My back ached and stung like fire in turns, and my stomach had refused any food. Once in the boat, I was shoved to one side and locked to a thwart. It wasn’t a large boat, but the other slaves settled as far from me as they could. All they knew of me was that I tended, when I was on the ground during rest periods, to lash out with both feet together. As we settled in, the slave trader looked over at me. He pinched his nose thoughtfully and said aloud to Gorgias, “A lamb, they said. No more trouble than snatching up a little lamb.”

The center of town was alive with the king’s soldiers, like an ants’ nest that had been kicked to pieces. The king’s soldiers moved with no more direction than the ants, and I watched them balefully as we pulled away from the pier.

As we left the harbor, a galley pulled up beside us and ordered the steersman into the wind. The sail flapped overhead as Basrus made his way to the bow and handed a package of papers across to the sailor on the galley, who passed them to his captain. Once again, all the receipts seemed to be in order. Basrus stood at ease, chatting with the nearest men about the weather and such, rocking comfortably with the motion of the waves, while the captain looked through the bill of sale for each of the slaves in the boat. I sat silent behind my gag. Gorgias had already demonstrated that he could, with a discreet tap from the lead weight he held, leave me incapable of anything beyond gasping for breath.

We were all accounted for, and there was nowhere to hide anything the size of a prince on board, so the captain of the king’s ship waved us on our way, and I added him to the list of people I hated. Once we left the harbor, however, he and everyone else on the list faded rapidly from my mind as my headache, and my empty sour stomach, made every tilt of the boat and every slosh of the waves a trial. I am not a sailor even in the best of circumstances, and I concentrated fiercely on not being sick. The gag in my mouth became more frightening. Gorgias wouldn’t take it out unless I gave him my word to keep silent. I continued to refuse. Finally Basrus picked his way over to me and squatted down, leaning in so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as he spoke very softly into my ear.

“My prince,” he said. “Do you see anyone here to aid you?” He cast a significant look at the slaves and at his men. The only boats visible on the sea around us were far out of the range of my voice. “You’re as green as a dead man, and I’m not being paid to bring a dead man to shore. You’ll have the gag out and you’ll keep your name to yourself, or I swear by my god I will slit the throat of every man on this boat but Gorgias.” He looked into my horrified eyes and said, “I’ll slit their throats and dump them into the sea to keep this secret, and I will never give it another thought. Do you believe me?”

I did.

He untied the gag and pulled it free. “Get him some water,” he said to Gorgias, and returned to the stern.

I looked at the men who were hostage for my good behavior, and I stayed quiet. When we neared Hanaktos, Gorgias put the gag back in. When we reached the dock in the harbor, we were unloaded and marched to market pens more often used for goats than for men.

Within the hour of our arrival, we were being looked over by various townspeople, one of whom I recognized as the wife of Baron Hanaktos. Lady Hanaktia didn’t know me. Neither did her daughter, who was with her. The swelling in my face felt much reduced, but no doubt my bruises were still disfiguring. Berrone and I had danced together just a few months earlier at a reception my mother arranged in the capital. It had been a failed attempt to reconcile me with my uncle and my father. I’d been, as usual, paralyzed. All the young women danced with me for form’s sake, but Berrone did it out of pity as well, which was enough to cement the disaster. I was returned to Letnos the following day.

Ina tells me that Berrone is more beautiful than any other young woman in our acquaintance. I suppose my personal affections alter my perceptions. She is lovely. She is very kind, too, as Ina has also pointed out, though if you knew Ina, you would know she wasn’t being kind when she did. Because what Ina was saying, without saying, is that Berrone is also the stupidest person we know.

During our dances at the reception months earlier, Berrone had told me with delight the ridiculous amount of money she had given a shopkeeper for a magical device that would keep things from being lost. Berrone was always losing things, scarves, rings, purses. She showed me the device, which turned out to be an ordinary piece of string. She had tied one end of it to a ring and the other to her finger.

Still, no matter how silly she was, I was certain she would know me if she just looked closely enough. She and her mother stood not too far away, eyeing the merchandise as the slaver’s man, Gorgias, pointed out and described potential purchases. Sitting on the packed dirt, with a wide empty space around me, I stared hard at Berrone. She did look at me, but my stare disconcerted her, and she glanced away again quickly. When she glanced at me again, I looked down and tried to look harmless and as appealing as possible. I modeled myself on my apologetic former friend Hyacinth, certain she would recognize me then. From under my eyebrows, I could tell that Berrone was asking about me, though I couldn’t hear her words, spoken quietly to the slaver’s man. No doubt he related my story, sold off for fighting and disobedience. The Lady Hanaktos shook her head briskly and turned to another proposed purchase. But Berrone looked back my way.

She was softhearted. She felt sorry for me. She was looking at me earnestly, and I was sure that the slaver’s disguise would fail. Then her mother recalled her sharply and led her away. Crushed, I almost screamed my frustration into the gag in my mouth and prayed for some god to reach down from the sky and shake the stupid girl until her little pea brains rattled in her head.

There was no sign of divine intervention, but Berrone did glance at me again, even as her mother drew her away, and I took that as a reason to hope. Over the next hour I slowly moved closer to the edge of the pen. The slavers didn’t notice the movement, but the slaves around me did, and as gradually as I moved, they moved as well, keeping an empty space between my feet and them. Finally, through the latticed sides of the pen, I saw the baron’s daughter as she returned with her mother. They had a young slave in tow, no doubt a house slave, maybe for her brother or maybe for the kitchens. The slave climbed up onto the back of a lightweight carriage as the women climbed onto the cushions in front. Berrone looked over at me, and I clasped my hands together in appeal, glad that they were tied in front and not behind me. She smiled and then turned to sit next to her mother.

CHAPTER FOUR

I hoped. I hoped all that afternoon and through dinner, because I knew about Berrone. I knew she spent a fortune buying songbirds at the market and then setting them free. No one had the heart to tell her that they were captive bred and that they probably starved—if they weren’t eaten first by the predators of the town: the cats, the rats, and the hawks. She brought stray animals home from the streets, and the maids had to put them out. She’d convinced her father to outlaw the drowning of kittens because it was cruel, and for a year the port of Hanaktos was overrun with starved and mangy animals, until finally the townspeople had revolted and spent three days on a massacre that upset everyone and the baron revoked the injunction.

My best hope for rescue wasn’t the king’s war galleys or his soldiers. It was Baron Hanaktos’s daughter. All night long I prayed earnestly to the goddesses of mercy to intercede on my behalf and stir Berrone’s soft heart with pity.