“Hannah?”
Carl’s young concubine sat huddled in a corner of the room, wearing a shift similar to what Mae had worn earlier underneath her Cloistered wrappings. It wasn’t that that was so startling, however. It was the sight of uncovered, bleeding lash marks on the girl’s back that made Mae catch her breath. At the sound of her name, Hannah hastily wiped her eyes and staggered to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be sitting around. They must need me.”
“I . . . no, no one sent me,” said Mae, catching the misunderstanding. “I was just, uh, passing through. Can I help you?”
The young woman regarded her with wary eyes in a face that was pretty but gaunt with malnourishment. It was sickening, considering the way the men around here gorged themselves at meals.
“I’m supposed to be Cloistered,” Hannah said at last. “But I’m having trouble doing it.”
Mae was even more horrified. “On those wounds?” The restrictive clothing had been uncomfortable enough in good health, let alone Hannah’s condition. “Who did that to you? Carl?”
“Harriet did. It’s her duty as head wife to keep us in line. She decided I should spend some time Cloistered to help me correct my sinful ways and stop tempting men.”
A thousand comments sprang to Mae’s mind, none of which she knew would be appropriate. Instead, she took a deep breath and asked, “I can help you. Are you allowed to dress the wounds first?” Surely even these savages were mindful of infection.
Hannah gave a hesitant nod, and a quick search of the house turned up some basic first aid supplies. There was nothing in the way of antiseptic, but Mae hoped simple cleaning and bandaging would be good enough.
“Does Harriet do this often?” she asked.
It took several long moments for Hannah to answer. “Only when I deserve it.” She sighed. “If I could only get pregnant, Carl might make me a wife. Then my sinful nature might be kept more in check. But Nehitimar hasn’t deemed me worthy.”
“I don’t think Nehitimar has that much to do with it,” said Mae, the words slipping out before she could stop them. With a gasp, Hannah suddenly turned to her.
“One of your men . . . would they take me?”
”Take you home?”
Hannah shook her head furiously. “Take me . . . in the way men take women. I would give myself to them, any of them. All of them. They’re all healthy. It’s obvious they’ve been blessed. There’s an underground exit in your bathroom closet that I could sneak in through tonight. It would be a great sin, of course, but I could do penance later, and if it got me with child—”
“I don’t think so,” said Mae, feeling stunned. “I mean, I’m sorry for your trouble, but it’s not something they’d really—”
“Of course,” interrupted Hannah, looking away. “They wouldn’t have any interest in me, not with you Gemman women on hand.”
Mae tried to protest that the issue was more complex than that, but Hannah had shut down by that point and only wanted to expedite the Cloistering. In truth, Hannah was one of the prettier women around here, but that had only led to her troubles. And when she was finally wrapped up in that ridiculous get-up and ready to help, Mae walked with her to the main house, wondering how much labor Hannah would be able to do so constrained. Harriet had plenty of ideas, however, and was quick to set them to work.
Mae had the mindless task of peeling and chopping potatoes, giving her time to ponder the day’s developments. Her encounter with Hannah had only darkened her mood. Was that the kind of future her niece had? The picture Mae had seen had shown a pretty girl unmarked by Cain, no surprise since her unknown plebeian father’s genes would’ve helped stamp it out. Would she be destined for a life like Hannah’s? Coveted by men and despised by other women? Even if she was made someone’s wife—at thirteen—that was no protection from beatings and other “character building” behaviors. Anger kindled in Mae the more she thought about it, anger toward her family for their part in shipping the girl off with no thought but to protect the illusion of their bloodline.
A deep breath settled her, and she pushed all thoughts of her mother and sister away. There would be time to deal with them later. Right now, Mae’s niece was the priority. Mae was here, closer than she’d ever been, and she needed to locate the girl before the opportunity was gone. But how could she when the country was filled with those salons?
The knife.
As the night progressed, she accepted that truth. It all came down to the knife. She listened patiently when Val and the others came back, describing their day, but the image of the amber hilt was never far from Mae’s mind. Even after dinner and the evening wrap-up, when Justin related his discussion with the others about Arcadian missionaries, Mae still found herself unable to stop thinking about the knife. It had brought her this far. It would take her the rest of the way. It had to.
Resolved, she made her decision.
CHAPTER 13
The RUNA’s Best and Brightest
Daphne couldn’t have been happier to hear about Tessa’s new involvement with the Young Citizens Council.
“I knew it!” whooped Daphne, when the two (plus Rufus) met for coffee near Creative Minds that week. “I knew you wanted to hunt down the truth.”
Tessa grimaced. “It wasn’t quite like that. Dr. Cassidy just wanted me to participate in his group so that I can tell the other kids how great the RUNA is. I didn’t even have to do anything.”
“So much the better,” declared Daphne.
“I really just did it because Darius wants to be part of it so much,” added Tessa with a sigh. “But the thing is, he can’t even make one of their meetings right away. His intern schedule conflicts. So I’ll probably just wait until he’s free to—”
“No,” interrupted Daphne. “Absolutely not. When’s their next meeting?”
Tessa thought back to the multiple messages she’d received from Dr. Cassidy since telling him she’d attend the YCC. “This afternoon. It’s geared toward students in high school and college who are busy in the day. But I’m not going to—”
Daphne’s eyes, which seemed to have even more kohl than usual on, widened. “What? That soon? Of course you’re going. Tell Cassidy you are so he knows to expect you. Damn.” She finished her coffee in a gulp and stood up. “We’ve got to get you a wire.”
Tessa stayed where she was. “What? Is that legal?”
“Perfectly,” said Daphne. “Especially for a group that’s allegedly educating kids on politics. No one’s going to even think to check you. And if they did . . . well, in some ways, that’d be evidence unto itself. Now come on—we’ll go get one at North Prime.”
Tessa reluctantly finished her own drink and followed. Rufus trailed them as always and remarked sweetly, “I’m surprised you don’t lend her your own wire, Miss Lang.”
Daphne cut him a look. He’d found her hidden microphone the first time she’d come to the March house, and she hadn’t bothered wearing one since. “I might need it. Besides, the kid should have her own in this kind of work—especially if she’s going to be hanging out in political company.”
“It’s just a youth group,” insisted Tessa. “They do volunteer work and teach about the Citizens Party. He’s not going to be openly giving them subversive messages.”