The greenland giant was roaring like a lion when Jardir burst from the dama’ting sanctuary, Leesha following close behind. Amkaji and Coliv had put lines on his wrists, and three dal’Sharum pulled on the rope to either arm, hauling at him like a raging stallion. One warrior, clung tenaciously to his great back, his arms crossed in front of the giant’s throat in an attempt to choke him down, but if Gared even noticed, he gave no sign. The warrior’s feet swung far from the ground, and even those pulling on the lines stumbled to keep him contained.
Rojer was pinned helplessly, almost casually, against a wall by another dal’Sharum who held him in place with one hand as he watched what was transpiring, an amused grin on his face.
“What is going on here?” Jardir demanded. “Where is the woman?”
Before any of the Sharum could answer, there was another cry, coming from an alley between the buildings. “Any warrior touching one of the greenlanders when I return will lose the offending hands!” he shouted as he charged to the alley, flying past the others at blinding speed.
Wonda was in the alleyway, held from behind by a warrior who howled as she bit into his arm. Another warrior lay on the ground, clutching between his legs, and a third, Jurim, leaned against the wall, staring in horror at an arm twisted in an impossible direction.
“Release her!” Jardir roared, and everyone looked up at him. Wonda was released instantly, and she drove an elbow into the stomach of the warrior behind her, doubling him over as she reached for the knife at her belt.
Jardir pointed his spear at her. “Do not,” he warned. Just then, Leesha made it to the alley, gasping at the sight. She ran to Wonda immediately.
“What happened?” Leesha asked.
“Those sons of the Core tried to rape me!” Wonda said.
“The Northern whore lies, Deliverer,” Jurim spat. “She attacked us and broke my arm! I demand her life!”
“You expect us to believe that Wonda lured the three of you here and attacked you?” Leesha demanded.
Jardir ignored them both. It was obvious what had happened. He had hoped Wonda’s prowess on the battlefield would impress the warriors enough to dissuade this sort of behavior, but Jurim and the others had apparently felt the need to remind her that off the battlefield, she was still a woman, and an unmarried one at that. By Evejan law, she had no right to refuse a Sharum or attack a man for any reason. Jurim and the others had committed no crime, and were within their rights to demand the girl’s life.
But the greenlanders did not see it that way, Jardir knew, and he needed their warriors, man and women alike, for Sharak Ka. He glanced at Leesha and knew, too, that not all his reasons were selfless. The Sharum would have to be taught to control themselves. An abject lesson like the one he had given Hasik so many years before.
Jardir swept his arm at Jurim and the others, then pointed at the wall. They obediently lined up, backs straight, all of them ignoring wounds the girl had inflicted. She was a born warrior, whatever her gender.
Jardir heard the intake of air in Leesha’s mouth and held up his hand before she could speak, pacing before his men.
“I am intended toward Mistress Leesha,” he said calmly. “An insult to one of the mistress’ servants is an insult to her. An insult to her is an insult to me.”
He looked Jurim in the eyes, lightly touching his chest with the point of the Spear of Kaji. “Have you insulted me, Jurim?” he asked softly.
Jurim’s eyes widened. He looked frantically at Wonda, and then back at Jardir. He squirmed under the speartip, though its touch was feather-light, and began to shake. He knew his life might depend on his answer, but to lie to the Deliverer would cost him his place in Heaven.
Jurim collapsed, falling to his knees and weeping. He pressed his forehead into the dirt and wailed, clutching at Jardir’s feet. “Forgive me, Shar’Dama Ka!”
Jardir kicked him, taking a step backward and broadening his gaze to take in the warriors on either side of Jurim. Immediately they, too, fell to their knees and ground their foreheads into the dirt, wailing.
“Silence!” Jardir snapped, and the men quieted instantly. He pointed to Wonda. “That woman killed more alagai this night than the three of you combined, and so her honor is worth the three of your lives.”
The men cowered, but they did not dare to speak in their defense. “Go to the temple and pray through the night and the coming day,” Jardir said. “You will take your spears and go into the night tomorrow, shieldless and clad only in black bidos. When you are pulled down, your bones will go to Sharik Hora.”
The men shuddered with relief and wept, kissing Jardir’s feet, for in those words, he had promised them the only things a Sharum truly feared to lose: a warrior’s death, and entry into Heaven’s paradise. “Thank you, Deliverer,” they said over and over.
“Go!” Jardir snapped, and the men ran off instantly.
Jardir looked back at Leesha, whose face was a sandstorm. “You just let them go?” she demanded. Jardir realized that their exchange had been in Krasian, and she had likely understood only a fraction of what was said.
“Of course not,” Jardir said, switching back to her tongue. “They will be put to death.”
“But they thanked you!” Leesha said.
“For not castrating them and stripping them of the black,” Jardir said.
Wonda spat on the ground. “Would serve the coresons right.”
“No, it would not!” Leesha said. Jardir could tell she was still upset, but he had no idea why. Should he have killed them personally, in her sight? The greenlanders had different rules for their women, and he had no idea how they handled such matters as this.
“What else do you require?” Jardir asked. “They did not succeed in violating or even harming the girl,” he nodded respectfully to Wonda, “so it is not expected that they should compensate her for her virginity.”
“Ent a virgin, anyway,” Wonda said. Leesha looked at her sharply, but the girl only shrugged.
“But it’s required they pay with their lives?” Leesha demanded.
Jardir looked at her curiously. “They will die with honor. They will go naked into the night tomorrow, with only their spears to protect them.”
Leesha’s eyes bulged. “That’s barbaric!”
It was then Jardir understood. The greenland taboo was death. He bowed. “I had thought the punishment would please you, mistress. I can have them whipped, if you prefer.”
Leesha looked to Wonda, who shrugged. She turned back to Jardir.
“Very well. But we require to bear witness, and I to treat the men’s wounds when the punishment is complete.”
Jardir was surprised at the request, but he hid it well, bowing deeply. The customs of the greenlanders were fascinating. “Of course, mistress. It will be done at sunset tomorrow, for all the Sharum to see and remember. I will administer the lashes myself.”
Leesha nodded. “Thank you. That will suffice.”
“This time,” Wonda growled, and Jardir smiled to see the fierceness in her eyes. Three Spears of the Deliverer it took just to hold her, and none of them able to do the deed! With further training, even kai’Sharum would fall before her. Looking at her, he came to a decision, one that he knew might well tear his army asunder, but Everam had chosen him to lead Sharak Ka, and he would lead as he saw fit.
He gave the woman a warrior’s bow. “There will not be another, Wonda vah Flinn am’Cutter am’Hollow. On this, you have my word.”
“Thank you,” Leesha said, laying a hand on his arm, and Jardir’s spirit leapt at the touch.
There was a loud knocking on the door.
“Whozzat?” Rojer cried, starting awake and looking about. His room was dark, though he could see cracks of light at the edges of the velvet curtains.
The bed was a wonder unlike anything Rojer had felt since his time in Duke Rhinebeck’s brothel. The mattress and pillows were stuffed with goose feathers, and the sheets smooth and soft beneath a down comforter. It was like sleeping on a warm cloud. Hearing nothing more, Rojer was unable to resist its pull as his head fell back into the pillow’s embrace.
The door opened, and Rojer cracked an eye as one of Abban’s wives, or perhaps one of his daughters—Rojer could never tell the difference—entered. She was clad as they all were in loose black robes that hid everything save her eyes, which were cast down in his presence.
“You have a visitor, son of Jessum,” the woman said.
She moved to throw back the heavy velvet curtains and Rojer groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes as light streamed in through the windows of his richly appointed bedroom. Leesha might have a whole floor of the giant manse, but Rojer had still been given a full wing of the second floor, more rooms than the entire inn his parents had run in Riverbridge. Elona had been furious to learn of the largesse the Krasians had heaped upon him, having only gotten a bedroom and sitting room herself, luxurious though they were.
“What hour is it?” Rojer asked. He felt he couldn’t have slept more than an hour or two.
“Just after sunrise,” the woman said.
Rojer groaned again. He hadn’t slept an hour. “Tell whoever it is to come back later,” he said, flopping back into the mattress.
The woman bowed deeply. “I cannot, master. Your visitor is the Damajah. You must see her at once.”
Rojer sat bolt upright, all thoughts of sleep forgotten.
The whole palace was astir by the time Rojer felt presentable enough to leave his chambers. His Jongleur’s paintbox had taken the circles from beneath his eyes, and his bright red hair was brushed and tied back. He wore his best motley.
The Damajah, he thought. What in the Core does she want with me?
Gared was waiting for him in the hall, and fell in behind him. Rojer could not deny that he felt safer with the big Cutter, and by the time he made it to the stairs, Leesha and Wonda were descending from above with Erny and Elona in tow.
“What does she want?” Leesha asked. She had gotten no more sleep than him, but she showed it less, even without paint and powder.
“Search my pockets,” Rojer said. “You’ll find no answers.”
They all followed Rojer down the stairs, making him feel as if he were leading them to a cliff. Rojer was a performer, used to being the center of attention, but this was different. He put his hand to his chest, clutching his medallion through his shirt. The hard shape gave him comfort as he followed the gestures of Abban’s women into the main receiving hall.
As before, Rojer felt his face heat at the sight of the Damajah. He had bedded dozens of village girls and more than one cultured Angierian royal, all of them fetching or pretty or even beautiful. While Leesha surpassed them all in beauty, she seemed almost unaware of that fact, making no effort to take advantage of her power.
But the Damajah knew. The perfect curve of her chin and gentle shape of her nose behind her transparent veil. The wide exotic eyes with long sweeping lashes, and the oiled black curls that spilled in rivulets down her shoulders. Her diaphanous robe covered everything and nothing, showcasing the smoothness of her arms and curving thighs, the round fullness of her breasts and the darkness of her areolae, her hairless sex. The air about her was sweet with perfume.
But more, her every gesture, every stance, every expression, brought all these things into a harmony that sang to every man in her presence. What Rojer did to demons with his fiddle, the Damajah did to men with her body. He felt himself stiffen, and was thankful for the looseness of his motley pants.
She stood in the receiving hall, two girls standing behind her, covered in the Krasian fashion Inevera disdained, though their robes were fine silk. One was clad in the white of a dama’ting, the other in black. Long black braids fell from the back of their headscarves, bound in gold bands and reaching past their waists. Their eyes danced at him from behind their veils.
“Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Bridge,” Inevera said in a thickly accented tongue that made Rojer shiver with pleasure. He tried to remind himself she was his enemy, but it seemed futile. “I am honored to meet you,” the Damajah went on, bowing so deeply Rojer feared her breasts would fall free of her robe. He wondered if she would care if they did. The girls behind her bowed even deeper.
Rojer made his best leg in return. “Damajah,” he said simply, not knowing the proper form of address. “The honor is mine, that you have come here to meet one as insignificant as I.”
“Don’t lay it too thick, Rojer,” Leesha muttered.
“My husband bade me come,” Inevera said, “telling me you accepted his offer to find brides for you, that your magic be passed on to a new generation.”
“I did?” Rojer asked. He remembered the exchange back in Deliverer’s Hollow, but he had thought it all a jest. They couldn’t possibly believe …
“Of course,” Inevera said. “My husband offers you his eldest daughter, Amanvah, for your Jiwah Ka.” The girl in dama’ting white stepped forward, kneeling on the thick carpet and pressing her face to the floor. It pulled her silk robe tight, hinting at a womanly figure beneath. Rojer tore his eyes away before he was caught staring, looking back at the Damajah like a terrified rabbit.
“There must be some …” mistake, he wanted to say, but the word caught in his throat as Inevera beckoned the other girl forward. “This is Amanvah’s servant, Sikvah,” she said, as the girl followed Amanvah to the floor. “Daughter of Hanya, sister to the Shar’Dama Ka.”
“His daughter and his niece?” Rojer asked in surprise.
Inevera bowed. “My husband has made it known that Everam speaks to you. He would not honor you with less than his own blood. Sikvah will make a suitable second wife, if you wish. Amanvah can then take over seeking future brides in accordance with your own taste.”
“Creator, how many wives does one man need?” Leesha said.
Jealous? Rojer thought irritably. Good. Have a taste of it, for once.
Inevera looked at Leesha with disdain. “If he is worthy and they of him, a man should have as many as he can provide for and keep with child. But some,” she sneered at Leesha, “are not worthy.”
“Who is Amanvah’s mother?” Elona asked before Leesha could respond.
Inevera looked at her and raised a brow. Elona spread her skirts and dipped into a smooth, respectful curtsy that seemed utterly at odds with the woman Rojer knew. “Elona Paper of Deliverer’s Hollow. Leesha’s mother.”
Inevera’s eyes widened at this news, and she smiled widely and went over to the woman, embracing her. “Of course, I am honored to meet you. There are a great many matters for us to discuss, but that is for another time. I understand the son of Jessum’s mother is with Everam. Will you stand for her in these proceedings?”
“Of course,” Elona said, nodding, and Leesha glared at her.
“Stand for her, how?” Rojer asked.
Inevera smiled coyly. “To ensure you behave as they lift their veils, and to verify their virginity.” Rojer felt his face heat again, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.
“I …” he began, but Inevera ignored him.
“I am Amanvah’s mother,” she told Elona. “Does that meet with your approval?”
“Of course,” Elona said gravely, as if there were any other answer a sane person might dare speak.
Inevera nodded and turned to regard the others. “If you will excuse us, please?”
Everyone stood still for a moment, but Elona clapped her hands, startling them all. “You heard her, shoo! Not you, Rojer.” She grabbed his arm as he turned to go with the rest.
Only Leesha stood behind.
“You have no place here, daughter of Erny,” Inevera said. “You are not family to the groom or brides.”
“Oh, but I am, Damajah,” Leesha said. “If my mother stands for Rojer’s, then I, as her daughter, may take the place of his sister.” She smiled and leaned in close, lowering her voice. “The Evejah is quite clear on the matter,” she said smugly.
Inevera scowled and opened her mouth, but Rojer cut her off. “I want her to stay.” The words ended in a squeak as Inevera turned to him, but then a wide smile licked across her face, and she bowed. “As you wish.”
“Lock the doors, Leesha,” Elona ordered. “Can’t have Gared stumbling back in saying he forgot his axe.” Inevera laughed, and the sight of their joined amusement frightened Rojer more than anything. Elona seemed to know far more than Rojer about what was happening.
Leesha seemed equally disturbed, but whether it was from the laughter or the casual way Elona ordered her around, he couldn’t be sure. She turned and strode to the huge gilded doors, throwing the bar with a sound that made Rojer jump. He felt more like they were locking him in than Gared and the others out.
Inevera snapped her fingers, and the two girls straightened their backs, though they remained on their knees on the floor.
“Amanvah is dama’ting,” Inevera said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Healer, midwife, and chosen of Everam. She is young, but she has made her dice and passed every test.”
She looked at Leesha and smiled. “Perhaps she can treat those cuts on your face,” she said, indicating the red lines on Leesha’s cheek from where Inevera had scratched her.
Leesha smiled in return. “You seem to be blinking a great deal, Damajah. Do your eyes sting you? I could prepare a rinse, if you wish.”
Rojer looked back to Inevera, expecting a vicious response, but Inevera simply smiled and went on. “I myself have given my husband eight sons and three daughters. The women of my family are similarly fertile, and the bones say Amanvah will breed true.”
“Bones?” Leesha asked.
Inevera scowled. “That is no concern of yours, chin,” she snapped.
In an instant her smile was back in place. “What matters is that Amanvah will give you sons, son of Jessum. Sikvah’s mother was similarly fertile. She, too, will breed well for you.”
“Yes, but can they sing?” Rojer asked, hoping to deflect the discomfort he was feeling. It was the punch line of a favorite bawdy joke of Arrick’s, a tale of a man who could never be satisfied no matter how many women he bedded.
But Inevera only smiled and nodded. “Of course,” she said, snapping her fingers and barking an order to the girls in Krasian.
Amanvah cleared her throat and began to sing, her voice rich and pure. Rojer didn’t understand the words, and had never had a knack for singing himself, but after years of performing with Arrick, the greatest singer of his time, he knew well how to listen and judge it.
Amanvah’s voice put Arrick’s to shame. It lifted him like a great wind, stealing the footing from under him and sweeping him away on its notes.
But then a second wind came, wrapping itself around the other as Sikvah smoothly joined in. They found harmony instantly, and Rojer was stunned. Women or no, if they went to the Jongleurs’ Guild in Angiers, their careers would be assured.
Rojer said nothing, standing in silence while the two women sang. When Inevera finally ended their song with a wave, he felt like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut.
“Sikvah is also an accomplished cook,” Inevera said, “and both have been trained in the art of lovemaking, though they are unknown to man.”
“The … ah, art?” Rojer asked, feeling his face heat again.
Inevera laughed and snapped her fingers. Amanvah immediately rose, coming gracefully to her feet as she lifted a hand to unfasten her veil. The thin white silk drifted away like a wisp of smoke, revealing a face stunning in its beauty. Amanvah was her mother’s daughter.
Sikvah came up behind her, undoing some hidden fastening at her shoulders, and Amanvah’s entire robe seemed to simply dissolve, the silk running off her to whisper to the floor. She stood naked before him, and Rojer gaped.
Inevera circled a finger, and Amanvah obediently turned so Rojer could inspect her from every angle. Like her mother’s, Amanvah’s body was perfect, and Rojer began to fear even his motley pants were not loose enough. He wondered if he would be expected to undress as well, and have all the women see his arousal.
“Creator, is all this truly necessary?” Leesha asked.
“Be quiet,” Elona snapped. “Of course it is.”
Amanvah turned and unfastened Sikvah’s own silk robe, and it vanished like a shadow in the sun, becoming an inky pool at her feet. She was not as beautiful as Amanvah, perhaps, but apart from the other women in the room with him just then, Rojer had never seen her equal.
“You may verify their purity now,” Inevera said.
“I … ah.” Rojer looked at his hands, and then hid them in his pockets. “That won’t be necessary.”
Inevera laughed. “Your women,” she clarified, her smile mischievous. “Something must be saved for the wedding night, after all.” She winked at him, and Rojer felt dizzy.
Inevera turned to Elona. “Would you care to do the honors?”
“Ah … well …” Elona said, “my daughter is more qualified …”
Leesha snorted. “My mother wouldn’t know a hymen if she saw one,” she whispered to Rojer. “She was rid of hers before she had a good look at it.”
Elona caught the words and scowled, but she said nothing, glaring at Leesha.
“Oh, all right,” Leesha growled at last, “anything to get this business concluded.” She bent to pick up the girls’ robes, then took their arms and led them into a small curtained servant alcove to the side of the hall.
Leesha lowered the curtain, blocking them from view, and the girls obediently leaned over a small table, presenting themselves like brood mares. She had examined hundreds of young girls in her years as an Herb Gatherer, even the duchess of Angiers herself, but it was always for their health, not some honor ritual. Bruna had little patience for such nonsense, and her apprentice was no different.
But Leesha knew too how fragile their relationship with the Krasians was. She would win no allies by publicly spitting on their traditions.
Amanvah’s hymen was intact, but when Leesha reached for Sikvah, the girl flinched and gave a slight gasp. There was a sheen of sweat on her, and her olive skin seemed paler than before. She clenched tight when Leesha slipped a finger into her, but it was not enough. She wasn’t a virgin.
Leesha smirked. As barbaric as this ritual was, it had just given them reason to claim offense and refuse the girls before Rojer said something foolish. But then the girl looked back at her, and the fear in her eyes was a slap in the face. Amanvah caught the look and scowled.
“Get dressed,” Leesha told the girls, tossing them their robes. Sikvah quickly dressed and then moved to assist Amanvah, who glared at her as she fastened the dama’ting’s silk robe.
Leesha’s face was serene as she returned with the girls. Rojer knew the verdict was irrelevant—he was no more going to marry Jardir’s daughter than Leesha was the man himself—but for some reason, his heart was thudding in his chest as if his life depended on the answer.
“Both virgins, for what it’s worth,” Leesha said, and Rojer took a deep breath.
“Of course,” Inevera smiled. But Amanvah did not seem to agree. She moved to her mother, whispering in her ear and pointing first at Sikvah, and then at Leesha.
Inevera’s face darkened like the sky before a storm, and she strode over to Sikvah, grabbing the girl by her long braid. Rojer started for them, but Elona grabbed his arm so hard it hurt, holding him back with surprising strength.
“Don’t be stupid, fiddle boy,” she hissed. Sikvah shrieked as she was dragged behind the examination curtain. Amanvah followed, pulling it shut behind them.
“What in the Core just happened?” Rojer asked.
Leesha sighed. “Sikvah’s not a virgin.”
“But you said she was,” Rojer said.
“I know what can happen to a girl when people start questioning her ‘purity,’ ” Leesha said, “and I’ll be corespawned before I do it to anyone else.”
Elona shook her head. “Can’t save people from themselves, Leesha. Your little lie’s probably made it worse for her still. You’d just told the truth and let me ask for a bag of gold to make up for her lost value, it would be done with already.”
“She’s a human being, Mother, not a …!”
Rojer ignored them, his eyes on the curtain, and the poor girl with the beautiful voice. There was some muffled shouting, but Rojer could make no sense of it over the shrill cacophony beside him. “Will you both please shut it?!”
Both women glared at him angrily, but they quieted. There was no sound from the curtain now, and that scared Rojer all the more. He was about to rush over when it opened and Inevera strode back to them, Amanvah and a weeping Sikvah in tow. Amanvah had her arm around the other girl, comforting her and offering support. Rojer’s heart went to them, and his hand slipped up to touch his medallion through his shirt.
Inevera bowed to Rojer. “I apologize for the insult to you, son of Jessum. Your weed picker has lied to you. Sikvah is impure and will, of course, be punished severely for her lies. I beg you not to doubt my daughter’s honor by her association with this harlot.” She fingered the jeweled knife at her waist as she spoke, and Rojer was forced to wonder what sort of punishment these hard people considered “severe.”
There was a pause as everyone waited for his response. Rojer’s eyes flicked around the room, and it seemed as if every woman was holding her breath. Why? They had given no thought to him at all a moment ago.
But then it hit him. I’m the offended.
He smiled, slipping into a Jongleur’s mask as he straightened his back and met Inevera’s eyes fully for the first time. “After hearing them sing, I’ll not break the set. Sikvah’s voice is more important to me than her purity.”
Inevera relaxed slightly. “That is most forgiving of you. More than this harlot deserves.”
“I’m not deciding anything yet,” Rojer clarified. “But I would prefer she not be subject to … undue stress that might affect her voice before I do.” Inevera smiled behind her gossamer veil as if he had passed some kind of test.
Elona took Rojer by the arm, yanking him back. “This will affect the dower, of course.”
Inevera nodded. “Of course. If you will agree to chaperone, the girls may stay in the son of Jessum’s wing, that he might accustom to them and ensure their lack of … stress before he makes his decision.”
“Oh, my mother is an excellent chaperone,” Leesha muttered. Inevera looked at her curiously, as if unsure about the sarcasm in Leesha’s tone, but she said nothing.
Rojer shook his head, as if coming out of a dream. Did I just get promised?
Abban arrived just before sunset to escort them to the whipping. Leesha made a last check of the herbs and implements in her basket, breathing deeply to quell her churning stomach. For what they did to Wonda, the dal’Sharum deserved no less, but that did not mean Leesha wanted to watch their backs torn open. After seeing how lax the Krasians were about healing, though, she worried the wounds might infect and kill the men anyway if she did not treat them herself.
In Fort Angiers, she and Jizell had weekly treated men off the magistrate’s whipping post, but she’d never been able to watch the punishment without weeping, and usually turned away. It was a horrid practice, though Leesha seldom had to treat the same man twice. They took the lesson and remembered.
“I hope you understand the honor my master pays you and the daughter of Flinn by administering the whipping personally,” Abban said, “rather than leaving it to some dama who might be lenient in sympathy to their act.”
“The dama have sympathy for rapists?” Leesha asked.
Abban shook his head. “You must understand, mistress, that our ways are different from yours. The fact that you and your women walk freely with your faces and your, ah …” he waved a hand at Leesha’s low neckline, “charms showing offends a great many men, who fear you put illicit ideas into the minds of their own women.”
“And so they sought to show Wonda her place,” Leesha said. Abban nodded.
Leesha’s brow furrowed, but her stomach suddenly calmed. Intentionally hurting another human being went against her Gatherer’s oaths, but even Bruna had not hesitated to hand out a few painful lessons to folk who failed to act civilized.
“My master has commanded that the Damaji attend as well, with their kai’Sharum,” Abban said. “He wishes them to see that they must accept some of your ways.”
Leesha nodded. “Ahmann said it was much the same when he met the Par’chin.”
Abban’s face remained carefully neutral, but Leesha saw his coloring change slightly. It wasn’t surprising that Arlen had that effect on people even before he began to tattoo his flesh.
“My master mentioned the Par’chin?” Abban asked.
“I did, actually,” Leesha said. “I was surprised that Ahmann knew him, too.”
“Oh, yes, my master and the Par’chin were great friends,” Abban said to Leesha’s surprise. “Ahmann was his ajin’pal.”
“Ajin’pal?” Leesha asked.
“His …” Abban’s brow furrowed as he searched for the proper term, “… blood brother, perhaps you would say. Ahmann showed him the Maze, and they bled for each other. Among my people, this is as binding as having the same blood in your veins.” Leesha opened her mouth, but before she could say more, Abban cut her off.
“We must leave now, if we are to arrive in time, mistress,” he said. Leesha nodded, and they gathered the rest of her delegation from the Hollow, including Amanvah and Sikvah, who attended closely to Rojer.
They were escorted to the town circle of Fort Rizon, a huge cobbled ring at the center of the city eyed with a great well and surrounded by bustling shops. Leesha saw Rizonan women shopping as well as Krasians, but though they still wore their Northern dresses, the women’s faces were wrapped in cloth that draped over their necklines as they went about in public. Many of them stared wide-eyed at Leesha and her mother, walking about uncovered, as if expecting their dal’Sharum escorts to turn on them at any moment.
Many of the Krasians had already gathered, including the Damaji in their canopied palanquins and many Sharum and dama. Three wooden posts had been erected in the circle, but there were no shackles or ropes to be seen.
There was a commotion and the crowd turned to see Jardir enter the circle, followed by Inevera on her palanquin and his other wives in tow. Leesha counted fourteen of them, but had no idea if that was all. They came and stood next to Leesha and the Hollowers, close enough for Leesha to smell the Damajah’s perfume.
Jardir walked to the posts, waving his hand at the Spears of the Deliverer. The three dal’Sharum needed no urging and no escort, walking out into the square and stripping to the waist. They knelt and touched their foreheads to the cobbles before Jardir, then stood and wrapped their arms around the poles with nothing to hold them in place. The one whose arm Wonda had broken had the limb in a white cast.
Jardir reached into his robe, pulling free a three-tailed whip of braided leather, with sharp pieces of metal woven into the last few inches of each tail.
“What is that?” Leesha asked Abban. She was expecting Jardir to use a simple horsewhip. This seemed more brutal by far.
“It is called the alagai tail,” Abban said. “A dama’s whip. They say being struck by it is like the lash of a sand demon’s tail.”
“How many strokes will they each get?” Leesha asked.
Abban laughed. “As many as they can stand for. Sharum are whipped until they lose their grip on the pole and fall.”
“But … that could kill them!” Leesha said.
Abban shrugged. “Sharum are great warriors, but not known for their intelligence or instinct for self-preservation. They think it a test of manhood to endure as many strokes as possible. Their brethren will be betting to see who endures longest.”
Leesha scowled. “I will never understand men.”
“Nor I,” Abban agreed.
It was brutal to watch, each strike of the alagai tail leaving bright lines of blood on the backs of its victim. Jardir gave each man a stroke before returning to the first, but Leesha didn’t know if it was a kindness, or an attempt to keep them from growing numb to it. She flinched with every blow, feeling as if it were striking her, too. Tears streaked her face, and she wanted nothing more than to flee the awful scene as the backs of the men became huge open wounds that showed their ribs to the world. None of them even cried out or had the sense to fall.
At one point she looked away and saw Inevera watching the proceeding with utter calm. She saw Leesha looking her way, and sneered at the tears on her face.
Something broke in Leesha then, a flare of anger acting as a ward against the suffering of the men. She straightened her back, dried her eyes, and watched the rest of the whipping with the same cool detachment the Damajah showed.
It seemed to go on forever, but at last one of the warriors fell, and then another. Leesha saw warriors exchanging coins over the results, and wanted to spit. When the last man fell, Jardir nodded to her, and Leesha rushed out to the men, pulling out the thread, salves, and bandages she had prepared. She hoped she had enough.
Jardir thumped his spear, making her glance up at him.
“Spread the word to all who would see paradise at the end of the lonely path!” Jardir bellowed, his voice booming through the circle and into the streets. “Any woman who takes a demon in alagai’sharak shall be Sharum’ting, and have all the rights of Sharum accorded her!”
A shocked murmur ran through the assembled warriors, and Leesha saw horrified faces on dama and Sharum alike. Angry protests began, but Jardir silenced them with a roar.
“If any oppose this decree tonight,” he said, baring his teeth, “let them step forward. I promise a quick death with honor. To any who oppose my word tomorrow, I will not be so lenient.” There were many scowling faces in the crowd, but none foolish enough to step forward.
The next day, Abban arrived in the courtyard of the Palace of Mirrors with a dal’Sharum at his side. The warrior’s red night veil was around his shoulders, and his black beard was shot through with gray. There was nothing else remotely weak about the man, but Leesha was still surprised. Few of the Krasian warriors seemed to live long enough for their beards to be touched with gray at all. He walked proudly, but his hard face was pinched, as if he was biting back a scowl.
“May I present Gavram asu Chenin am’Kaval am’Kaji, Drillmaster of the Kaji’sharaj,” Abban said. The warrior bowed at the introduction, and Leesha spread her skirts and dipped a curtsy in response.
The warrior said something in Krasian, too fast for Leesha to follow, but Abban was quick to interpret. “He says, ‘I am here at the Deliverer’s command to train your warriors for alagai’sharak.’ Drillmaster Kaval was instructor to the Shar’Dama Ka and myself when we were in Sharaj,” Abban added. “There is no one better.”
Leesha’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at Abban, searching for the elusive truth in the practiced smoothness of his face. He was crippled in sharaj, after all.
Leesha turned to Gared and Wonda. “Do you wish to train?”
Kaval and Abban had a short exchange, again speaking so fast that Leesha, despite understanding many of the words, could still not follow. Abban seemed to argue a point, but Kaval balled a fist, and the khaffit bowed in submission.
“The drillmaster asks that I tell your warriors their wishes are irrelevant. The Shar’Dama Ka has given a command, and it will be followed.”
Leesha scowled and opened her mouth, but Gared cut her off. “S’allright, Leesh.” He put up a hand. “I want to learn.”
Leesha nodded and stepped aside as Kaval beckoned the two forward for examination. He grunted in approval at giant Gared, but seemed less impressed with Wonda, though she was as big and strong as most dal’Sharum. He then came back to Leesha.
“I can make a great warrior of the giant,” Abban translated, “if he is disciplined. The woman … we shall see.” He did not look hopeful.
The drillmaster stepped back into the courtyard, his movements quick and graceful. He looked at Gared and barked a command, thumping his chest.
“The drillmaster would like you to attack him,” Abban supplied.
“Din’t need you to translate that,” Gared said. He stepped forward, towering over the drillmaster, but Kaval seemed unimpressed. Gared roared and attacked, but his punches, careful though they were, met only air. He lunged to grapple and found himself on his back a moment later. Kaval twisted his arm until Gared screamed, and then released him.
“He will be even harder on you,” Abban advised Wonda. “Steel yourself.”
“Ent afraid,” Wonda said, stepping forth.
Wonda lasted longer than Gared, her moves smoother and quicker, but the outcome was never in doubt. Twice, Wonda’s blows came close enough that the drillmaster required contact to block them, but he responded once with a backhand to her jaw that sent her reeling and spitting blood, and the next time with a heavy blow to the stomach that doubled the girl over as she vomited the air from her stomach.
Kaval caught her arm before she could recover and twisted her to the cobbles. Wonda kicked him in the face as she went down, connecting solidly, but Kaval was unfazed, his mouth widening to a smile as he twisted her arm. Wonda’s face grew pale and she gritted her teeth, but she refused to cry out.
“The drillmaster will break her arm if she does not submit,” Abban warned.
“Wonda,” Leesha said, and the girl finally had the sense to let out a cry.
Kaval released her and said something to Abban in a grudging tone.
“Perhaps I can make something of her, after all,” Abban translated. “Please leave us, so we may train without distraction.”
Leesha looked at Gared and Wonda, and nodded. “Why don’t you join Rojer and I for tea, Abban.”
“I would be honored,” Abban said, bowing.
“But first,” Leesha said, her voice hardening, “make it clear to Master Kaval that there will be the Core to pay if I come back to find warriors too injured to fight tonight.”
Abban’s wives tried to serve them, but Amanvah hissed and they backed off. She clapped her hands, and Sikvah scurried to prepare the tea. Leesha wrinkled her nose. The girl might be Jardir’s niece, but even she was little more than a slave.
“They’ve been doing this since yesterday,” Rojer said. Amanvah said something in Krasian, and Abban nodded to her.
“It is our place to service Rojer’s needs,” he translated. “We will suffer it from no other.”
“I could get used this,” Rojer said with a grin, stretching back and putting his hands behind his head.
“Just don’t get too used to it,” Leesha said. “It isn’t going to last.” She saw Amanvah’s eyes tighten at that, but the girl said nothing.
Sikvah returned soon after with the tea. She served silently, eyes down, and then retreated to where Amanvah stood by the wall. Leesha took a sip of her tea, swirled it around her mouth for a moment, and then spit it back into the cup.
“You added a pinch of blackleaf powder to the mix,” she said to Sikvah, putting the cup back on the table. “Clever. Most people wouldn’t have tasted it, and at that dosage, it would take weeks to kill me.”
Rojer gasped, and spit his tea all over himself. Leesha caught his cup as it fell, and ran a finger along the porcelain rim, tasting the residue. “Nothing for you to worry over, Rojer. Seems they’re not quite so eager to be rid of you.”
Abban carefully put his cup back on the table. Amanvah looked at him and said something in Krasian.
“Ah …” Abban said to Leesha. “You make a serious accusation. Do you wish me to translate?”
“By all means,” Leesha laughed, “though I’ve no doubt she understood every word.”
Abban spoke, and Amanvah shrieked, running over to Leesha and shouting at her.
“The dama’ting calls you a liar and a fool,” Abban supplied.
Leesha smiled and held up her cup. “Tell her to drink it, then.”
Amanvah’s eyes blazed as she snatched the cup from her without waiting for translation. The liquid was still hot, but she lifted her veil and quaffed it in one gulp. She glared at Leesha with a look of smug triumph, but Leesha only smiled.
“Tell her I know she can just take the antidote tonight,” she said, “but if it’s the same one we use in the North, it will give her bloody shits for a week.” The color drained from the tiny patch of skin visible around Amanvah’s eyes even before Abban finished translating.
“The next time you try something like this, I’ll tell your father,” Leesha said, “and if I know him at all, your shared blood won’t keep him from stripping that pretty white robe off your back and tanning your hide, if he doesn’t kill you outright.”
Amanvah glared at her, but Leesha simply waved a dismissal. “Leave us.”
Amanvah hissed something. “It is not your place to dismiss us,” Abban translated.
Leesha turned to Rojer, who looked like he was going to be sick. “Send your brides to their chambers, Rojer.”
“Go!” Rojer barked, waving his hand. He didn’t even make eye contact. Amanvah’s brows met in a harsh V, and she spat something in Krasian at Leesha before she stormed off with Sikvah on her heels. Leesha memorized the words, filing the curse for future reference.
Abban laughed. “It’s no wonder the Damajah fears you.”
“She doesn’t seem afraid now,” Leesha remarked. “Bold as brass, trying to kill me in broad day.”
“After Ahmann’s last decree, it is little surprise,” Abban said. “But take heart, they do you great honor. In Krasia, if no one is trying to kill you, it is because you are not worth killing.”
“Maybe it’s time to leave,” Rojer suggested, when Abban left. “If they’ll even let us.” He could not deny he had been tempted by Amanvah and Sikvah, but now all he could imagine was knives hidden under the soft silk pillows of their chambers.
“Ahmann would let us go if I asked him to,” Leesha said, “but I’m not going anywhere.”
“Leesha, they tried to kill you!” Rojer said.
“Inevera tried, and failed,” Leesha said. “Running off now would be just as good for her as if I’d died. I refuse to be driven off by that … that …”
“Witch?” Rojer supplied.
“Witch,” Leesha agreed. “She’s got too much power over Ahmann as it is. I’m not giving up his ear without a fight.”
“Are you sure it’s his ear you’re after?” Rojer asked. Leesha glared at him, but he met her gaze coolly. “I’m not blind, Leesha,” he said. “I see how you look at him. Not like a Krasian wife, perhaps, but not like a friend, either.”
“How I feel about him is irrelevant,” Leesha said. “I have no intention of becoming part of his harem. Did you know Kaji had a thousand wives?”
“Poor bastard,” Rojer agreed. “Reckon one is more than enough for most men to handle.”
Leesha snorted. “You’d do well to remember that yourself. Besides, Abban and Ahmann both know Arlen, and both claim to be his friend.”
“That’s not what he told us,” Rojer said. “About Jardir, anyway.”
“I know,” Leesha said. “And I want to learn the truth.”
“What about Amanvah and Sikvah?” Rojer asked. “Do we send them away?”
“So they can kill Sikvah for lying about her virginity and failing to kill me?” Leesha asked. “Not a chance. We took responsibility for her.”
“That was before she tried to kill you,” Rojer said.
“See the light, Rojer,” Leesha said. “If I told Wonda to put an arrow in Inevera’s eye, I have no doubt she would do it, but the crime would be mine. Better we have them here where we can watch them and perhaps learn something useful.”
It was deep in the night when Leesha awoke to the sound of shouting. There was a pounding at her door, and she lit a lamp and she pulled on a robe of Krasian silk that Jardir had sent to her. It was cool and deliciously smooth against her skin.
She opened her door to see Rojer standing there, looking haggard. “It’s Amanvah,” he said. “I can hear her wailing in her chambers, but Sikvah won’t even open the doors.”
“I knew it,” Leesha muttered, cinching her robe tighter and tying on her pocketed apron. “All right,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go see to her.”
They went down into Rojer’s wing, and Leesha pounded on the door to the chambers the two Krasian girls had claimed. She could hear Amanvah’s muffled wails through the door, and Sikvah shouted in Krasian for them to go away.
Leesha frowned. “Rojer,” she said loudly, “run and fetch Gared. If this door isn’t open by the time you get back, have him break it down.” Rojer nodded and ran off.
As expected, the door cracked open a moment later, and a terrified Sikvah peeked out. “Everything sunny,” she said, but Leesha shoved past her into the room, following Amanvah’s voice toward the privy chamber at the back of the room. Sikvah shrieked and tried to interpose herself, but again Leesha ignored her and tried the door. It was locked.
“Where is the key?” she demanded. Sikvah ignored her, babbling in Krasian, but Leesha had had enough. She slapped the girl hard on the cheek, the crack echoing through the room.
“Stop pretending you don’t understand me!” she snapped. “I’m not an idiot. You say one more word in Krasian and the Damajah’s anger will be the least of your worries.”
Sikvah did not reply, but the terrified look on her face made it clear she had understood.
“Where. Is. The. Key?” Leesha asked again, biting off each word with a show of teeth. Sikvah quickly reached into her robes, producing it.
Leesha was through the door in an instant. The richly appointed privy stank of waste and vomit, only made worse by the jasmine burning in the incense brazier, a sickly combination that would have made most anyone heave. Leesha ignored the stench, going straight to Amanvah, lying on the floor next to the commode, wailing and moaning. Her hood and veils were cast aside, and her olive skin seemed almost white.
“She’s dehydrated,” Leesha said. “Bring a pitcher of cold water and set a kettle on the fire.” Sikvah ran off, and Leesha continued to inspect the girl, as well as the contents of the commode. Finally, she sniffed at the cup on the vanity table, tasting the residue.
“You brewed this poorly,” she told Amanvah. “You could have used a third as much fleshroot and still safely counteracted the blackleaf.” The young dama’ting said nothing, staring blankly as she labored for breath, but Leesha knew she heard and understood every word.
She took a mortar and pestle from her apron, hands darting from pocket to pocket without so much as a glance as she filled it with the proper mixture of herbs. Sikvah brought the hot water, and Leesha brewed a second potion, bidding Sikvah to hold her mistress up as she forced it down the girl’s throat.
“Open the windows to blow in some fresh air,” Leesha told Sikvah, “and bring pillows. She’ll need to stay by the commode for the next few hours as we hydrate her.”
Rojer and Gared stuck their heads in, and Leesha promptly sent them to bed. She and Sikvah tended Amanvah until her insides calmed and they could carry her to the bed.
“Sleep’s the best thing for you now,” Leesha said, putting another potion to Amanvah’s lips. “You’ll wake in twelve hours and then we’ll try to get some rice and bread into you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Amanvah whispered, her accent thick like her mother’s, but every word clear. “My mother would not be so kind to one who tried to poison her.”
“Nor would mine, but we are not our mothers, Amanvah,” Leesha said.
Amanvah smiled. “When next I face her, I may wish the poison had killed me.”
Leesha shook her head. “You’re under my roof now. No one is going to do anything to you, including forcing you to marry Rojer if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, but we do, mistress,” Sikvah said. “The handsome son of Jessum is touched by Everam. First and second wives to such a man, what more could any woman aspire to?”
Leesha opened her mouth to reply, then promptly closed it again, knowing any answer she gave would fall upon uncomprehending ears.
Elona was sitting in the hall when Leesha finally emerged from Amanvah’s chambers. Leesha sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl into her bed herself, but Elona stood and moved to walk with her back to the stairs.
“It true what Rojer says?” Elona asked. “The girls tried to poison you?”
Leesha nodded.
Elona smiled. “Means Inevera thinks you’ve got a good chance of stealing him from her.”
“I’m fine, if you care,” Leesha said.
“Course you are,” Elona said. “You’re my daughter, like or not. Ent no desert witch going to stop you once you’ve got a shine for a man.”
“I don’t want to steal another woman’s husband, Mother,” Leesha said.
Elona laughed. “Then why are you here?”
“To try and stop a war,” Leesha said flatly.
“And if the cost of stopping a war is stealing the husband of a woman who tried to murder you?” Elona asked. “Is that too high a price to pay?” She snorted. “Ent stealing, anyways. These women share husbands like hens share roosters.”
Leesha rolled her eyes. “Oh, to be so lucky as to be one of Ahmann’s laying hens.”
“Better than the ones gone to slaughter,” Elona shot back.
They reached Leesha’s apartments, and Elona followed her in. Leesha fell onto a pillowed divan, putting her head in her hands. “I wish Bruna were here. She’d know what to do.”
“She’d marry Jardir and tame him,” Elona said. “If she had your body and youth, she’d’ve bent both Deliverers to her will by now, and gotten her toes curled to sweeten the pot.”
“You can’t know that, Mother,” Leesha said.
“I know better than you,” Elona said. “I was apprenticed to that miserable old hag before you were ever born, and there were a scant few alive then old enough to remember Bruna in her prime. Her legs never closed, to hear them say it, until she married late in life, and she ran that town even more surely than she did in her dotage. More surely than you run it now, because she had power, not just here,” Elona poked Leesha in the temple, “but here, as well.” She stabbed a finger to point at her own crotch. “That is a woman’s power, as much as gathering herbs, and only a fool chooses not to take advantage of it.”
Leesha opened her mouth to protest, but for some reason her mother’s words rang true, and no rebuttal came to her. Bruna had been a filthy old woman, full of bawdy remarks and tales of her promiscuous youth. Leesha had dismissed many of the stories, thinking the old woman had simply liked to shock people, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Take advantage how?” she asked.
“Jardir is obsessed with you,” Elona said. “Any woman can read it on him at a glance. That is why Inevera fears you, and why you have an opportunity to take this desert snake by the throat and turn it aside from your people.”
“My people,” Leesha said. “The Hollow.”
“Of course, the Hollow!” Elona snapped. “Rizon’s sun has set, and ent nothing for it.”
“What of Angiers?” Leesha asked. “Lakton? Every hamlet between here and there? I might be able to protect the Hollow, but what can I do for them?”
“From Jardir’s bed?” Elona asked, incredulous. “Is there a place in the world you could influence the war more? Slake a man’s lust, and he will give you anything you ask. Surely that big brain of yours can think of a few simple requests to turn the worst of his tide.”
She bent close to Leesha, putting her lips to Leesha’s ear. “Or would you rather it be Inevera’s voice that whispers advice in his ear as he drifts off to sleep each night?”
It was a terrifying thought, and Leesha shook her head, but she still felt unsure.
“The gates of Heaven don’t lie between your legs, Leesha,” Elona said. “I know you wanted to wait for your wedding night, and truth be told, I wanted that for you, too. But it din’t happen that way, and life goes on.”
Leesha looked at her mother sharply, and saw Elona’s defiant visage staring back at her, ready to stand by every word.
“You see the world very clearly, Mother,” Leesha said. “I envy you, sometimes.”
Elona was taken aback. “You do?” she asked, incredulous.
Leesha smiled. “Not often, mind.”