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As far as she could tell, there was a town nearby, though she had no idea which one. There was a river down the hill, beyond the garden, but she had no idea if it was the Bewerian or not. During their ride from the bandit camp, Donella had gotten completely turned around, and she couldn’t have even said for certain whether she was in Sahasra Deva or Myrcia now.
Pallavi and Vikker had brought her to a country house, a pretty little place with red sandstone walls sprouting ivy and a gray tile roof. There was a patio off to one side and a little veranda overlooking the garden. Most of the rooms were kept locked, but the one they’d given to Donella was clean and comfortable, with a soft bed and a deep-cushioned leather chair by the window.
Her new captors were at least nicer than the old ones. Pallavi loaned her several dresses. They were half a foot too short in the skirt, and a little tight in the waist, but they were still a nice change from her brother’s old trousers and tunics. Donella was allowed to wander freely about the house, but when they had first arrived, Pallavi had snapped a little gold bracelet around her arm, saying, “This is for your protection, more than anything. To make sure you don’t get lost.”
The bracelet didn’t hurt, but it was impossible to remove it, no matter what she did. And it had the most remarkable and frightening magysk power. She could go out the door of the house and as far as the end of the gravel path in the garden. But if she tried to go beyond that—down the drive to the road, for example, the air around her grew thicker. First it was like water, then it was like mud, and finally, after about ten feet, it was as if she had hit an invisible wall, and the only way she could move at all was to turn around and head back the way she had come.
She tried running at the magysk barrier a few times to see if she could break through, and the only result had been a bruised backside when she bounced off it like she’d hit a mattress. Reluctantly, she came to the conclusion that she had to accept her captivity, at least for the time being.
One rainy morning, she went downstairs to find Vikker alone at the breakfast table.
“Pallavi has gone out,” he said, “and she may be away for some time.”
Donella knew better than to ask where she had gone, so she sat and helped herself to scones and coffee. She felt Vikker watching her as she ate, and she knew he was going to start questioning her again.
Sure enough, when the scones were finished, he asked, “Why were you going to Pinburg by yourself?” Both he and Pallavi had asked variations of that question, over and over, and Donella had tried a number of lies, none of which were very convincing.
Then he said, “I will make a guess, and you can tell me if I’m right. I think you were in Pinburg because you were following Lord Andras Byrne.”
Her coffee cup clattered against the table as she set it down hard. “How did...I mean, what makes you say that?”
“So I’m right,” he said, with a smug grin. “It’s an elementary deduction. I had a hard time believing that your trip to Pinburg and his could be completely unrelated. It seemed like too great a coincidence. So why were you following him?”
“I...well, I mean...,” she stammered. There was no point in pretending any longer, though. “I was trying to warn him. My mother—the queen, I mean—thinks his family is up to no good.”
“Would it surprise you to learn your mother is right?”
“Not really,” sighed Donella. “She usually is. About certain things, anyway. So why did he go to Pinburg, then?”
“Not to Pinburg. Or at least not only to Pinburg.” There was a slightly unpleasant gleam in Vikker’s eyes. “He’s here in Sahasra Deva right now, as a matter of fact, up in Briddobad. Want to guess what he’s doing there?”
The destination alone made it pretty obvious. Briddobad was where Edwin Sigor, the little deposed king, held court with his band of exiles. “Meeting the Sigors, I assume.” Donella’s heart sank. The Byrnes really were going to commit treason. Poor Andras was in so much danger, and he didn’t even know it.
“Not just meeting them.” Vikker leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “He’s there to marry Princess Elwyn.”
Donella slumped in her chair, like her life had run out through her shoes. She leaned forward and bumped her head against the table. “Oh, Earstien,” she sighed. “I am such an idiot.” She felt like she was going to cry. No, on second thought, she felt like she was going to throw up.
Vikker chuckled. “Well, I suppose I can guess why you took such an interest in him, then. Poor girl. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me stop the wedding, would you?”
“How?”
“By making him fall for you, instead, obviously.”
She looked up, and for a brief, cruel moment, she actually felt hope. But then she thought of what she had seen at the stable in Pinburg, and she fell back in her seat again with a weary, mirthless laugh. “Sorry, but it can’t ever work. I’m not his type.”
“His type? What do you mean? You’re too tall? Too blonde? Too quiet?”
“Too female,” she said. Part of her felt guilty for blurting out his secret like that, but what was the point of concealing the truth, after all? Best to save Vikker—and herself—the trouble of fighting against Andras’s nature.
“I see,” said Vikker, nodding gravely. After a moment, though, he smiled again. “That shouldn’t be too hard for you to overcome.”
“What? Did you not understand me?” She shook her head. “I mean he’s attracted to other men. If you want someone to seduce him, you might try doing it yourself.”
“Ah, but I lack your...depth of motivation. That counts for a great deal in cases like these.” Vikker stood and beckoned her. “Come with me for a minute.”
They went upstairs and down the hall, past Donella’s room, to the last door. Pallavi had said her “workshop” was in there, but it was always locked.
With a wave of his hand, Vikker unlocked and opened the door, revealing a small room lined with workbenches. It was dark, with only a thin shaft of light coming through the heavy curtains at the far end. On the walls, there were little racks and cubbyholes full of wire and jewels, and rows of jars with strange liquids in alarming shades of green and orange and pink. Every one was labeled, though the labels were written in Immani and Annensprak and in weird runic languages Donella had never seen before.
Vikker walked right in, but Donella hung back on the threshold. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’re just here to borrow something. Pallavi won’t mind.” He turned around several times, searching, before crying, “Ah ha!” and jumping forward to pull something off a high shelf. He held out a ring to her, deep coppery orange in color, with a purple amethyst crystal in the top. “Here. Try it on.”
She glanced at the ring, and then at the bracelet that kept her captive. “What will happen if I do?”
“Only good things, I promise.” He took her hand and slipped the ring onto it before she had time to react.
Nothing happened. It was a relief, but also a bit of a letdown.
“What does this do, exactly?” She moved her hand around to examine the ring more closely. Tiny Sahasran characters were etched into the metal. “How is this going to help me attract Andras?”
“First turn the ring so you can touch the stone with your thumb. Yes, that’s it. You have to do that every time—it’s a precaution against triggering the spells accidentally. Now,” he grinned, “I want you to picture yourself naked, and—”
“What?” she cried.
“Do it. Picture your own, naked body. Do you see it? Yes? Good. Now repeat the following words after me: ‘Viparit Vanao.’”
“What does that mean?” she said suspiciously.
“It’s not important. Just repeat it. You can do it under your breath if you like.”
She was tempted to take the ring off and throw it in his face, but she was also terribly curious to find out what it did. So she took a deep breath and said “Viparit Vanao.”
Instantly it was as if her torso was caught in a vise. She could hardly breathe, and when she looked down, she saw her chest collapsing. At the same time, it was like everything being forced out of her chest was being squeezed into her shoulders, which now strained against the fabric of her dress. She could practically hear the stitches popping. Worst of all, there was a strange, uncomfortable sensation down below, in a part of her she didn’t like to spend too much time thinking about. It seemed for all the world as if she was being turned inside out. And something was rubbing against her inner thighs, too—long and warm and...and curiously hard.
She put a hand down there, not even thinking that Vikker was watching, and discovered to her horror that she was now more than adequately equipped to appeal to Andras, or any other man of his predilections.
“I’ve got a...,” she gasped. “I’ve got...um....” Her face felt like it was on fire.
“You’ve got a cock,” said Vikker. “And a rather nice one, too, judging by what I can see in that dress. ‘Viparit Vanao’ means, ‘Make it the opposite,’ by the way.”
Feeling her chest, she found her breasts were, indeed, gone. “How do I reverse this?” she demanded. “Put me back the way I was, right now!”
“It wears off on its own in an hour or two, depending on how...large the change is that you make in yourself. But you can reverse the spell right now if you say ‘Vapasee.’ It means, ‘Return.’”
She said it, and there was the same squeezing, roiling, inverting sensation for five or six seconds, after which, much to her relief, she had her own body back, with everything in its old familiar place again. Yanking off the ring, she dropped it and then stumbled, falling onto her backside. She scrambled away, staring at the ring like it was a deadly spider.
Vikker picked it up and held it out to her again in his palm. “Don’t be scared. You know Andras will like it. And I have a feeling you’d like it, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were in boys’ clothing when we found you. Come on, now. You can’t tell me you’ve never wondered what it would be like. You can’t tell me you’ve never wished for it. You’re curious, aren’t you?” He held the ring closer. “Come on. Isn’t there a little part of you, somewhere deep down, that always thought boys had more fun in life?”
In point of fact, she had sometimes thought that very thing, and hearing Vikker say it out loud was like having her own thoughts and desires amplified and distorted, like an echo in a cave. And at the same time, as she recalled that brief moment when she had that...thing between her legs, she could feel herself getting wet.
“This can’t be right,” she said to herself. “It can’t be.” And yet, almost without thinking, she reached out and touched the ring with her fingertip.
“We have to stop that wedding,” said Vikker. He closed his hand over the ring and stepped away from her. “I need your help, Donella. If we don’t stop it, then other people will.”
“Who?”
“Other people in the government. Maybe Pallavi, even. And she would use much harsher methods than we will.”
“Harsher methods?” she gasped. “You mean...?”
“Moanne knows, Pallavi doesn’t like to hurt anyone. But if she can’t stop the wedding any other way....” He shrugged, as if it was entirely out of his hands.
That settled it. If Andras was in danger, then she had to do whatever she could to save him. She scrambled to her feet. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
For a few seconds, he frowned thoughtfully at her, like he was trying to make up his mind whether to trust her or not. But then he smiled and handed the ring over. “There you go. We’ll start for Briddobad after lunch.” He winked, and in a lower voice, he said, “Feel free to take that to your room in the meantime and experiment a bit.”