The Cyborg's Lady

by Alix Nichols

  He held up a small device in his hand that Etana had never seen before.

  Her breath hitched.

  Could it be…?

  Could it be that the governor’s transmission exonerated Lord Sebi of the terrible accusations that sleazy Chief Ultek had mounted against him?

  She tightened her grip on her ouroboros pendant, her body tensing as if her own fate hung in the balance.

  “Governor Boggond, who couldn’t be present due to matters of state,” Judge Mahabmet said, “is asking me to recap Areg Sebi’s charges so that all of you present understand their gravity.”

  Etana’s heart sank.

  The high judge pointed at Lord Sebi. “The man in front of you is not who you thought he was. He is no hero. He’s a traitor. He had colluded with Teteum at the end of the war in a conspiracy to discredit Eia’s legitimate government and Lord Boggond himself.”

  “Prove it!” someone shouted from the middle of the crowd.

  “Did he confess?” a second voice joined in.

  Chief Ultek jumped up from his seat in the box and shouted to his men, “Find those whoresons! Bring them to me!”

  “There’s no need, Chief Ultek,” Judge Mahabmet said, gesturing to the cops to stay put. “Those are legitimate questions.”

  The crowd grew quiet.

  The high judge forced a smile. “I don’t blame those young men. They only voiced what many in Eia are thinking.”

  The silence grew laden.

  Judge Mahabmet firmed his jaw. “I am not going to lie to you. We don’t have a confession.”

  An “ah” tore through the crowd.

  “But we don’t need one.” Judge Mahabmet pointed to Ultek. “Chief Ultek’s investigation has uncovered evidence which proves Areg Sebi’s guilt beyond doubt. We will present it to the citizens of Eia shortly, as soon as it is properly cataloged and recorded.”

  Rhori gave Etana a disconcerted look as if he didn’t know what to think after that revelation.

  She crossed her arms. No, honestly.

  Her deferential brother was prepared to believe empty words just because a high-ranking lord had uttered them. Um… all right, a lord who happened to be a respected judge. And not just any judge, but the high judge of the Realm himself, a paragon of fairness and wisdom.

  But then why did she, a laundry maid, doubt his words?

  Oh, she knew why. Because of the other words spoken by Lord Sebi a few weeks ago in her employer’s house.

  Those words had given her wings.

  “Remember Lord Sebi’s talk at the Gokk House?” she whispered to Rhori.

  He nodded.

  “The wonders he described, the possibilities…”

  “The amazing level-two tech,” Rhori said, his expression dreamy.

  “Remember how harshly he spoke of the caretaker governor?”

  Rhori knitted his brows. “What are you saying? You can’t possibly—”

  “Resume the flogging!” Judge Mahabmet cried without taking his eyes off the crowd.

  The flogger struck with renewed ferocity. Once, twice, three times… Red stripes erupted on either side of Areg Sebi’s spine, blood oozing down their length. His face became a grimace of pain as he groaned, but kept his jaws pressed together.

  On the next stroke, his body surged and then fell limp, his head lolling.

  Etana turned to her brother. “This is so wrong! I can’t just stand here and watch.”

  “What can we do, Etti?” Rhori whispered softly. “What can anyone do to help the poor soul?”

  She surveyed the scaffold. Dozens of heavily armed cops stood all around it. Rhori was right. There was nothing anyone—even the strongest and most agile of men—could do to help Areg Sebi.

  Nothing at all.

  Then why that feeling that she should do something? That she must do something? Because she could.

  She screwed up her eyes. It was ridiculous.

  Fancying herself a rich-blood endowed with a gift she could harness to rescue Lord Sebi was a folly. For starters, no gift she could conceive of would overpower the town’s entire police force. Besides, she had no gift. No one on Hente had them anymore.

  After the Cataclysm, the air of the planet changed, and the radiation emanating from it suppressed all the existing gifts in the survivors. No rich-bloods were ever recorded since then, not even among noble-borns, with ostensibly more Ra blood than the others.

  The loss of gifts was how Divine Aheya had punished Hente for its arrogance.

  Everyone knew that.

  As did Etana.

  And that whirlwind she’d felt earlier? It had been just a panic attack. Or, worse—a figment of her imagination, a childish fantasy that she was special. Like the Gokks’ youngest, Benty, who would cover his eyes with his plump little hands and declare he was invisible.

  The grown-ups and his older siblings would humor him. “Where is Benty?” they’d ask. “He’s gone. I can’t see him. Where did he disappear to?” The boy would squeal and clap his hands in delight before opening his eyes. “Bam! I’m back!”

  That kind of delusion of power could be forgiven in a young child, even encouraged to an extent. But it was unpardonable in someone like her.

  The flogger’s final blow shook Lord Sebi’s dangling body without drawing so much as a twitch from it.

  He was unconscious.

  The high judge stepped forward once again. “We are done for today. Areg Sebi will receive fifty more lashes here in Town Hall Square in exactly one week, next First-day, the twenty-sixth of Mid-Summer, Xer-year 701 of the New Ra-human Era.”

  The crowd rumbled, appalled.

  “The man needs to recover!” someone shouted.

  “You can’t do that!” Etana heard herself yell.

  Several heads turned toward her, and Rhori gave her a round-eyed look.

  “Oh, but we can and, given the gravity of his crime, we certainly will,” Judge Mahabmet said. “Unless he confesses between now and next First-day.”

  He wouldn’t. Etana was sure of it.

  “But, confession or no,” the judge added, raising his voice, “my colleagues and I will return with a verdict on Areg Sebi by then. It will be announced here, next First-day.”

  “What do you think it would be?” Etana whispered to Rhori.

  “For high treason?” He gave her an apologetic look as if to say, you know what.

  “Death,” she said on an exhale.

  “They never move this fast.” Rhori knitted his brows. “Even court-martials during the war didn’t move this fast.”

  Etana hardly heard him.

  Her mind was on fire, scrambling for options, for something, for anything she could do for Areg Sebi.

  Perhaps…

  She clenched her jaws, determined.

  Tonight, as soon as she finished work at the Gokk House, she’d go to the temple. She’d beg the vestals to let her spend the night, and every night between now and the twenty-sixth, in their library. She’d read every code and custom book, every law, every compilation of decrees and edicts they had in there.

  Since rescuing Lord Sebi through an imaginary gift was a nonstarter, perhaps there was a doable way to ease his suffering.

  Maybe she’d find a law which forbade convicting a citizen of Eia, no matter his crime, without a proper trial and without a chance to defend himself. Failing that, she might uncover a ruling which prohibited giving anyone—even a convicted traitor—more lashes than the Ra-human body could endure.

  Or maybe something else, completely unexpected.

  If there was anything at all that could help Lord Areg Sebi, even in a tiny way, she’d find it.

  She had to.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Slowly, the world came into focus as Areg came around.

  He was stretched flat on his stomach on top of his pallet back in his prison cell. As his senses gradually sharpened, he realized he was cold, dizzy, nauseous and… stark naked, barring a cloth thrown over his ass. He could feel it
rub against the raw flesh of his lower back as he tried to move.

  “Lie still,” an authoritative female commanded. “I haven’t finished yet.”

  “Finished… what?” Areg croaked, staring at the wall beside him. “Who are you?”

  He was too weak to turn his head and look at the woman who’d spoken to him.

  A soft hand touched his back and began to move clockwise, rubbing something oily into his wounds.

  “I’m Reverend Goyyem of the Healers’ Order,” the woman said. “We’ve met before. You’ve been slipping in and out of consciousness over the last twelve hours. Novice Drisse and I are here to care for you.”

  The door opened with a screech.

  He recognized the voice of one of the guards who muttered a respectful, “Bless your endeavors, Glorious Maiden.”

  “May your deeds please Divine Aheya, sir,” came the customary reply.

  In his peripheral vision, Areg saw a young woman in a high-waisted vestal robe step into his cell. She carried a tub filled with a liquid.

  The guard locked the door behind her.

  Walking carefully so that she wouldn’t spill the liquid, the vestal approached Areg and placed the tub on the stone floor.

  “Here,” the reverend said, handing the novice a sponge. “Once you’ve washed and toweled his face and hair, I’ll treat the gashes on his neck, and then we can bandage him up.”

  As the vestals tended to him, Areg grew increasingly awake—and increasingly self-conscious. He had been naked in front of women before, but only one at a time. And they’d been naked, too.

  And vestal virgins they certainly were not.

  “I don’t ache as much as I’d expected,” he said as Novice Drisse toweled his hair dry.

  “That’s because I gave you something for the pain when you woke last time.” Reverend Goyyem gestured to the younger vestal. “Help me sit him up.”

  The cloth across my ass—it doesn’t cover…

  A tiny smile curled Reverend Goyyem’s lips. “We’ll prop you against the wall, so you can put these on.” She handed him a pair of clean pants. “And we won’t look.”

  “The guards wouldn’t let Reverend Goyyem’s steward come in to help you get dressed.” Sister Drisse pouted. “Ridiculous!”

  Still red in the face, Areg let them help him sit up and lean his shoulder on the wall. Then he pulled the slacks on, cringing in pain when he bent down or flexed the muscles on his mutilated back.

  When he finished, Novice Drisse gave him a glass of water. He emptied it. Then the vestals moved between him and the door, blocking him from whoever might be peeping through the door viewer.

  “We’re going to swathe you in bandages now,” Reverend Goyyem said loudly, thrusting a small folded envelope into Areg’s hand.

  He glanced up at her.

  “Read fast and give it back to me,” she whispered.

  While the vestals applied poultices and bandaged him, he opened the letter.

  Dear Areg,

  I am so sorry about what has happened to you! And I am sorry I’m not by your side now. Her Glory Superior Dienoma ordered me to go to the North Temple and officiate there this week.

  But I’m traveling to the capital in three days whether I have her permission or not.

  Eight army majors and I have obtained an audience with Governor Boggond. I’d asked Commander Heidd to join us, but he said, “A soldier doesn’t question his superior’s orders—he executes them.” I took it as a no.

  The majors and I intend to beg the governor and the high judge to punish you by banishing you from Eia in recognition for your wartime heroism. The idea is to get you off Hente.

  Be strong, my friend!

  May Aheya look upon you with kindness.

  In prayer,

  Aynu

  Areg gave the letter back to Reverend Goyyem who swiftly dropped it into her front pocket.

  “Your Glory, please tell her to abandon that plan and to dissuade the majors,” Areg whispered while she bent down to fasten a strip of gauze. “They’ll be taking a huge risk—for nothing.”

  There was no way Boggond would allow him to leave the planet. He wouldn’t run the risk of Areg coming back later and stirring up more trouble. What Boggond wanted was to make sure Areg was dead.

  Reverend Goyyem let out a sigh. “It isn’t my place to tell Royal Prioress Eckme what she should do, but I’ll relay your message.”

  Something told Areg Royal Prioress Eckme wouldn’t listen.

  His childhood friend was one of the highest-ranking vestals in Eia. She was also a princess. Her grandfather, an anti-monarchist king, abdicated back in 645, so that his realm could become a republic. He also took a solemn vow that he and his descendants would stay away from politics. In exchange for this gesture, the Eckme family got to keep its vast possessions and the honorary “royal” in their title.

  Aynu had every intention of honoring her grandfather’s wishes.

  Bright and kindhearted, she’d joined the Healers’ Order when she turned eighteen. When the Teteum war broke out, she volunteered for the frontline and did a remarkable job overseeing military hospitals. In recognition of her service, the superior of the temple elevated her to prioress at the end of the war.

  Revered by the people, Aynu was an exceptional person.

  Exceptionally pigheaded, too.

  Seeing the severity of the charges against Areg and the speedy indictment, Boggond was hell-bent on getting rid of him—but not before dragging him through mud first.

  Nothing would make him give up on that plan.

  A brief time later, the vestals secured the last bandage and drew back to survey their handiwork.

  Reverend Goyyem handed him a clean shirt. “I’ll return tomorrow to change your bandages and administer another dose of pain relief.”

  “Thank you,” he said while she helped him into his shirt. “You’ve both been very kind.”

  “Just doing our duty,” Novice Drisse said.

  Of course, they were. Nursing the sick and the wounded was the mission of the Healers’ Order, and its vestals ran hospitals and did rounds at prisons as part of that mission.

  What didn’t make a lot of sense to Areg was why the police chief had allowed them to nurse him.

  There was only one explanation. Boggond wanted him well enough so he wouldn’t pass out too soon at his second flogging.

  Reverend Goyyem gave him a gentle smile and headed for the door.

  Grabbing their medical case, Novice Drisse scurried behind her.

  Once again alone in his cell, Areg lay facedown on the pallet.

  Stubborn Aynu! If only he had a way to prevent her and the majors from moving forward with their ill-conceived plan! Boggond wouldn’t arrest them, he wasn’t that desperate, but he’d surely add them to his blacklist.

  Too many people—good people—had already died because of Areg. The thought that, even silenced and imprisoned, he was endangering more was unbearable. He turned his head and lifted his gaze to the tiny window under the ceiling.

  Sweet Aheya, please, put an end to this!

  If she struck him now, Aynu would have no reason to plead with Boggond. Neither she nor the majors would end up on Ultek’s blacklist. And he, Areg Sebi, might be allowed to spend some time with his ill-starred family and his dead friends in the peace of the Eternal Garden.

  He longed for it.

  Areg closed his eyes and saw Nollan’s face. Fifteen years Areg’s senior, Lord Nollan Dreggo had been his favorite professor at the Orogate Academy. After Areg graduated, the two of them stayed in touch. With time, their mutual appreciation grew into a genuine friendship.

  And when, six months ago, Nollan decided to run for governor, Areg didn’t hesitate a second. Not only did he support Nollan’s bid financially, but he also actively campaigned for the professor.

  His motives hadn’t been entirely selfless.

  At the time, Areg had just resigned from the army with the intention of moving to the s
outh and taking the reins of the family estate. He needed a reason to linger in the Orogate Valley. He was looking for a worthy project to buy him time, so he could prepare better to return to his and Nyssa’s childhood home—a happy home—and face its emptiness.

  Nollan’s bid gave him that reason.

  For the umpteenth time, Areg thought back to the last public debate he and Nollan had held in Orogate a month ago.

  The Royal Theater was full to the brim. Noble-borns and eminent proficients occupied the front rows. Menials crowded the back, many of them standing or sitting on the floor between the aisles.

  “In Xereill,” Nollan began his address, “there are planets where gifts abound, where rich-bloods can harness their abilities inherited from the Ra to solve almost any issue.”

  “Lucky them,” someone in the audience said.

  “Indeed, they are lucky.” Nollan nodded. “And I can see why they turn up their noses at technology. They have no need for it.”

  Areg peered into the crowd. “But then there are other planets where gifts have not survived. I visited some of them when my late father served as Eia’s ambassador to the League of Realms.”

  A teenage boy raised his hand. “The League of Realms… those are the guys who keep the Treasures of Xereill List, right?”

  Areg’s lips curled up. “A branch of League of Realms called ERIGAT does that. Oh, and please don’t ask me what that acronym means because, for the life of me, I can’t remember.”

  Nollan’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to enlighten an ignorant. “The League of Realms, or the LOR, as it’s commonly called, is much more than that.”

  Areg rubbed his mouth to hide his grin.

  Once a teacher, always a teacher.

  “It was founded exactly one hundred years ago,” Nollan said, “After the Allied Realms won the Empire War.”

  Instinctively, Nollan had switched to his lecturer voice. Which had thrown Areg fifteen years back, to his Academy days. Keeping a straight face became a challenge.