Release

by A. M. Sexton

  “So, it worked?”

  He shook his head, leaning back to look up at the ceiling. “It did, and it didn’t. It’s hard to describe. It was like, on the surface of my mind, I was still a boy. But when I went to put on pants, I’d have this strange reaction.” He touched his solar plexus. “Here. This feeling of dread. Or of wrong. If I put on a dress and acted like a good society girl, everything would be fine. But I still remembered that it wasn’t really me.” He shook his head, looking over at me at last. “I’m not making any sense.”

  “Kind of,” I said. “Keep going.”

  He rubbed his forehead with his hand. After a minute, he turned to pour himself a drink, then came to sit in Anzhéla’s seat, across the desk from me. He didn’t swallow any of the alcohol in his glass. Instead, he held it tight in his hands, staring down at it as if it would give him the words he needed to go on. “The main thing —the thing the implant didn’t change—was that I didn’t like men. I mean, not the way a girl is supposed to, you know? Men would court me, and the whole time, I’d be daydreaming about their sisters. But my parents didn’t know that, and even if they had, they wouldn’t have cared. They wanted to marry me off, and they arranged for me to marry a man. A very rich man.”

  “Did you do it?”

  He finally met my gaze. “If he had been decent, I probably would have. I probably would have done my duty and married him to make my parents happy, but the first time we were alone, I realized how cruel he was.” He clenched his fists on the desk, shutting his eyes against whatever it was he remembered. “I won’t tell you what happened, but the short version is, I realized I’d rather die than marry him. And so I decided to do just that.”

  It took me a second to realize what he meant. “You decided to die?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  I thought again about Ayo’s words, that he wasn’t even able to kill himself. “What happened?”

  “I locked myself in my room and I took one of our lamps. Electric lamps, you know, because we were on the hill and the ban didn’t apply to us. And I cut the cord, and then plugged it in, and I stuck the bare wires here.” He touched the strange, bald spots behind his ear. “I thought, this way, it’s the implant that’s killing me. Maybe they’ll be sorry.” He laughed. “Isn’t that funny? All I could think of was, ‘this will show them!’”

  I couldn’t laugh. I didn’t think it was funny at all.

  “Anyway.” He spread his arms, smiling at me. “It didn’t work. I woke up two days later in the hospital. I was alive, but the implant was fried. I was me again, and when I told my parents I’d do it again if they tried to have a new one put in, they walked out of the hospital without a word. Told the doctor they wouldn’t pay for me either, so the orderlies carried me outside. Dragged me down the hill and dumped me through the gate.”

  “I take it that was the end of your medical training?”

  He nodded. “Between being broke and being banished from the hill, there was no doctor in Davlova who’d keep me on as an apprentice.”

  “Have you seen your parents since then?”

  “Not even once. And I haven’t been on that side of the wall since then, either.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “No. It was release. Them abandoning me was the best thing they ever did for me.”

  I’d felt sorry for myself many times for losing my mother. It hadn’t ever occurred to me that there were worse things than being an orphan. That sometimes parents weren’t worth having. That sometimes freedom was the greatest gift.

  Which brought me to the second reason for my visit.

  “There’s something else,” I said. “Do you know anybody who can translate the old language? The language of the tattoos?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Is this about the slave?”

  I debated lying, but to what end? “Yes.” I had no idea what I expected to find by having Ayo’s tattoo translated, but it was the only thing I could come up with. “Can you help? I thought maybe the tattoo artist, but I assume he’s on the other side of the wall. Do you know—?”

  To my surprise, Frey started to laugh, cutting me short. “You’re way off, my friend,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When was the last time you paid homage to the Goddess?”

  ***

  I hadn’t been inside a temple since shortly after my mother’s death. I’d gone there then, hoping to find some kind of peace. Some type of explanation for why men were allowed to do such terrible things to women.

  I hadn’t found any answers, but as I was leaving the temple, Anzhéla had found me. So maybe the Goddess had helped me after all.

  Each quadrant had a temple. They were positioned midway between the four compass points, built right into the wall. Each of the four lower city temples was supposed to have a matching temple in the upper city, directly on the opposite side of the wall. The temples were supposed to be an open doorway between the rich and the poor, but there were only two left in Upper Davlova, in the first and second quadrants, and even those no longer allowed passage through the wall. The upper temples connected to the third and fourth quadrants had been destroyed shortly after the High Priestess had been deposed, by order of the Council. The passages from the upper temples to the lower in the remaining temples had been ordered closed. The message was clear: holy women didn’t belong in the upper city. Still, two upper city temples remained. Where else were the pretty tattooed wives and well-bred children of the aristocrats supposed to pray on holy days?

  I knew that in Deliphine, there were other religions. There were those who worshiped the Duo, and some who worshipped the Ways of the Four. Every once in a while, missionaries of one of the other turned up in Davlova, looking for converts, but it seemed we were a city of the Goddess, even if the Goddess had long since deserted us. It seemed we’d always be loyal to the priestesses, even when they had no solace left to offer.

  Given my choice of Lower Davlova’s four temples, I would have stayed in the fourth quadrant, but Frey had been specific.

  “The first quadrant temple. Make sure you ask for Dharma.”

  All four of the lower city temples were identical, so from the outside, the view was familiar. But the inside surprised me. I remembered an enormous room. A gigantic altar. Row upon row of benches. Incense that helped hide the stench of the streets.

  But I’d been a child. Now, looking on it with an adult perspective, it seemed a hundred times smaller, and much more intimate. It was dark, with only a few well-placed candles to light the room. A handful of men and women sat hunched on the benches, or knelt in front of them, their heads bowed.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turned to find one of the priestesses behind me. As a child, I’d been intimidated by them. They’d seemed so grown up and sophisticated in their robes. But this one was probably less then sixteen years old.

  “I’m looking for Dharma.”

  She blinked at me. The priestesses were not permitted male lovers, although they were still allowed familial connections. Still, if she was suspicious, she didn’t ask my business. She gave the tiniest of bows and said, “It may take me while to find her. Wait here.”

  I sat on one of the benches. The only sounds in the temple were the hushed whisper of prayers, the hiss of the priestesses’ long robes as they came and went, and the sputtering of the candles. In the corners, behind the altars, hallways led deeper into the temple, but those rooms were only accessible if you were in the company of a priestess.

  “Misha?” a voice next to me asked.

  I turned to look at her in surprise. Other than being a bit older, she didn’t look much different from the last priestess. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Dharma. We were in the den together, years ago.”

  I blinked at her, unsure what to say. I’d been in Anzhéla’s clan for thirteen years. A lot of kids had come and gone in that time. I knew the ones close to my age who’d been around a while, but girls never s
eemed to last as long in the den, and I had no memory of her. “I’m sorry.”

  She waved her hand dismissively and sat down next to me. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember. I was only there a few months, and then Anzhéla had me placed here.” She smiled. “She saved me, you know? I mean, I guess you do know, because she saved all of us. But you wouldn’t believe how many of the priestesses were with her at one time or another.”

  I nodded, finally understanding. Yes, I’d noticed how girls never stayed long with the clan. I knew Anzhéla was moving them to other jobs—into her whorehouses, or her laundries, or maybe to some other enterprise I knew nothing about. But it had never occurred to me that she was placing some here, in the temples. I thought about the rumors that the priestesses were involved with the rebellion.

  Suddenly those rumors didn’t seem quite so far-fetched.

  “I was told you might be able to help me.” I took a slip of paper from my pocket. “Can you translate this?”

  She took it and held it up, into the light, in order to better see the markings I’d made. It was hard to say how accurate my memory of the tattoo was, but I’d done my best. “What is this?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She shrugged. “Just trying to figure out how careful I need to be. The books are in the temple library on the upper side. I have to get special permission to look at them. Is it a nobleman’s tattoo?”

  “Why? Would that be illegal?”

  “Not exactly, but it tends to arouse suspicion.”

  I hesitated. It seemed risky to tell her too much, and yet Frey had sent me to her. “It is a tattoo,” I conceded. “But not on a noble.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Nobody else has tattoos in this language.”

  “One person does.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend.”

  My elusive answer only made her more suspicious. She shook her head. “I don’t know—”

  “He’s not one of them, I swear. He’s one of us. One of the victims. And he needs our help.”

  “But if he’s not a noble, why would he have these?” she asked, holding up the paper again.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  “You can’t ask him?”

  “They were put there by somebody else. He doesn’t know what they say either.”

  She closed her eyes, wincing. Her left hand drifted up to touch her right shoulder, just below her collarbone. I wondered if she bore a tattoo there, hidden by the simple frock of the priestesses. Maybe she knew what it was like to be marked against her will. “Anzhéla knows about this, right?”

  “Of course.” It wasn’t quite a lie. I hadn’t told Anzhéla, but coming here had been Frey’s idea, and I doubted he kept many secrets from the woman he shared a bed with. “She’s the one who sent me.”

  She opened her eyes and met my gaze. Before, she’d looked wary. Now, she looked determined. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Of course, having accomplished that one small task, I was thrown immediately into a long, protracted period of frustration. I woke each morning hoping for a missive from Dharma telling me she’d finished the translation, but it never arrived. I spent nearly every evening with Donato, and I was glad for it. Despite everything that had happened, he had become more than my master. He was my lover, both physically and emotionally. He was the center of my life. I still took the il on occasion, because he liked it when I was hard, but I rarely needed it. Sometimes he was tender. Sometimes he was cruel. Most times, he was neither. Just a lust-driven man making use of his favorite toy. But no matter what mood I found him in, I was always ready. I reveled in our time together, knowing it couldn’t last.

  My only hope was that the revolution would come before I was forced to betray him.

  Rumor had it more and more of the servants employed on the hill had abandoned their posts in fear of being caught on the wrong side of the wall once it came down. In theory, they’d be safe so long as they didn’t have the marks of nobility on their faces, but only a fool placed his faith in an angry mob. It was safer to declare one’s allegiance now, before the violence began.

  The makeshift guardsmen continued to stand watch over the gate on the lower side of the city. They grew used to my carriage coming and going in the evenings. I never saw their faces, but I heard their catcalls as they let me pass, asking if I’d earned my pay. Asking if I wanted to earn a bit more. “Our coins are good as some fat noblemen’s, and our cocks are bigger, too.”

  I laughed. Despite their crudeness, they were no real threat. Not to me, at any rate. Whore of a nobleman or not, I was still a product of the trenches.

  “I see those fools at the gate let you through,” Donato said one night, as he came into my room. His eyes were gentle, his shoulders relaxed, the corners of his lips almost tilted into a smile. I could read him well. He was feeling indulgent this evening.

  “Which fools?” I asked, smiling. “The ones on your side, or the ones on mine?”

  He didn’t laugh, as I’d hoped, but he wasn’t angry, either. Instead, he surprised me by suddenly turning serious. He caught my hand and pulled me into his arms. He trembled as he held me, as if drawing on me for strength. It was as if he too sensed that our days together were numbered. I put my arms around him, stroking the nape of his neck, thinking back over what I’d said, trying to pinpoint what had triggered his sudden tenderness.

  Something about the men at the gates.

  “What will you do,” I asked quietly, “if they refuse to let me pass?”

  His arms tightened around me. “I’ll tear Davlova apart if they try to keep me from you.”

  I shuddered at the thought of his beast’s wrath turned upon the lower city. It would be war at last, and I had no desire to be the catalyst. “It won’t come to that,” I whispered, more a prayer than a reassurance.

  ***

  The following day found me in Talia’s back parlor. It was still early, so most of the whores were in kitchen eating breakfast or lounging around the parlor. Lalo and I played chess. He still beat me more often than not, but we were a good match. I was skillful enough to challenge him, which he loved. We were halfway through our game when he was called away to entertain a customer, which gave me time to study the board, pondering my next move. Clea and Dulcie were just coming into the parlor when a loud crash echoed through the whorehouse, bringing me to my feet. It had come from the direction of the front room, but was followed seconds later by another in the kitchen. My heart began to pound, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and the instinct to run. Women began screaming.

  “It’s a raid,” I said, moving quickly to bar the door.

  “What?” one of them asked. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  I closed the door to the parlor and looked for a lock. There wasn’t one. We were trapped. There were no windows, and going out the door would lead us directly into their hands. Our only hope was that they wouldn’t find the parlor at all, but there was little chance of that.

  I glanced around at the five girls trapped in the room with me. They all looked terrified. We huddled together instinctively, backing away from the door toward the fireplace. I cursed myself for being caught unarmed. I’d stopped carrying my knives with me around Talia’s ages ago, and I mentally chastised myself for becoming so complacent. When had thirteen years’ worth of caution and survival skills given way to comfort?

  The screaming in the kitchen suddenly stopped. Less than thirty seconds later, one of Benedict’s men found us. “In here,” he yelled, and was quickly joined by more men in uniform. Three stood in front of the door while two more came toward us, their black sticks in their hands.

  “May as well come quiet,” one of them said.

  I hated that they were right. I wanted to fight, but I was outnumbered and unarmed.

  They grabbed the girls nearest them and passed them out the door to their comrades. Dulcie was the last before me
to have her hands bound behind her back. As shackles were placed on my wrists, one of them grabbed her and bent her over the back of the couch. He began pulling up her skirts.

  I closed my eyes, my gorge rising. I didn’t think I could bear to watch him rape her, but before he could get his pants undone, one of the other guards pushed him away from her.

  “There’s no time, you idiot! We have to leave!”

  They dragged us out the back door and shoved us into the waiting jail wagon. The door slammed shut, and we began to move.

  How many minutes had passed since they’d busted through the door at Talia’s? Less than ten, certainly. Maybe even as few as four. They’d been quick and thorough. I watched our route through the city. The driver was sticking to the back roads, heading not toward the plaza, but northeast, toward the first quadrant.

  “There must not be anybody guarding the Fish Gate,” I said to nobody in particular.

  I surveyed the inhabitants of the wagon. Nearly a dozen girls had been captured with me. Many were crying. A few looked rebellious. Only three or four showed obvious signs of having been beaten during the raid. I was relieved to see that Lalo wasn’t with us. He’d been upstairs with a client and had probably missed the entire thing.

  “Where’s Talia?” I asked.

  “Benedict left her,” one of the girls said. “She was yelling at him that she’d paid his dues, but he slapped her down. Told his men to leave her, that she was too old.”

  “Too old?” I asked, confused. “Too old to be arrested?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what he said.”

  “All right. Besides Lalo and Talia, who’s missing?”