And so very, very wrong.
“What did they do to me?” I asked.
“There’s a tattoo on your back,” he answered. “Similar in style to the sigil we saw in Mereina. I don’t know what it does, but Relos Var said it would ‘declaw’ you.”
I nodded, fighting down nausea and despair in equal measure. Taking my strength would indeed declaw me, but they were mistaken if they thought their sigil would turn me from a stallion to a mare.
I placed my hand against the surface of a wall and felt the dark stone’s smooth texture. How many walls separated me from freedom? Had they put us in a room without windows to keep us from escaping—or because in a dominion bound by perpetual winter, only a fool would ever build windows at all?
“So we’re in Yor,” I said.
“We’re in Yor,” Brother Qown agreed.
Senera entered, holding a tray. Unlike Brother Qown and me, she looked lovely and in her element, wearing a fur jerkin and a long, flowing gray tunic. “I’d ask how you’re both feeling this morning, but I already know the answer. I hope you’re comfortable. I asked them to put you in a warm room. Yorans sometimes forget not everyone tolerates cold as well as they do.”
Senera set down the tray. “I brought you lunch. We’re going to have a feast soon, but you should eat beforehand. The Yoran diet is almost exclusively meat. You’ll need time to adjust.”
I found myself wondering if she’d gone back to Jorat just to fetch us the meal. I saw several bowls of coconut-and-jasmine-scented rice, fragrant vegetable stew, fried duck eggs, a jar of chili sauce, and all the normal side vegetables and fermented snacks. She’d even brought tea.
I frowned. She was treating us like saelen. Not like prisoners, not like enemies—like new family members. As if it could be taken for granted we’d come around. The strays always did.
Then I realized this wasn’t generosity, trust, or a desire to bring us into the fold; this was a safety measure. Meat required knives. This meal did not.
“I don’t eat meat,” Brother Qown said.
“Bad luck, I’m afraid. You’re about to start.” Senera went over to a smaller door, which proved to be a closet. She pulled out a shirt, pants, and a long, dark red dress. “I brought clothing over while you slept so you have something to wear to meet the Hon.”
“Hon?”
“What you will call the duke.” She smiled. “The Yorans reject Quur’s titles.”
I narrowed my eyes. “The duke is Quuros.”
“I wouldn’t mention that in front of him.”
“Why not just kill me? Why bring me back here?”
She stopped smiling. “Relos Var thinks you’re more useful to him alive. At least for now. You should try to behave accordingly.”
She tossed the clothes on the bed and gestured to a dresser. “You’ll find jewelry and hair combs in there: enough to satisfy stallion pride. Eat lunch and make yourselves ready. I’ll be back in an hour to take you to the duke.”
“And if we say no?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
She scoffed. “Don’t be stupid. Just because we don’t want to hurt you doesn’t mean we won’t. And you’re nothing special now. Just a normal girl. And him?” Her gray eyes flickered over to Brother Qown. “Hurting him is easy.”
“Don’t you dare—” I moved toward her, making her flinch.
Just for a moment, though. Then she grabbed my wrist and twisted, and I cried out because it hurt. I found myself too weak to push back. She forced me against the table’s edge.
“Any. Time. We. Want,” she whispered.
Senera walked out the door.
When I turned to Brother Qown, he began helping himself to breakfast.
“Eat,” he told me. “We’ll need our strength.”
* * *
The clothes Senera had brought were heavy, thick, and woolen. They included wool pants and a shirt trimmed with animal fur for Qown, and a long, red woolen dress for me. I stared at the dress with distaste.
“I wouldn’t want to fight in that,” I said.
“I suspect Yorans believe women shouldn’t fight,” Qown said.
“I’m not—” I paused and sighed. “I’m not going to be able to convince them to treat me as one of the men, am I?”
“I don’t … I don’t think so. No.”
I growled something unintelligible as I stripped off the nightgown. Paint flaked off my skin underneath.
“I need a bath,” I said. “But I very much doubt I’ll get one in Yor—wait.” I didn’t see a chamber pot anywhere. Either Senera had forgotten—which didn’t seem like her—or she was being cruel—which didn’t match her behavior.
I examined the walls. Black stone perfectly fitted without mortar. If I had a knife, I wouldn’t have been able to fit the blade between the blocks. The level of workmanship rivaled anything I’d ever seen in Jorat—except Atrine.
Which suggested …
I walked to a smaller door and discovered a bathroom, one with hot running water. I remembered some royal guild or another who handled such matters. The duke (or Hon) wasn’t afraid to hire magical services.
That’s the one thing I miss about Atrine every time I leave; running water on demand is glorious.
“You need to escape,” Brother Qown said, his voice echoing from the main room. “You can’t stay here. I’ve heard stories about how the women are treated.”
I paused while wiping the ink stains off my face. “I’ve heard those stories too. Anyone who tries anything with me is in for a rude surprise.”
“I don’t just mean that,” Brother Qown said. “Well, I do mean that, but also … I mean … I’ve never heard of an unmarried woman in Yor. Never. If you’re not married, they marry you. Women don’t have a choice.”
“Again, I’d like to see them try.”
But I knew I’d have to deal with this. As much as I wanted to believe my sex shouldn’t be an issue, Yorans didn’t see gender as role expression. To them, it was nothing more than a person’s physical form. The vessel’s shape, never the contents within. So I was a woman to them, and they thought women were … only.
Only wives. Only mothers. Only chattel.
I ground my teeth.
I heard the main door open. “Are you two ready?”
Senera’s voice.
“One moment.” I sighed and tossed the chemise and red dress over my body. The dress fit tightly around the bodice and flowed below the waist. I thought I’d trip on the damn thing, coming and going, if I ever had to use stairs. Despite the wool, the fabric provided no protection if I ever had to go into the cold, which was probably deliberate.
Winter is a fantastic cage if all you’re wearing is a summer dress.
“I brought shoes. I hope they’ll fit. Qown, why don’t you try those on?”
I entered the room. Senera had switched to a silver dress that made her look like a marble statue enchanted into life. It had the same flaring shape as mine, although the dress had been cut looser at the top. She wore tiny silver pins in her hair and rings on her fingers, but nothing I could take away from her and use as a weapon.