The Traitor's Bride

by Alix Nichols

  She made herself speak. “It wasn’t a jest.”

  His eyes found her. “Do you have something to say to me, maid?”

  “Yes, my lord, I do.”

  “Very well.” He let out a sigh, looking suddenly tired. “I hope you realize that if what you’ll say is worthless and a waste of my time, you will suffer consequences.”

  “I do, my lord.”

  Chief Ultek bugged his eyes out at her. “Shut your filthy mouth whore, or I’ll skin you alive!”

  “Speak,” the high judge said.

  “Divine Aheya be my witness,” she said. “I wish to invoke canon number 216 of the kingdom statutes.”

  The police chief glared at her before turning to the high judge, “What in the stinky pit of Xereill is she talking about?”

  Instead of answering, Judge Mahabmet turned toward his underlings clustered a few steps behind him around a makeshift table with piles of books and folders on it. Immediately, the clerks pulled a thick volume from the bottom of one pile and got busy leafing through it.

  Bound in red leather, it looked much newer than the yellowed copy Etana had perused in the vestals’ library last week on her fourth night there. Still, it was the same book, the same compilation of Eia’s customary law passed down through generations that held Etana’s chance to get Areg Sebi’s death sentence commuted to life imprisonment.

  When the clerks found the canon, one of them picked up the book and scurried to the high judge.

  “Right here, my lord,” he said, pointing at the relevant section.

  Judge Mahabmet read the Canon silently while the crowd held its breath. When his lips stopped moving, he flipped through to the beginning of the book, then to the end, as if looking for something.

  He turned to the clerk, his brows drawn. “The canons in this section… they were all abrogated centuries ago, weren’t they?”

  Another assistant trotted up to him with another volume in his hands. “Most of them, my lord, but not all. It looks like canon number 216 was never formally repealed.”

  Judge Mahabmet exchanged looks with his apologetically shrugging assistants. Then he glanced at Chief Ultek, red-faced with rage, at Areg Sebi, frowning in confusion, and then—finally—at Etana.

  “State your name,” he said to her.

  “Etana Tidryn, my lord.”

  “Are you of age?”

  “Yes, I am twenty-four years old,” she murmured.

  He looked her up and down as if trying to figure out how a young menial had learned about a long-forgotten but never-abolished custom that even he, Eia’s high judge, had no notion of until now.

  “Speak louder,” he commanded. “Are you married, or have you been married before?”

  “No, my lord,” she said.

  He nodded. “Go on then, Dame Tidryn. Tell us why you invoked canon number 216, otherwise known as Maiden’s Privilege.”

  Next to him, the police chief clutched his holstered gun and hissed an elaborate profanity. It was more of a tale, actually, relating how ‘the little whore’s whoring mother’ had fornicated with every single reeking bum on Hente to produce such a whore of a daughter.

  Etana pushed her chin up. “I wish to marry the condemned.”

  5

  “If he accepts my proposal,” the woman said, “his sentence should be commuted to life imprisonment, as per canon number 216 of the kingdom statutes.”

  What? Did he hear that right?

  Areg peered at the young thing who’d just proposed marriage to him.

  Etana Tidryn. He remembered her from his talk at the Gokk House. She’d recited the “broken ones” verse from the Book of Xereill and pulled him out of the sticky spot he’d put himself into. It looked like the pretty little maid was trying to rescue him once again.

  From a beheading, no less.

  He studied her determined expression. It was hard not to admire her ballsy move in such stark contrast with her small stature, her neat housemaid bonnet and apron, and her general look of cute harmlessness.

  By Aheya!

  She must be one of those excessively kind souls who couldn’t handle the unfairness of life. Or of death, as it happened. While most people experienced a mixture of pity, thrill and relief that it wouldn’t be their own head rolling, the likes of Etana Tidryn felt only pain. They believed it was their duty to help every unfortunate, suffering soul. He knew that feeling.

  Areg let out a sigh. His admiration and gratitude aside, he wasn’t sure what to think about this new turn of events.

  Say he accepted her offer, and ruined her future in passing. Was that a better choice for him? Was a lifetime in Ultek’s prison preferable to a quick death in a few days? He didn’t think so.

  The crowd hummed and heaved, with those closer to the front relaying Etana’s words to those behind them, and everyone craning their necks to get a look at her.

  Ultek finished his foul tirade, marched to the edge of the scaffold and crouched before Etana. “Aren’t you clever, little whore?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  “This man,” he pointed at Areg, “is a traitor and a criminal. You know what that means? It means all his properties and assets have been seized. Did you consider that? He is no longer the wealthy landowner Lord Areg Sebi. He’s a nobody.”

  She held his gaze.

  “He has nothing, you half-wit,” Ultek said. “And that’s what you’ll inherit—nothing—when his bones are tossed into the communal grave.”

  “I understand that,” she said calmly.

  The police chief shook his head, a bewildered look on his face. “And you still want to marry him?”

  “I do.”

  Slowly, Ultek straightened, turned away from the crowd, and launched into another litany of curses, sending spit projectiles at Judge Mahabmet.

  The latter grimaced with disgust, wiped his face and moved away… in Areg’s direction.

  “Take the offer,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

  “I can’t,” Areg whispered back.

  Judge Mahabmet gave him a look full of sorrow. “Why, boy, why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t you just bask in your hero’s glory, enjoy life, chase skirts, and stay away from politics? What were you thinking—you, a military man—backing that fantasist Dreggo and attacking Boggond himself? Why?”

  Areg didn’t bother answering Mahabmet’s questions. Given the judge’s choices, he wouldn’t understand, anyway.

  “I don’t need her sacrifice,” he said instead. “And I don’t relish a lifetime in prison.”

  “You don’t know her situation,” the judge whispered hotly. “What if she stands to gain from this? What if this is her chance to avoid an arranged marriage or to give a bastard child she’s carrying a legitimate father?”

  Areg glanced at Etana.

  She didn’t look pregnant. Then again, perhaps she wasn’t showing yet. Mahabmet was right. He shouldn’t assume she was hell-bent on helping him solely out of some misguided altruism. Maybe, just maybe, marrying him could somehow help her, too.

  Mahabmet glanced at the still swearing Ultek, before whispering again, “Listen to me, boy. I speak to you as your late father’s friend now, not as the realm’s high judge. Do you relish having your head severed before a gawking crowd? After everything you’ve done for Eia, after everything your father has done for Eia? Do you really want to go out like that?”

  Areg winced at Mahabmet’s mention of his friendship with his father.

  The judge had conveniently forgotten about it when he validated Ultek’s fake evidence. He’d let fear for his position or safety, or both, dictate his actions. Fair enough. But when he’d made that choice, he’d lost the right to talk to him as if he cared.

  The thing was, his words had struck a chord. As much as Areg hated to admit it to himself, the idea of being dispatched into the afterlife by public decapitation turned his stomach.

  He didn’t want to die like that.

  He’d risked hi
s life countless times on the battlefield where death had always been a hairbreadth away, but it was different there. Had he been killed in action, he would have departed to Aheya’s purgatory proud with a sense of a duty—and destiny—fulfilled. But to die in shame with his head chopped off and held up by the executioner, and his dead eyes bulging at the crowd…

  A sudden silence broke him out of his macabre thoughts.

  Ultek had stopped swearing and spun around toward Etana, his voice calm once again. “Very well. Marriage requires both parties’ consent. Let’s see if the filthy object of your affection is inclined to give it.”

  Suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on Areg.

  Clenching his jaws, he looked at Etana.

  “Please,” she mouthed. “Say yes.”

  She looked desperate, on the verge of breaking down.

  “Yes,” he mouthed back as if entranced.

  Her eyes widened with surprise—and relief. Mahabmet must’ve been right. She needed this.

  Areg shifted his gaze to Ultek. “The filthy object accepts Dame Tidryn’s proposal. I will marry her.”

  The crowd met his declaration with hearty cheers, punctuated by complaints from the few who felt cheated out of a good beheading.

  Ultek marched to Mahabmet. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, my lord, but this ridiculous custom only works if the woman is a maiden. Right?”

  Blanching, the high judge nodded.

  “I will inspect her later today to ascertain her maidenhood,” Ultek said.

  Mahabmet gave him a cold stare. “That examination must be done by a healer vestal, Chief Ultek. Two of them, in fact, as required by the law for court-ordered medical examinations.”

  “Fine,” Ultek gritted through his teeth before waving to his men. “Grab the wench—she’s coming with us.”

  Two policemen wrapped their gloved hands around Etana’s skinny arms and escorted her to Chief Ultek’s vehicle.

  Her face was white with fear as she scurried to keep up.

  Areg glanced at Mahabmet who averted his gaze. Small wonder. If Etana was pregnant like the judge thought, she wouldn’t pass the test. That meant no marriage. And that meant back to square one for him.

  A big, cottony wave of fatigue came over Areg as Ultek’s men cuffed him. It enveloped his body and mind as the cops led him back to the armored vehicle and pushed him inside.

  Slumping down on the bench, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead into his palms. Had he not been so tired, he would’ve laughed at his situation.

  Tragicomic. A word he’d never used outside of literature class his first year at the Academy came to mind. There was no better way to describe the fact that his living or dying now hinged upon the state of a young woman’s hymen. If the vestals found it intact, he would spend the rest of his days locked up in the Iltaqa Prison. If the hymen was ruptured, he’d be executed next First-day.

  As the vehicle began its jerky progress through the crowd, Areg leaned back and let his eyelids slide shut.

  He couldn’t bring himself to care.

  6

  I’ll get through this.

  Etana repeated the words like a magic formula as the convoy drove through Iltaqa to the prison. She also prayed to Divine Aheya and kept reminding herself she had no reason to panic. She’d never had sex in her life, never even kissed anyone. As virgins went, she undeniably was one.

  Except… what if her anatomy left room for doubt?

  Last year, one of her childhood friends didn’t bleed on her wedding night, despite her being chaste. Apparently, some women were made like that. Which wasn’t a huge deal under normal circumstances. But in her case, it would give that horrid Chief Ultek a convenient pretext to disqualify her and proceed with Lord Sebi’s beheading. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Etana wiped her clammy palms on her apron and gripped her knees to stop her hands from shaking.

  What about the examination itself?

  Would Judge Mahabmet make sure that she was, indeed, inspected by vestals, or would he leave the details to Ultek? How would they examine her? Would she be required to lift her skirt and remove her panties in front of strangers? Would there be men among those strangers? Would Ultek be present? Would he take part in inspecting her?

  Sweet Aheya, help me through this!

  A short time later, the vehicle came to a halt in front of the prison gate.

  Four heavily armed officers ushered Etana out and guided her into the grim fortress-like building. Once the group crossed the entrance hall and headed down a dimly lit hallway, Etana had to force herself to breathe through her mouth so that she wouldn’t vomit. The odors filling the air were too vile even for a menial’s nose.

  Her heart pinched at the thought that Lord Sebi had spent the last month in this place. And that he was going to spend the rest of his life here, thanks to her.

  Better not think about it now.

  Her escorting officers stopped in front of a door. When the guards opened it, she was shoved into a small room bathed in the light of several power candles so bright Etana had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment.

  The power candles Dame Gokk had recently installed in some of the rooms, despite Sir Gokk’s warnings that it was risky, gave a much softer light. Still, all power candles were bootleg level-two tech. Being found in its possession could get you arrested. Unless you were the one doing the arresting, apparently.

  Her eyes adjusting to the light, Etana looked around.

  Thank Goddess!

  Beside the dozen or so cops, guards and clerks, there were five familiar faces in the room.

  Lord Areg Sebi stood between two guards with his broad shoulders hunched and his feet bare and ankles shackled.

  Chief Ultek, fingered his sickening mustache.

  The high judge was stern as ever.

  But also—and that’s what gave her heart—Reverend Goyyem from the Healers’ Order and Superior Fo, the abbess of the Iltaqa Temple.

  Both women greeted her and waved to their stewards, who opened a portable screen and installed it in the corner of the room.

  Etana’s heart grew lighter still.

  The screen meant privacy. She wasn’t going to be stripped, displayed and probed in front of everyone.

  Reverend Goyyem turned to Etana and pointed at the screen. “Step behind it, my child, and take off your skirts and panties.”

  Her voice was soothing, hypnotic and Etana’s trembling ceased.

  If the Cataclysm hadn’t wiped out all Ra abilities from the face of Hente, Etana would’ve bet the woman was a rich-blood—a mesmerizer of some kind.

  She removed her rain-soaked apron and long skirt, underskirt, panties, and shoes. Then she slipped her feet back into her shoes. It was better to wear wet shoes than stand on dirty cold stones. Besides, she felt a little less exposed with her shoes on.

  The vestals walked in, their expressions mild.

  “Turn around and bend over, my child,” Reverend Goyyem said softly.

  Superior Fo gave her hand a little squeeze. “It won’t take long.”

  Etana did as she was told.

  Her touch light and respectful as one of them spread her nether lips.

  “The hymen looks whole,” Reverend Goyyem declared loudly.

  “Not a scratch,” the abbess said, her voice just as stentorian.

  A finger probed Etana’s core. The touch was gentle, and Etana didn’t doubt she was safe with the vestals, as safe as she could be in her current circumstances. Yet, she couldn’t help squirming with discomfort. Ever since she’d grown big enough to bathe on her own, no one except herself had touched the most private and sensitive place on her body.

  Her cheeks and ears burned from what was being done to her.

  “I’m palpating her now,” Reverend Goyyem announced for the benefit of those on the other side of the screen.

  Etana stiffened with embarrassment.

  “Intact,” Reverend Goyyem said confidently. “This young woman is a
s chaste as they come.”

  Superior Fo touched Etana’s back. “We’re done now. You can turn around.”

  “Are you sure, Your Glory?” Chief Ultek barged into the narrow space behind the screen just as Etana was straightening up. “Wasn’t your inspection a tad rushed? May I remind you that this isn’t some trivial checkup? Governor Boggond counts on us.”

  Etana took a cautious step toward her skirts heaped on the floor by the wall.

  “Don’t move!” Ultek barred her way. “We aren’t done yet.”

  The abbess folded her arms over her chest. “Chief Ultek, what do you think you are—”

  “Take a moment before you continue, Your Glory,” Ultek cut in. “Reflect on the potential consequences of your words on your temple and for you, personally.”

  Superior Fo squinted at him. “Was that a threat, Chief Ultek?”

  He shrugged as if to say, Think of it what you will.

  “I’m going to assume it wasn’t,” the abbess said. “Because if it was, here’s one possible consequence. Coming Sixth-day, Superior Dienoma has invited me to deliver a grand sermon at the Orogate Temple. I might speak about corruption. I might use someone you know quite intimately—let’s say, you know him like you know yourself—to illustrate my point.”

  “You won’t dare.” Ultek glared at the abbess. “My arms are very long, Your Glory. And you know it.”

  He turned to Etana. “As the representative of the law, it is my duty to inspect you myself.”

  With that, he groped her between the legs.

  Etana squeezed her thighs together, planted her palms on his chest and pushed. But he was much bigger and twice as heavy. He reminded her of the bearwolves she’d spotted sometimes at dusk, when they came to the edge of the North Woods. Except, he was scarier.

  Changing her tactic, she grabbed his wrist and tried to pry his hand away from her mound.

  “Stop fighting me,” he hissed against her ear, leaning in and gripping her wrists with one big hand. “Let me fix this and I’ll reward you handsomely afterward. A hundred drinars—how’s that?”