by Amy Raby
“We’re purging the aristocracy?” said Rhianne. “Is that the word we use? Three gods.” And she was sending Janto out of the country, presumably to go home to Mosar. Where, all too soon, he’d be rounded up and staked along with his family, courtesy of her lovely fiancé. Worse, maybe the purge wouldn’t take place until she and Augustan were married. Then she’d have a front-row seat for the whole affair.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Rhianne blinked, astonished the conversation had taken this turn. “With Janto? In love?” She was honestly surprised by the question. But not just because Lucien had asked it. She was surprised to discover her own feelings in reaction. Still, this was not something she could tell her cousin. “No . . . not in love.”
“You have feelings for him.”
She was more comfortable with that phrasing. It still surprised her that Lucien had picked up on it. But then, the changes that had happened in Lucien during the past few years ran deeper than the physical. It was unfortunate that Florian saw Lucien’s sensitivity as a weakness, when in fact it was his greatest strength. Lucien picked up nuances Florian not only failed to perceive, but lacked the capacity to understand.
“It was Janto you had the arguments with, wasn’t it? About the war.” Lucien gave a snort of laughter. “And here I thought it was Augustan.”
Rhianne leaned back in her chair. “He’s opened my eyes about a few things. And so have you.”
“You’re flirting with treason,” said Lucien.
Already there, Cousin. “You said yourself the war is bad for Kjall.”
“There’s a big difference between saying that in a Kjallan Council of War and saying it to a Mosari nobleman who, for all you know, may be funneling information to the mother country. They have spies.”
“I don’t tell him anything like that,” said Rhianne. “We’re just trying to stop the slave overseer from raping the women.”
“Cousin.” Lucien hesitated, biting his lip. “You don’t like Augustan. It was obvious when he was here, and I don’t blame you. I didn’t like him either.”
Rhianne lowered her eyes.
“Do you think this thing with Janto . . . Are you perhaps looking for an affair before your marriage?”
“Why would I do that?” Rhianne said carefully.
Lucien shifted in his seat. “Because you’d be crazy not to? If I had to marry a woman I didn’t like, and I probably will someday, I’d be running around trying to sleep with as many women as possible beforehand.”
“Ugh.” Rhianne made a face. “I didn’t want to know that.”
“I’m saying have an affair. Get it out of your system. No one would begrudge you that, not even Florian,” said Lucien. “But not with a Mosari man! Not with that Janto. That would be a scandal the likes of which the Imperial Palace hasn’t seen since your mother ran away.”
You have no idea. “Affairs don’t work for me the way they work for you. You see a pretty woman, and you want to sleep with her. I need to get to know a man before I want to sleep with him. And a lot of the time, what I find out about him makes me not want to sleep with him.”
“So get to know some Kjallan men. Maybe you’ll find one you like. But please,” said Lucien. “I say this for your own sake. Don’t get involved with the Mosari beyond this slave overseer business. It can only end badly, for you and for him.”
As Rhianne headed back to her rooms, she decided Lucien was half right. Having an affair, “getting it out of her system” before she married Augustan, wasn’t a bad idea. But there was no way it was going to be with a Kjallan.
• • •
After Janto had worked out the details of the plan with Rhianne, he took it to Iolo and Sirali and explained how the sackcloth treatment worked. “We’ll use magic to make it fail-safe,” he said. “Next time Micah assaults a woman, Rhianne and I will approach him under cover of my shroud, and Rhianne will hit him with a confusion spell. That’s how we’ll get him into the sack. You see? No risk to anybody.”
“No such thing as no risk,” said Iolo.
Janto turned to Sirali. “We’ve got everything taken care of except the support of the slave women. Will they participate? Can you recruit them for us?”
“Janto—,” began Iolo.
“I’m asking Sirali,” he said.
Sirali thought for a moment. “Dangerous for them.”
“Yes, but consider the potential benefits,” said Janto. “And with a mind mage on our side, the danger is mitigated. From Micah’s perspective, he’s going to wake up in a sackcloth bag, having no idea how he got there, and then he’ll get beaten up. If things should go horribly wrong for some reason, Rhianne can make him forget the whole episode.”
“Three gods, Janto, I can’t believe you’re doing this!” said Iolo. “What about finding that intelligence for Mosar?”
“Ral-Vaddis is dead, and I fear the intelligence he meant to pass along died with him.” There was also the fact that Rhianne was forcing him to leave the country within two days, or she’d inform on him to the authorities. He hadn’t told Iolo or Sirali about that yet. The odds of his finding the intelligence within that time window were vanishingly small.
“You can’t give up! You don’t know for sure that the dead spy was Ral-Vaddis—”
“Yes, I do,” said Janto. “There were no other Mosari spies stationed here.”
“And even if it was,” continued Iolo, “you are the only hope Mosar has. You can’t risk everything we have on punishing this slave overseer.”
“I understand your concern, but these women are Mosari. I’m their prince, and it’s my duty to protect them,” said Janto. “I’m going ahead with this—that is, if Sirali agrees to her part. The risks are low, and it’s worth doing. Iolo, I won’t ask you to participate.”
“You think it will work?” said Iolo.
Sirali snorted. “Right, and I want to do it even if it doesn’t work.”
“It will work,” said Janto. “When Micah climbs out of the bag, he’ll see all the slave women there. He’ll know they’re united in their opposition to him, that further abuse will land him in the sackcloth again. And Lucien says the authorities don’t intervene in these cases—this sackcloth treatment is a Kjallan tradition of sorts. Part of their military culture.” He turned to Sirali. “Can you recruit the slave women?”
“Yes.” Her eyes gleamed. “When’s the soonest we can do this? Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night.” And then he would leave the country.
Maybe.
15
Janto, invisible, waited for Rhianne by the well, his stomach churning with a familiar mixture of excitement and nerves. The sackcloth treatment. While the plan was a little frightening to carry out, at least he was doing something. The end result might be good or it might be bad, but at least he’d make a difference. This wouldn’t be like his fruitless search for Ral-Vaddis.
Branches rustled as someone approached through the trees. Janto moved toward the sound and released his shroud. “Alligator?” he called.
Blue magelight flared in the distance. The odd-shaped figure it illuminated looked unfamiliar at first, but he soon sorted out that it was Rhianne with a bulky sackcloth bag thrown over her shoulder. He ran forward to take the bag from her.
Rhianne grunted her thanks. The chamber pot at the bottom rattled as it bumped against the wooden staves. “I forget how handy the Legaciatti are when it comes to hauling heavy things,” she said. “I hope I’m not late.”
Janto shook his head. “See that light through the trees?”
Rhianne nodded.
“That’s the men’s slave house. The door has opened a few times, but Micah hasn’t come through it yet.”
“So we wait?”
Janto nodded, shrouding both of them.
“Where’s your ferret?”<
br />
“Hunting.”
“What does he hunt?” said Rhianne. “I saw him when you had him in my rooms, but only for a short while.”
“I’ll bring him back so you can see him.” He called to Sashi through the link. The ferret dashed back through the leaves and scurried up Janto’s arm. Rhianne wants to see you. Be nice, will you?
Sashi chittered his irritation. He didn’t like socializing.
No biting, Janto reminded him, and placed the ferret in Rhianne’s arms.
She stroked Sashi like she would a cat. “He’s lovely. His fur’s stiff along his back, but soft everywhere else.”
I want to bite her, said Sashi.
Janto took the ferret back. “His coloration is atypical, the strawberry and white. Most ferrets are brown or gray. His color might have made it harder for him to hunt if not for our shared magic. He hunts invisibly.”
It is all skill, said Sashi. I could do it without the magic.
“I never realized that,” said Rhianne. “That your magic was shared. Wait. Janto!” Her hand fell upon his arm: he felt it as a rare, electric touch. “The door’s opening.”
Janto delayed a moment, wanting her hand to stay where it was. But he watched the door and said, “That’s Micah.”
Two routes led from the men’s slave house to the women’s. The first and more direct was a forest path that snaked through the trees. The second route was somewhat more circuitous but wider and brighter in the moonlight, taking a short trail to the paved road, following it for a while, and then taking another trail to the women’s slave house. Micah was heading for the paved road. Janto grabbed the bag of gear and hurried after him. He had to rush. Micah, huge and athletic, moved without hesitation or uncertainty, covering the distance with long, swinging strides.
“He must make this trip a lot,” Janto whispered to Rhianne as they turned from the road onto the second trail.
At the women’s slave house, Micah went straight up the steps and through the door.
They waited several anxious minutes. “He’ll come out, right?” asked Rhianne. “He’s not going to just attack someone inside?”
“He should come out,” said Janto, though he was wondering the same thing.
Micah emerged, dragging a woman by the arm. She wasn’t fighting, but she didn’t look happy. The pair descended the steps.
“All right,” said Janto. “Spell him.”
Rhianne jogged toward Micah. Janto could not help but tense as his princess approached a man twice her size, but she moved without fear. Either her mind magic gave her confidence, or she trusted Janto’s invisibility shroud. His fists clenched helplessly as she reached out and touched Micah’s arm. Micah brushed at the spot, as if a leaf had fallen on him. And he changed. The fire drained from his eyes, leaving behind a dull, glassy stare. His shoulders drooped into an apathetic slump. The woman he’d been dragging yanked her arm from his loosened grip and pelted back into the slave house, slamming the door behind her. Rhianne grinned at Janto. She led Micah by the hand, and he followed, tripping over roots and branches.
Janto said, “That is the most disturbing thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Let’s get him into the sack,” said Rhianne.
Janto wrestled the sackcloth over Micah’s head. “How long does the spell last?”
“As long as I want it to.”
When Micah was covered head to toe in sackcloth, Janto pulled him to the ground and tied his feet so he couldn’t escape. Rhianne probed the other end of the sackcloth to locate his head and placed the empty chamber pot over it. They stepped back to observe their handiwork.
“Think that’ll hold him?” asked Janto.
Rhianne’s forehead wrinkled. “Maybe you should tie a few more knots.”
Janto tied a few more. No wonder she was concerned. The sackcloth looked scanty and weak for a man of Micah’s size. Still, they were as ready as they’d ever be. He released the shroud over himself but left Rhianne and Sashi invisible. “Make sure he stays spelled for now,” he told Rhianne, and headed for the slave house door.
Before he could knock, the door opened and Sirali emerged, followed by a dozen women. “Right, and we were watching from the windows how Micah got stuffed in a sack by an invisible man.”
“Happy to entertain,” said Janto. He stepped back as more women filed out, four or five dozen at least. He picked up the wooden staves and handed them out. Most of the women carried them gingerly and upright, like flag standards; only Sirali gripped hers as if she meant to use it. “He’s got a confusion spell on him right now. That’s why he’s quiet. When we’re ready, I’ll have the spell removed so he understands what’s going on.” He directed the women to surround Micah. They did so, but stood well back from the sackcloth-covered form, and for the first time, he worried the plan would not work. “Ready?”
The women murmured something that might have been assent.
“Ready,” said Sirali.
He nodded to an invisible Rhianne, who gestured with her hand.
Micah exploded into life. “What in the gods’ names—,” he cried. His fists punched at the confines of his sackcloth prison, and his legs, though tied together, kicked frantically. The chamber pot over his head went flying. He was furious as a badger in a trap, and the trap was no match for the badger. “What’s going on? Who’s out there?” he roared.
The women backed away, some of them dropping their staves. Even imprisoned in sackcloth, Micah was frightening. He seemed to have discovered the rope that held his feet and was tearing at it, ineffectually since the rope was on the outside of the bag and his hands were on the inside. But he would free himself soon enough if the women just stood around. They had to begin with the staves, or it would be too late.
Janto grabbed a staff from the forest floor and ran forward. Sirali was closer than he was, and her staff slammed into Micah first.
Micah cried out, “You fucker!” But before he could renew his struggles, Janto’s staff struck him, then Sirali’s again. Another woman landed a blow, a soft one. Then she wound up and hit him with a resounding thwack. Micah’s efforts to escape grew more frenzied and disorganized. Instead of working out a way to get at the knots, he reacted to the blows and punched back at the sackcloth. The rest of the women stepped forward, bolder. Janto got in a few more blows and handed off his staff to the woman nearest him.
Sirali handed off her staff. She carefully replaced the chamber pot on Micah’s head, then supervised the women, passing the hollow weapons from one to another and intervening when one woman used the staff too viciously and when another aimed too close to the chamber pot. Micah continued to curse, but not as loudly. His attempts at escape slowed and then ceased as he curled up to protect his vulnerable parts.
Janto retreated to where Rhianne waited, below a tree, so he could observe without being in the way. It was less his battle now than the women’s. He rested his back against the tree. Rhianne slipped her hand into his and leaned into him, shivering. Her presence gave him comfort. Instinctively, he put an arm around her.
“It’s disturbing,” she said, after watching for a while in silence.
“An unpleasant business,” agreed Janto.
The women had lost their fear. Some of them looked scary now, their faces contorted with rage as they rained blows upon the sackcloth bag. Micah stopped cursing and began to plead for relief.
“You think we should let him out?” asked Rhianne.
“No,” said Janto. Micah was tough. Halfway measures wouldn’t work. He had to be thoroughly frightened and humiliated.
The beating continued until the women’s fury had abated and the only sound that came from the bag was Micah’s hoarse, sobbing breath. Janto caught Sirali’s eye and nodded. He hid himself under the invisibility shroud.
Sirali collected the staves from the women and dropped them on the grou
nd. She tossed away the chamber pot and untied the rope that bound Micah’s feet, then retreated into the circle of women who stood around the bag.
At first there was no movement from within the bag. Janto worried they’d overdone it and killed him.
Then the sackcloth moved. Micah backed slowly out of the bag, taking several minutes to extract himself. After freeing his legs and torso, he pushed the lip of the bag over his head with shaking hands. He was wild-eyed, his hair and clothes mussed. He looked up, saw the women surrounding him, and froze, so still it seemed he’d stopped breathing. His head turned slowly as he took them all in.
As if on cue, they filed back into the slave house. They walked differently than before. Straighter. Prouder.
Soon nobody was left in the clearing except Micah. Janto and Rhianne watched him from the safety of the shroud. After a while, Micah stood, shaky and bent with pain. He turned and trudged back to the men’s slave house.
When he was well away, Rhianne let out a sigh. “Gods,” she said. “I don’t know how I feel about that. What an ugly business! But I think it succeeded.”
“Did you see the look on his face when he came out of the bag and all the women stood around him?” said Janto.
“That part was an inspiration,” admitted Rhianne. “And I think it will help, as far as deterring future attacks on the women. He clearly didn’t understand how he ended up in the bag. That had to frighten him.”
Janto nodded. “If he doesn’t know how he was captured, he can’t strategize to find a way to avoid being captured again. The only way is to avoid angering the women.”
“Janto, look.” Her hand on his arm again. “Is that the woman we saw before?”
“Where?” He followed her gaze. The door to the women’s slave house had opened, and the woman Micah had dragged out, the one he’d meant to assault in the first place, was heading into the woods. “What’s she up to?”