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Chacerly examined the proffered hand soberly. He shook his head after a moment of tapping and poking at the band, and looked up at Alyea. He'd been furious on finding the two northern women in Alyea's room, but that anger seemed to have vanished now, replaced with a deep concern.

“I haven't seen this in years. I thought it was a lost art.”

“Art?” Sela said bitterly.
Chac sat back on his heels and looked up at her, then stood. “It is an art,” he said. “What it's used for may not be. Look—see that silver twisting through the metal?” He pointed to a fine network of shining lines woven through the duller metal of the slave cuff. “That's called
ugren
. It's a rare alloy. There's nothing I know of that cuts or melts it, once it's hardened and set. And as it's contacting your skin, it's likely bonded to that as well. Attempting to remove the cuffs could rip your flesh right down to the bone beneath.”

Sela stared, her face bone-white. Gria moaned softly, looking ill. “It's not a common slave cuff,” Chac said harshly. “Whoever hired Ierie to come get you wanted to be damn sure you'd never be considered free again, north to south.”

Alyea put a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, it gets worse,” Chac said, turning a fierce glare on Alyea. “Far as I know, only ones know how to put on an ugren cuff without killing the slave are the teyanain. And when
they
get involved,
everything
goes to all the hells. On top of it all, you said
Deiq
bought these women, and presented them to you as a gift?” He shook head, lips tight. “What a damn mess. Did you ask him to get involved?”
“
No
,” Alyea said as strongly as she could without shouting. “Not even a hint.”
Chac studied the northern women for a moment, seeming to consider something, then looked back at Alyea. His expression had acquired a chilly, frightening detachment. “You have two options,” he said. “The first one is to find out who they were going to be sold to originally, and send them on to him as a gift.”
Alyea shook her head. “I won't do that. ”
“Then you have to kill them,” he said.
She stared at him, shocked. Sela whimpered. Gria shivered, huddling closer to her mother.
“They're dangerous by their very presence,” he said. “You're under a debt while they're in your service. You're involving yourself in political games you know nothing about if you keep them alive, and it could destroy you. What you're doing is more important than two northern women.”
“If you lay one hand on them, Chacerly,” Alyea said with measured chill, “I will see you stripped and sent into the deep sands to die.”
They matched glares for a long, silent moment.
“It's safer to be rid of them,” he said. “You don't know what you're doing.”
“I don't believe in killing innocents to save myself some trouble,” she said. “And they're legally mine. Not yours. I make the decision on this.”
“You're letting emotion drive you,” Chacerly said. “Not reality.”
“I said
no
.”
His lip curled for a moment, then he shrugged and said, “As you will, my lady. I'd advise asking them some very hard questions, if you're still listening to anything I have to say.”
“You're my advisor, Chac,” Alyea said, trying to lighten her tone. “I always listen. I just make my own decisions about your advice.”
“Talk to them, then,” he said. “Find out what's going on before it catches up to you. I'd offer to help but I doubt you'd care for my methods.”
He turned and left the room without another word, shooting the northerns one final dark, misgiving glance as he passed. Alyea sighed and let herself fold into a chair. Before anyone could speak, Halla burst into the room, beaming. Her smile faded as she took in the two women sitting on Alyea's bed.
“What—” she started, a frown beginning to form.
“I'll explain later,” Alyea said, and made a peremptory gesture for the northerns to be silent. “What is it?”
Halla studied the women for another moment, her forehead furrowed in concern. “Perhaps this isn't a good time?”
“It's as good a time as any other,” Alyea said. “Out with it.”
“Well, it's like this,” Halla said uncertainly. “I . . . I think I've had word of my son.”
“That's good,” Alyea said, unable to summon up more energy for enthusiasm. “What did you hear?”
“I was . . . I went to the washing square . . . and spoke to the other women there. And men! They have men doing the washing here, my lady.”
Alyea's smile felt more genuine now. “And someone there told you about your son?”
“Well, I said I was looking,” Halla said. She seemed to have forgotten the two sullen northern women. “I told my story, and explained how I was working for you while I searched for my son. One of the women said she'd seen a northern boy locally, one with a light slave cuff on; she said that means he was working off a small debt or something minor, and would be free to go once that was up. She didn't know his name, but gave me a description and an address.”
“Go find out, then,” Alyea said. “What are you waiting for?”
Halla hesitated again, twisting her hands together nervously. “Well, my lady, I'm fairly sure it's my son; the description fits, right down to the mole on his cheek. It's just . . . the man he's working for . . . she said it was Deiq.”
Alyea shut her eyes and muttered, “Why am I not surprised?”
She stood and crossed the room to the small desk. As she'd expected, she found writing supplies inside; she pulled them out and swiftly wrote a brief note, blotted it, and rolled it up. At a loss for a seal, she spotted several lengths of ribbon in the drawer and used one to tie the parchment roll securely. The other three women watched her with varying degrees of silent bewilderment.
Alyea handed Halla the note and said, “Take this to the local judge, the
hayrar
. It's an affidavit that Peysimun Family will be personally liable for whatever debt or service your son has incurred, and to release him into your care immediately. Make them write you a note transferring the liability and take it to the place your son is staying. I'm sure he'll know who to present the release to.”
Halla held the note as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever seen.
“Thank you, my lady,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Go on,” Alyea said, and the woman almost ran from the room.
“Does this Deiq make a practice of holding slaves?” Sela demanded before the door had fully shut behind Halla. “I thought it illegal!”
“In the kingdom, it is; but we're all far from home, Sela. And before you launch another tirade, keep in mind that I
did
try to warn you!”
“And what could we have done?” Sela cried. “Run, and be captured? Or run, and find out you were lying, and disgrace ourselves beyond hope? What else was there to do?”
Alyea sighed. “Why would anyone want to enslave you in the first place?”
“How should I know?” Sela snapped.
“It cost someone a lot of time and money to bring both of you down here and put those cuffs on your arms. Why are you so important?”
“You'd know more about southern reasoning than I would,” Sela said nastily.
Alyea rubbed her temples, trying to ease the beginnings of a monstrous headache, and murmured to herself, “I can see this is going to be a long night.”

The building that rose before them measured no larger than any other in the village, and hardly seemed as opulent as the palace in Bright Bay. It did, however, have carefully trimmed hedges, neatly shaped rosebushes, a paved courtyard, a small stable to one side, and two armed guards at the plain wooden door.

The guards watched them approach without a flicker of emotion crossing their broad faces. Idisio felt a chill crawling along his spine as he came closer. He'd seen eyes like that before—in men who killed for coin.

Scratha seemed undisturbed by the cold stare of the guards. He strode up to them as arrogant and assured as he'd ever been in the King's Palace and stopped just out of their reach.

“We're here to see Yuer,” he announced.
“Yeah, we figured that,” one of the guards said, surveying the three visitors with a dark squint. “Either that or you want to sell the girl, and she don't look whipped enough for that.”
“Yuer,” Scratha repeated coldly.
“Yeah, go on in. He said you'd be here tonight.”
Scratha checked mid-stride and turned a hard stare on the guard. “Excuse me?”
“You're expected,” the guard clarified, and jerked a thumb at the door. “Go on in already. Unless you've changed your mind about the girl?” He leered at Riss. She shrank back.
“No,” Scratha said, and pushed the door open. He strode in without looking back. Idisio and Riss almost tripped over each other crowding in behind him.
The small room beyond held little more than a comfortably smoldering fireplace and four low, wide chairs set around a short-legged round table. Idisio rocked to a stop and stared in unabashed fascination at the man in the chair facing them.
There was a lot to stare at: skin like a bleached hide pulled too tight over prominent bones and a face filled with a mass of drooping wrinkles, as if all the spare skin had somehow migrated there. Wispy, dark hair scraggled along a pale scalp. The man smoothed his long-fingered, almost skeletal hands repeatedly over a thick, dark red lap-blanket, although Idisio found the room uncomfortably warm.
Bright dark eyes stared back at Idisio, and the man's thin mouth twisted into a wide grin.
“Please, come sit,” the man said in an astonishingly clear bass. The sound of that rich tone coming from the frail, wrinkled form made Idisio's jaw drop again. “Hot tea?” He leaned forward and lifted the ceramic teapot, tilting it to fill three small cups with a rich, steaming amber liquid. The scent of cloves and cinnamon filled the room.
Scratha didn't move. “You expected us.”
“Of course. And I must say it's lovely to see you again, my
lord
.” He arranged each of the small cups a little distance apart from each other, choosing each spot with careful precision, then looked up at them. “Oh, do sit down. I get a twist in my neck so easily these days.”
“I thought you'd gone further north,” Scratha said.
“Oh, it's far too cold up north,” the man said. “Speaking of which, the tea is getting cold.” He blinked at them with a lizard-bright sparkle in his eyes. “Won't you sit and have tea with me?”
Scratha drew in a long breath, let it out through his teeth, and slowly sat in a chair, motioning Idisio and Riss to follow suit. Idisio sat down gingerly and reached for a small cup of tea without really thinking about it. He passed one to Riss and the last to Scratha, uncomfortably aware that the wrinkled man seemed to be watching him attentively.
“Idisio, Riss,” Scratha said, “this is Yuer.”
“Ah,” Yuer said, reprovingly. “You didn't introduce me properly, my lord. It should have been
ferahd
Yuer, son of Lord Regav Darden and
dista
Atha; you'd say
bastard son of a whore
, I think, in the northern tongue.”
Scratha's face tightened. “I saw no need to introduce that.”
“I'm not ashamed of it,” Yuer said. “I can hardly claim to control my birth, can I? And my mother was a favorite of Lord Regav's until his unfortunate meeting with that Aerthraim bitch.”
Scratha's face settled into a dark frown. “Yuer, don't bait me.”
“Still fond of dear old Azni, are you? Well, spare me a moment of fun,” Yuer said. “I have so little of it these days.”
Scratha shook his head and didn't answer.
“And you think you have no time for my foolishness,” Yuer said. “Well.” He sipped at his tea, his gaze shifting among them. “Perhaps you don't, at that. But time is an odd thing, isn't it? I recall you saying once that if you never spoke to me again in this lifetime it would be too soon.”
“You've said the same of me,” Scratha said. “And I've said many things over the years, some of which should have been left silent.”
Yuer made a faint coughing noise, almost but not quite a sniggering laugh. “Now you admit mistakes? Could these children have made such a difference? Could you have possibly have grown . . .
attached
to them?” His eyes glittered. A chill ran down Idisio's back at the tensions rising in the air.
“Stop it,” Scratha said, his stare as flat and dangerous as a snake's. “That's enough, Yuer. This is today. If all you're going to do is rake through the past, I'll leave, and then I'll send my report to Lord Oruen. He'll take great joy in hanging you one piece at a time from each of the Gates.”
In the silence, the sound of rain came pattering gently against the window shutters. Idisio stifled an impulse to bolt from the room.
“Ah,” Yuer said at last, his voice soft. “You do have a compelling argument there. I am fond of my skin remaining intact, such as it is.” He poured himself more tea and sipped thoughtfully for a few moments.
Idisio glanced at Riss. She slouched back in her chair, both hands curled round the small cup, looking deeply unhappy.
“Politics are never simple,” Yuer said at last. “And they reach into the past further than any of us have been alive, and will echo into the future far beyond our children's lives.”
“Politics or profit?” Scratha said.
Yuer smiled briefly. “Politics is all about profit on some level, whether that be coin or other gain; successful profit involves understanding politics. You worry over a few pounds of dasta and esthit and redweed moving south to north, untaxed, illegal. In your mind, it is all wreaking horrible havoc in all lives involved. But it's such a small, small piece of the overall politics that it's hardly worth noticing . . . unless, of course, current politics move attention to that tiny piece.” He sighed.
“Dasta is illegal in the northlands,” Scratha said. “The Church bans it, and Lord Oruen has backed that ban.”
Yuer grinned and shook his head. “A knife is not evil. The hand that holds it can use it to cut bread or cut throats. Look to the hand, not the knife.”
“I'm looking for the ones who seek out assassins to sell their knives to.”
“Why?” Yuer asked, still smiling. “You're no King's Guard or secret enforcer. Why would you worry over the nonsense of the northlands?”
“I want to know how it gets through the Horn,” Scratha said. “If Darden has corrupted the teyanain, that's valid desert business.”
“Corrupted?” Yuer's smile broadened. “The teyanain are incorruptible.”
“Then how can they let your carriers move through the Horn?” Scratha said, leaning forward and putting his cup on the table with a hard click. “There's a two-hundred-year-old agreement on that!”