fine clothing and jewelry, even those who appeared to be household staff. Gold and copper embroidery adorned the necks and hems of their uniform tunics and dresses. At the apex of their casual formation stood a broadly built Perispi man with golden olive skin, dark waves, and a coarse, graying beard.
“Where are we?” Falima asked, her sandals scuffing as she hurried to catch up.
“We received a higher bid for the delivery of Kadri Lillis,” the man who handled me replied to her.
My heart sank like an anchor. At least King Agmur had wanted me alive and well. What did this man want?
“A higher bid?” Falima repeated, alarmed. “You mean she’s not going to the king anymore?”
“No,” the man said simply, and that one word on the back of my neck sent shivers down my spine.
“You were supposed to take me to Erdem with you,” Falima said, brown eyes wide with panic as she drew even with us. “I don’t have coin. I don’t have anywhere to go!”
Captain Nasso stalked around the front of the wagon and spoke to her in a menacing, low voice. “You’re making a scene in front of our hosts. We will take you to Erdem as promised, but we will go when our business is finished here. If you don’t like that, you are free to leave.”
The captain smiled as he turned to shake the broad man’s hand.
“The rumors about you are true, then,” the stranger said in non-native Erdemese, a Perispi accent noticeable. He wore a wide grin. “The Red Fangs always deliver…unless one client poaches another’s prey!” He busted into a hearty laugh.
Nasso smirked. “We never claimed to be men of honor.”
“No, you did not,” the master of the estate agreed, still chuckling. His brown eyes found me, looked me up and down. “She’s rather worse for wear. I heard King Agmur asked you to treat her according to her status.”
“Her status is a hostage,” Captain Nasso replied. “She is alive and unharmed.”
The man frowned at this, but his face lightened as he gave me another quick study and decided that my wretchedness was either immaterial or easily curable. He called over his shoulder, “Lucrez! Why don’t you take our guest to bathe and make her presentable for the meal?”
The request rubbed me the wrong way, like an unwanted touch. His use of the word “guest” was cold comfort. If I couldn’t leave freely and flee home to Rynna, my standing had not changed.
In response to his call, a curvaceous woman emerged from the shade of a nearby pergola, carrying a tabby cat and looking bored, as if we were statues in a garden she’d toured a thousand times. The persimmon gown that bared her brown midriff reminded me of home in a way even my custom-made garments in Yorth had not; I could tell she was my compatriot before she responded to the lord’s summons spoken in Erdemese. I wondered if I could make an ally of her.
“Cut the queen’s ropes, please,” the master of the estate said to my escort.
The mercenary who restrained me hesitated.
“By all means!” Captain Nasso said with a dismissive gesture. “Our work is done. Lord Orturio can treat her as he pleases.”
My teeth locked together in anger, but I didn’t want to sacrifice the freedom I’d just been granted.
The man cut the ropes. I resisted the urge to rub the raw skin.
“Speaking of comfort,” Nasso said to Lord Orturio, “they say you are generous with your finest vintages.”
Lord Orturio laughed again. “Follow me and I’ll prove them right.”
As the men turned to enter the estate, Lucrez dropped the cat and motioned me through another entry. The cat flicked its tail and moseyed away.
Wondering what awaited me on the other side of the studded pine doors, I reluctantly followed.
The interior was rustic but elegant, with wood-beam ceilings, religious tapestries, and iron chandeliers. The jovial voice of our host echoed through the halls—I heard something about a wheel of cheese, and my stomach grumbled—but we journeyed away from the noise to a second-floor bedchamber with a stunning vineyard view.
“You will sleep here,” Lucrez said, though for how long she did not specify.
A maid with fair skin, ruddy cheeks, and short red curls curtsied to me before pouring bathwater into a marble tub.
“Why am I here?” I asked Lucrez.
“You’ll have to ask Rasmus,” she replied.
“Who?”
“Rasmus Orturio. The master of the house.”
“Is he your husband?”
“No.”
“He doesn’t fear the king of Erdem’s wrath?”
She gave a harsh laugh. “Rasmus is the richest winemaker in