wanted that.

Of course, these women might not be interested in wandering at all. Bikeinoh seemed quite comfortable in her situation. That told me a lot about how women in the rest of Yor could expect to be treated.

“You haven’t broken fast yet, have you?” Bikeinoh continued. “Why don’t we go—”

But as Bikeinoh spoke, another wife jogged up, out of breath. Her parti-color skin suggested an ancestry that included at least one or two of the many Joratese who’d served with the Quuros army when they occupied the region, decades before. “You’re the new girl, right?”

It wasn’t worth correcting her. “May I help you?”

“Not me,” she said. “The Hon wants to see you. Right now.”