Twenty-Nine

When Queen Belle later came to see me, she clasped her hands together in joy at the vision before her, and I fell in love with her for the way she empathized with others. She smiled so grandly, and she was truly happy to see me reunited with my son. I embraced her warmly, thanking her for all that she did to help me. It had been days, but I refused to let him out of my sight, and no one questioned this.

Even Trayne kept his distance, silently respecting my wishes.

“I was hoping we could talk again,” Queen Belle said, seated on the floor beside me, watching Forrest playing. Britleigh gathered Maia in her arms and, with a smile, she carried her down the hallway to the library, where she would read to her. Britleigh was the only one I trusted with my children, and she took the responsibility seriously; she believed that she was teaching Maia to read, even though the child was still an infant and barely awake for most of the day.

“Of course,” I said, nodding for her to continue.

“I don’t know where to begin, so I’m just going to say it. I don’t think you are stupid, Piya. But I do believe you- and all of the women in the west- have been misinformed. People like your husband, like your father in law, use ignorance as a tool. You know, I’m sure, about the disproportionate male-to-female ratio in our society-”

“Of course,” I said, stiffening. Who didn’t know? It was the world I was born into. “Thirty-seven females for every male.”

She shook her head, looking at me sadly. “Think of it, dear,” she said quietly. “Think of the vast army of men who captured you and brought you here. Think of the men I sent to fetch your son, to return your servants to us. I couldn’t do that if the ratio were truly so large a gap. If that were the case, there would be no men for such an army.”

I looked at her, waiting. When she didn’t offer an explanation, I asked for one.

“In the West, men are trying to maintain the way of life they’ve been living for hundreds of years,” she said. “In order to do this, they feel the need to ensure that women don’t rise and overtake them, so they keep their wives and daughters subdued with old numbers. The gap is closing, Piya. As of the last census, the ratio here in my kingdom was four to one. I, myself, have nineteen grandsons.”

I gasped, and then I remembered Trayne’s claim- if he’d been telling the truth, then six of these nineteen grandsons were his.

“I can see that you’re surprised. Would it surprise you further to discover that if a woman became pregnant with too many sons in the west, it was common practice for her to receive an involuntary abortion in order to maintain the gap between sons and daughters? Yes, it’s true, it’s awful and unfortunately, very true. They’ve known how to test for male or female embryo for decades. A woman would go in for a checkup, and if the head of the family suggested that enough males were present in the home, then the doctor would insert a quick-dissolving pill that poisoned the fetus, all without her knowledge, let alone consent. A few days or weeks later- depending on the concoction; it had to be varied of course to avoid suspicion- the woman would begin cramping and, sadly, a miscarriage would ensue. And so the lifestyle has been maintained. It’s a terrible way of life, and one we sought to end peacefully. My envoys were sent to the West several times- I even sent my beloved Trayne. He has this saying- he gets it from my husband. ‘Soffrire per il bene piu grande.’”

“Something about good and great?” I asked.

“Very good!” she looked surprised, and I smiled wistfully. “One of my mothers was Italian,” I offered, and she nodded.

“Ah, of course. Well, I believe the translation is, ‘Suffer for the greater good.’ He is constantly suffering, working for the greater good. He has no stomach for the practices of the West; he’s easily moved to a brash anger when faced with them, but he always insisted on going as often as he could. As I’ve said, he’s the best we’ve got. And even he failed at moving them to end the barbaric practices.”

“Trayne, your son,” I said, my reeling mind grasping onto the one familiar thing she’d said.

“Yes, my son,” she said, nodding her head.

“He has six wives,” I said pointedly. “If the male to female ratio is so much smaller, why is polygamy still in practice here?”

She smiled. “You ask the right questions. I think, given the proper tools, you will grow to be a very wise and skilled warrior. Please, follow me.”

As I followed her through her castle, I noted a complete lack of tension. The servants greeted her warmly, and she asked about their families. She was truly her people’s Queen, and not a wicked dictator. She chatted pleasantly to me, small talk that filled the quiet places surrounding us as we walked. The elegant archways and flowing, colorful curtains seemed too beautiful for the heavy conversation we’d been having, and I was happy to leave it be until we were alone and still again. Some words need absolute concentration in order to be spoken and heard. I avoided those words and joined this odd Queen in her inconsequential small talk.

“Your curtains- everywhere- they’re so lovely,” I remarked.

“Oh, yes, a gift from an emperor across the sea,” she said, her hands gesturing flightily in the air. “I adore them. Everyone adores them. They’re silk and worth quite a lot. Unfortunately, we had a little theft problem a few years ago- the material is very scarce, and people would steal a curtain here or there. If they weren’t such an extravagant gift from such an important person, I might hide them away from the tempted hands of thieves, but that would be a pity, wouldn’t it? They really are so lovely. And the emperor shows such joy when he visits and sees his generous gift hung all around us. But the theft- it was really getting out of hand. So do you know what we did?” She paused here and helped an elderly servant pick up a basket of apples she’d dropped, inquiring about a sick sister as she knelt. The servant replied with a bad turn of events, and the Queen murmured sympathetically, clasping her hands as she handed the fruit back. Her face was troubled as she said her goodbyes to the servant, but she continued her story as if there’d been no interruption. “We implemented tracking devices in all of the drapes, the curtains, the hangings. Everything of value. Just a tiny little thing sewn into the lining with a small, cleverly restored beacon from some museum or other that my husband fixed, and when we come across someone who has stolen, we make a full inquiry. Are they starving? Did they steal to provide for their family? Is a family member sick and they can’t afford medical attention? If this is the case, then the immediate need is addressed and the offender is given a light sentence- a year’s worth of nightly service in the royal laundry, perhaps, or some other public service. If the intent is malicious, however, then the punishment is more severe. We don’t abide cruelty for the sake of cruelty, but sometimes hard decisions must be made.” She paused again, her brow furrowing, and I sensed that the conversation was taking a deeper turn, heading toward heavier territory.

“Your kindness is so evident,” I remarked, wanting to keep the conversation light for just a bit longer. “The people love you. They adore you.”

She laughed, and the tension edged away from her countenance.

“How kind of you to say! I certainly hope that the love I feel for these people is reciprocated. Why, just the other day I came across a woman feeding birds. She had hardly a bite to eat herself but there she was, feeding her bread to the birds. Can you imagine the selflessness? These people have so much good in them and sometimes I like to watch, just to see it in action.” She chattered on, telling little antidotes about her people, and I listened, charmed by her affection for them.

Finally, we arrived at our destination. We stood on a balcony overlooking a large indoor parlor.

“I present to you: my son’s harem,” she said.

Below, dozens of women sat about, some of them sewing, others reading, still others writing. In a far corner, several were learning combat skills, their muscles rippling in the late afternoon light.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “He has six wives and a harem of mistresses?”

“No, dear,” Queen Belle said patiently. “Look closer. Do you notice any patterns? Does my son seem to have a type, to you?”

I looked further, ignoring my surface impression and seeing each woman individually.

Several of the women were older than Queen Belle herself. Some of them were lame, rolling themselves around in wheeled apparatuses or clutching crutches. Some were even missing entire limbs. Still others had remarkable scars, thick ropes of healed skin searing their faces and arms, crisscrossing their backs and legs.

“They’re… damaged,” I hissed. “What is the meaning of this? He collects damaged women? Is this some sort of game for him?”

“Quite the opposite,” Queen Belle said quietly, her voice filled with pride. “He rescues them. He goes into cities in the West- places similar to the one you’re from- and he buys their freedom. He takes them under the official governmental title of Mistress- as I’m sure you know by now, he isn’t limited in how many mistresses he is allowed to have, and I’m quite proud of the fact that he now has the largest number of mistresses in the history of my kingdom. When Mistress was too weak of a title to rescue a woman, he married her.”

“His six wives…?” I felt my stomach flip flopping at the thought of seeing Cheylin again, and I tried not to seem too obvious as I searched the common room below for her face.

“There,” she said, pointing to a white haired, elderly woman with a kind face, sitting in a corner by herself, smiling as she knitted. “That is his honored First Wife, Rebeckah. And there, his Second Wife, Claudia.” This one was one of the women getting around via wheelchair, her left leg cut off below the knee. “Her story is very sad. Perhaps one day, she will tell you about it. She’s a brave woman. Over there, Wives number Three and Four, sentenced to death for lesbianism. As you can see, they’re very good… friends.” The couple leaned their heads together and smiled at each other, sharing a private moment of simple but seemingly happy conversation, and Belle giggled, her face alighting once more at someone else’s joy. “Wife number Five is away on her biweekly errand. She takes a train into the wastelands and delivers supplies to a colony of women out there, but when she returns, I’ll have to introduce the two of you. She’s about your age, I’d say. Wife number Six is-”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that, please?” I was shocked. Surely I hadn’t heard her correctly. “Wife number Five?”

“Yes, Cheylin,” she said, nodding her head eagerly. “I’m very proud of her. She’s come a long way. She discovered a small group of women living in an abandoned village deep in the woods, but the elder woman who spoke to her claimed they wished to live on their own land and by their own rules rather than be in the company of men. They’ve been through so much, poor souls, and Cheylin certainly understood that mentality, so we leave them be, but I have a guard patrol set up to ensure that no one bothers them, and Cheylin makes her little drops every other week. Eventually she’s going to end up moving out there to join them, I’m absolutely sure of it. She herself is a survivor of so much, and she has a great deal of affection for their cause.” She shook her head in a disapproving manner. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that. I do hope you’ll reserve judgments...” She smiled at me curiously. “Piya? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing, nothing,” I said quietly. I would need to have a discussion with Britleigh later. “Please, continue.”

“The Sixth Wife, there-” she pointed to a dark skinned woman with white hair, though she seemed too young to have such a tribute to age. “Yes, I see your confusion, and she is indeed younger than her beautiful hair would have you believe. But she survived an atrocious life. She was raised as the slave of a fat, greedy little man- we put him down like the ferocious, dangerous animal that he was, but he damaged our Lucia deeply. She seemed to have no spoken language when we found her, but my son’s wives have coaxed it out of her, and she does speak sometimes, though so softly that you can barely hear her. Her tragedy is so complete. I don’t know how she survived for all of those years. She knew only the love of the man’s wife, who tried to protect her, but ultimately failed repeatedly. Her kindness is so genuine and complete.” I watched as Lucia smiled indulgently at a group of children passing through the open room. “Her kindness and tenderness toward children in particular knows no bounds,” Queen Belle said, watching her. “We are very fortunate to have her here with us.”

“Children- Trayne-” I stopped myself, flustered, and cleared my throat, starting again. “Prince Trayne mentioned that he had several children of his own,” I said, motioning toward the women below. The many concubines and wives of this man seemed happy, peaceful, and completely at odds with my own familial experiences.

Queen Belle laughed. “Of course he does,” she said, smiling prettily, the skin around her eyes wrinkling. “When he takes a concubine or marries a wife, he doesn’t force her to abandon her offspring. A great many of my grandchildren share none of my genes at all, in fact.” She beamed. “And I’m quite proud of that fact.”

I stood in awe of this woman, whose very attitude contradicted every belief that had been instilled in me since birth. She was mother to a new generation of thinking, grandmother to an entire population of people who had no blood claim on her. Even more, she presided over a vast kingdom and sat on a rich throne, and she chose to use those two very prolific fates for good.

Her smile faded. “I do worry about him, though,” she said quietly as we continued on our walk, leaving the world of injured women- survivors- behind us.

“Why so?” I asked, my mind still on the multitude of discoveries that she’d laid at my feet, tiny treasures that I turned over and over in my mind too quickly to process them.

“Our governments aren’t completely dissimilar,” she said. “The law that protects a woman’s rights to her husband is the same here as it was in the old Kingdom- in your western world.”

I thought for a moment and then realized what she was getting at. “So a man may only have seven wives,” I said, and she nodded her head.

“I don’t resent the law,” she said. “In fact, I think it’s a step in the right direction- only a few decades ago, a man was not limited in the number of wives he took, and so he could marry a hundred women and each one may never see him again, and so have no chance of reproducing- which was a much higher calling in the past even than it is now. Trayne resents it a bit. He would marry every woman who never had a position before, if he could, and give her an honored place among his kingdom. His heart is far bigger than… Well. Tryane is a very special person, Piya. I wish he would save his seventh place for a true wife. Cheylan and he are very close, and my only biological grandson from Trayne comes from Cheylan. I don’t ask about such things directly- it’s not my place, and I don’t want to stir division among my grandchildren. None of them are more important than the others. They’re all so loved in my heart. But that child- Trevor is his name, after my husband the King- that child has those eyes. You’ve noticed?” She paused as if waiting, and I met her gaze directly.

I did, indeed, know the child of whom she spoke. He was a few years older than my Forrest, and he had his father’s eyes- eyes that I would know anywhere. My heart warmed to know that he belonged to Cheylin.

“I presume you’ve recognized those eyes in other places,” I said shakily, and she glanced sideways at me, waiting patiently, her eyes knowing. “But I must tell you- Forrest is not my biological son.” She stopped walking, and I went on quickly. “Oh, like you, I make no differentiation- he is mine through and through. I love him with all of my heart. But his mother was my sister wife, Alasbar. She died in child birth and I-”

“Alasbar,” Queen Belle whispered, her eyes glazing over. “I wondered…”

“You wondered, Your Majesty?”

She wrinkled her nose as if in distaste. “Please, call me Belle. And I really must stop speaking about things that are none of my business. If Forrest is yours, then he’s yours. I think I know to whom he can attribute his genes, and I hope you know that, as his mother, you’re welcome here, Piya. Always and forever. I shouldn’t be so expectant, so I’ll give you the choice, of course- but I presumed that you’d make this place your home.” She paused, letting her words sink in. In truth, I hadn’t fully considered my future. I was thankful for a safe place to rest, thankful to have my children with me, thankful to no longer be under the white-hot, crazed fury of my husband or the low current of tension that radiated in my former household. “Now,” Belle continued, whisking me away from my thoughts. “If you’ll follow me, I have one more thing to show you.”

She held her head up and shook it once more, as if clearing it, and walked purposely forward. I followed her, confused, calculating. Still, even here, I waited for the next blow.

In the months and years that followed, I would learn to let go of that hateful expectation. But for the time being, I clung to it greedily, holding it hostage in my heart as the only instinct that had ever held fiercely true and uncorrupted in my life. If I expected the blow, then when the blow came, it wouldn’t be such a shock. If I was a slow turtle moving cautiously through a world of bigger things, then distrust was the shell that I used to protect myself. This instinct was a part of me, attached to my physical body.

I followed Belle through two tall oak doors at the end of the balcony, and I glanced back once more, saying goodbye to the room below, full of survivors. I felt as if my place should be among them, but at the same time, I was distanced. My scars were hidden; my story couldn’t be near as heinous as theirs. There were differences there, and I wasn’t sure of my place in the world any more. If I didn’t belong in a harem of women, collected by a man I barely knew, and I certainly didn’t belong in an elevated station among other First Wives- then where was I to go? As I glanced up at the beautiful, high dome above me, I realized that I walked a middle ground, both physically and emotionally. I belonged nowhere.

I belonged anywhere.

“This way.” Belle was holding the door open for me, graciously giving me a moment to survey my surroundings, but she was also bursting with excitement, eager to move on with our brief tour.

Through these doors, I stopped, gasping. I’d thought grandly of the library in the Chan household. This room dwarfed that one, making it seem like nothing more than a dust moat on an evening ray of sunshine. This room was the same size as the one we’d just left, but it was divided and sectioned off, a gallery filled to the brim with books. The place where I stood was a rounded balcony, overlooking the grand accomplishment- surely the largest collection of books that existed anywhere. My heart lurched as I thought of my friend, Maia’s namesake, and about how much she would enjoy this place. I longed for her, then, the deep ache of loneliness settling into my soul like an old friend.

Here and there, I spotted people milling about, reading or jotting down notes.

“It’s a college of sorts,” Belle said, enjoying my shock. “My best scholars are here. Ask me what they’re doing.”

I looked at her, incredulous. She nodded at me, and I realized she was waiting for me to ask her the question she so badly wanted to answer.

“I… Um. What are they doing?”

“They’re counseling me,” she said. “They read, they study. They educate themselves on all of the civilizations, the world over- Queen Cleopatra and her brother-husbands, her Roman lovers- those great army generals, Marcus Antony and the great Caesar! King Henry’s lowly daughter Elizabeth who rose up to give his kingdom the golden age that he never could- and his rich fascination with wives, with a male heir, all of it. The way she never married- can you imagine? She ruled a kingdom without a king, Piya. Matriarchal societies in Africa- I know, can you imagine? Famous people, inconsequential people, the traditions, and the customs. That woman there-” she pointed- “she is an expert on Geisha. That one there knows everything that there is to be known about the Jewish holocaust that occurred during World War II. The man up there, dangling his legs off of the balcony, is my younger son, Frederick, and he can tell you about the entire process of foot binding. He even attempted to bind his own feet when he was younger, so fascinated was he with the idea that men found deformed, nearly useless feet to be attractive- look how he swings those dear things now! He nearly lost them because of that little experiment, you know-” she paused. “Oh, I do ramble,” she said. “I can see that I’m overwhelming you. My point, Piya, is that they’re experts. And that’s what I want from you. You have a unique vantage point here. You lived in the West; you know how things were done there. I want you to write your history so that I can add it to my collection.”

“But why?” I asked. “What is the point of all of this?”

She laughed. “My dear, dear girl,” she said. “Only by understanding the past can we ever hope to learn from it. We’re changing the world again. Things are different. Women are once more growing their wings- instead of being crushed, we’re elevating ourselves on the broken backs of those who came before us.” She grasped my hand. “We do a lot of good here,” she said. “And you can help. You speak the language of the women the world over- you know how to read into societal graces, how to survive. I’ve watched you, and you’re a chameleon, blending into whatever situation you find yourself in.” It took me by shock, the way she read me- I’d spent so long trying to be faceless, expressionless, my own version of Mona Lisa. “Write your story for me so that we can learn from it,” she continued. “Add it to my library so that my scholars can study it. Perhaps our great, great grandchildren will know better than we did, than our grandparents did, than our ancestors did.”

I bit my lip, projecting the face of someone who was contemplating an idea, considering accepting a proposal, but in truth, I’d already relented. If she offered my children this place to grow up in, filled with safety and education and a sense of freedom, and all she wanted in return for all of this was my story, then she could have it. I would tell it six different ways, if that’s what she wanted. For this world, for this safety, for my children, I would do anything.

Trayne entered then, stopping short when he saw me. “Lady, I’ve been looking for you,” he said, and his mother smiled, touching my arm lightly as she turned to walk away.

“We’ll discuss things further tonight, over dinner,” she said, her eyes gleaming knowingly. “Think about what I’ve said, Piya.”

Trayne watched her go, and when his gaze turned back to me, I felt my face redden, embarrassed by the assumptions I’d made about this kind man.

“I suppose you want to see your son,” I said bluntly, too exhausted for pretense.

He raised his eyebrows. “I do,” he agreed, and I was relieved that he didn’t mince words. I was growing more and more attracted to a straightforward answer and a quick insight, and I was quickly losing patience with societal niceties like small talk. There was too much to do to waste time now.

“But I’d also like to talk about Alasbar,” he whispered, watching me, measuring my reaction.

I motioned to the surrounding room. “I’m an open book,” I said, and he smiled, breaking the tension between us. “We don’t need to be awkward around each other,” I suggested tentatively. Peace between us was really his to give- I was a guest in his home, after all, and he had my husband locked up below in what I imagined to be the dungeons.

“I’d very much like it if we were friends,” he agreed, and then he continued, getting to the point. “I know that your former household was very-” he paused, looking for the right word.

“Backward,” I provided. “Go ahead, you can say it. Cruel. There are many words that would do here. Take your pick.”

“We’ll stick with backward,” he murmured. “I don’t know if you remember, but my fifth wife, Cheylin, and I once encountered you crawling across the floor of the entry in an attempt to please your mother-in-law. We tried to help you, but you insisted that she was watching and when she saw that you’d risen up off the floor, she was enraged.”

“I do remember that,” I said, blushing again. Surely I had nothing to be ashamed of; the cruelty of my mother in law was no fault of my own. But I was warmed, somehow, that he remembered me, remembered our first meeting. My emotions were cycling quickly, and I tried to get ahold of myself and focus on the matter at hand.

I wondered if Cheylin remembered, too.

“It never seemed as bad for Alasbar,” he breathed, and I let the silence stretch, waiting for his question. Finally, he asked, his voice shaky: “Was it?”

I shook my head. “No,” I answered. “Never. Chan loved her dearly, and she became pregnant before Mama Roy had a chance to hate her. Her life there differed greatly from mine.” His strong features relaxed, and I sensed that he’d cared for Alasbar deeply; perhaps he’d been as enamored with her as Chan had been. I softened toward him again, imagining his loss. He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye; he’d been forced to placate himself with occasional visits to our compound on official government business. He’d had to love her from afar, and now she was gone, and he had nothing left of her.

No, that wasn’t exactly true.

“Forrest is so much like her,” I gushed, unable to keep the adoration I felt for my son out of my voice. “He has a gentle spirit, like she did. I can tell. He’s so soft around the edges, not hard like… like…” Mortified, I realized a knot was forming in my throat, and at any moment I might begin crying in front of this man. I hadn’t realized until this very moment how happy I was to get Forrest away from Chan and the cruel influences of the Roy household, how content I was in the knowledge that he couldn’t hurt us again. Thinking of him, I realized that I needed some answers of my own, despite the fact that I didn’t want to ask the questions that they required.

“What’s going to happen to Chan?”

Trayne’s gaze leveled, considering me. “He’s scheduled to be executed today,” he said.

I waited, giving myself time to feel. I’d been married to this man, carried his child, lived with him. I’d even had some tender and happy moments with him, despite the way things turned out. But even considering all of this, I felt nothing.

“Are you alright?” Trayne asked, his eyes inspecting me, trying to read me. I felt my habitual mask presenting itself, ready to cover my real self and provide some sanctuary from his penetrating and somewhat invasive gaze. The half-smile, the secretive and seductive mystery that was Mona Lisa- I was very good at this by now. I was sure that even she could not perfect her look as well as I. But I hesitated, and in that time, in a brief flash of clarity, I decided I would never show her to Trayne. He would receive my real self, for better or for worse. I’d never had an actual friend before, aside from Mayla, and I wanted to do this right.

“I think I’m a monster,” I said, frankly. “One of my mothers once told me that I had a knack for being selfish, for thinking only of myself when the need arises, and I think that that trait has developed into a very well-honed skill. He’s the father of my children. I should feel something, shouldn’t I? But I don’t. I’m just relieved.”

Trayne scowled at me, incredulous. “That’s not selfish,” he said. “The fact that you aren’t celebrating his death is a testament to your kindness, Piya. I couldn’t-”

A wild, blazing alarm interrupted him, red lights flashing all around us in time with the buzzing. I slapped my hands over my ears involuntarily, not hearing Trayne as he dashed away from me. He glanced back once more, yelling something unintelligible, and then he was gone.

I stood, trying to block out the sound and replaying Trayne’s exit in my mind. What was it he’d said? One student from the library dashed past me and I grabbed his arm, screaming for an explanation. He yelled one back, but the only word I could decipher sent chills down my spine.

“-prisoners-”

The alarm told me all that I needed to know. My husband was a prisoner, and the prisoners had escaped.

I ran for the rooms where Britleigh kept my children, other people streaming past me with looks of confusion or determination, eager to find out what was happening or trying desperately, like me, to reach their children and loved ones. I was so close- I could see the passageway, marked with colorful blue and green curtains, that lead to them. They were mere feet from me, but I never made it to them.

I felt the all too familiar embrace of my husband, and though it happened in slow motion, I was powerless to stop it. His arms wrapped around me, embracing me from behind, and for the briefest of moments, it seemed no more malicious than any hug from a monster can be. But then I felt the sharp point of a knife, slicing into the side of my neck.

Why, why, why was he still alive? What were they hoping to accomplish keeping him locked away, using him as a punching bag for their anger instead of ending his horrible brief life, extinguishing his tiny flame before it could do any more damage?

And then I remembered the one piece of information that they didn’t yet have- where was Oscar? Where was the third man in the trio that led the human trafficking ring? In order to end this practice once and for all, they needed that information. They needed Oscar. This issue was much bigger than me, and much bigger than the love I felt for my children. I thought of Hagar, of all of the women left in the tent city, and I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing that I was now a pivotal player in the ending of this war, whether or not I wanted to be.

“Chan! Thank God, I was so worried!” I hissed, pushing false emotion into my words. I had to make this believable.

He paused, and I felt some of the tension leave his arms.

“Please, get me out of here,” I whispered. “We have to leave. They want to take me and make me part of their harem. Did you see what they did to Caper? They killed her, Chan. They killed everyone.” I paused, hoping that my performance was believable. “Please, get me out of here,” I whispered, and finally, after an eternity, he pulled the knife away- but he kept one hand tightly clasped on my arm.

“Which way to get out?” he asked as I turned to face him, and I tried not to gasp at the atrocity that was his face. He was barely recognizable. I felt pity for him for the briefest of moments, and then I remembered a similar face- that of his sister, staring back at me from bruises he’d left on her. I nodded toward the front entrance with my chin, and he started pulling me behind him.

“Wait! Chan, wait,” I hissed, and he yanked on my arm, impatient. “We have to have money!” I said. “We’re in the middle of a completely foreign place and we have so long to go and-” Finally, he stopped short, looking at me expectantly. “The curtains.” I pointed. “They’re worth a fortune. The Queen told me so herself.”

He waited for a moment, considering me, questioning my intentions and my loyalty. He was transparent. I could see his mind working through the possibilities, reasons behind my willingness to help him and my apparent devotion to him.

Before he could decide, I saw Trayne round the corner. His eyes landed on the back of Chan’s head, on his bloodied hand wrapped tightly around my arm, and his eyes changed colors. His brows sank down low over his eyes, and he charged.

“No! Chan!” I yanked my husband out of Trayne’s path, and Chan leapt to the side. Trayne paused, glancing at me as confusion settled on his face. That face was so kind, so welcoming- would I ever see that face again? Those eyes, the eyes of my son- I stared into them, drinking them in, searing them into my memory as Chan once again held the knife to my throat.

“I’ll kill her!” he shouted.

“We’re going to leave now,” I said calmly, staring into Trayne’s eyes, trying to convey my message to him. “We’re taking those curtains, and we’re leaving, and you will not stop us. Please. He’ll kill me. You don’t want the blood of an innocent woman on your hands. Soldiers of the East have more honor than that.” I was speaking duplicity, trying to convey trust for both men.

“Get the curtains,” Chan said, his eyes darting nervously around the otherwise empty great hall. We were alone, but we wouldn’t be for long. “Throw them to us.” Trayne hesitated, and Chan’s hand trembled at my throat. “Do it now!” he yelled, but still Trayne didn’t move.

“I know your mother loves the curtains,” I said. “She told me all about them, about how valuable they are and how the thieves kept taking them. She told me all about that, but surely she won’t miss just a few. She doesn’t need so many. Why would anyone need this much wealth? Just give them to him. You won’t miss them.” I breathed deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. Did he know about the trackers?

He walked slowly over to the hallway entry and unfastened the curtains from their hooks, tossing them to me. I gathered them, so many light and airy valuable things tossed to the floor, and Chan dragged me in front of him as he backed toward the door.

“Don’t follow us or she dies,” he said, and once more Trayne’s face darkened in anger. His muscles rippled like a panther about to pounce, and I thought quickly, hoping that he would recognize my plan.

“Soffrire per il bene piu grande,” I mouthed, flicking one of the curtains up pointedly, and Trayne’s shoulders relaxed, if only briefly. To suffer for the greater good. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and just like that, I was a captive once again.