Sanctuary
Tove lifted her gaze from the small fire to watch Brie and Elois through a veil of smoke. When the three of them set out from Richeleau weeks before, Tove tried to ignore their whispered conversations. But after three weeks being a reluctant voyeur to their flirting, she decided if they wanted privacy, they should exchange their sweet nothings out of her earshot. Elois finally caught her eye and had the good graces to look embarrassed. But she returned her attention to Brie, anyway. That wasn’t new. Outside Brie’s daily lectures on what awaited Tove, the two women ignored her.
Tove looked up at the star filled sky, refusing to let the tears that gathered in her eyes wet her cheeks. She missed the people she left behind, the members of their small rebel group, Oss’stera. They were the only family she ever knew. But it was Alar, their leader, who she missed the most. Alar, who rescued her from the streets of Kartok, who gave her a reason to live after the Inquisition stole her life. It was Alar who struck the deal with Brie that made Tove’s entry into the Desulti possible. She was thrilled at the time, but three weeks on the road being ignored by this cooing couple left her profoundly homesick.
Of course, her acceptance into the Desulti wasn’t certain. Not yet. She and Brie would have to convince the leadership to accept an Alle’oss woman. As Brie reminded her every day, the Desulti didn’t accept women who weren’t of the Volloch caste, and the Alle’oss were considered Brochen — the broken caste. If Tove was as cynical as most people believed her to be, she would assume Brie was trying to chase her away before they arrived.
If that was her goal, she would be disappointed. As much as Tove missed her fellow rebels, the idea of joining the Desulti consumed her. The Desulti, or the Order, as Brie called it, were women who fled the Empire. Women from the upper caste, the Volloch, had little say over their lives in the patriarchal Empire. Some Desulti came to the Order to escape arranged marriages, others sought shelter from abusive spouses or parents. Some simply sought opportunities denied them in the Empire. In the Order, a woman’s fate depended on her own talents and initiative, not the men who ruled their lives.
And they could be Murtair, like Brie. The Murtair were the elite. In the Empire, they were called assassins, but it was more correct to call them fixers. They fixed the Desulti’s problems. Assassination was a last resort. More often, they applied pressure. Reluctant business partners, delinquent debtors, nosy gendarmes, recalcitrant Imperial officials. All could be swayed to the Desulti way of thinking by a visit from a masked Murtair.
Finally, noticing Tove watching her, Brie whispered to Elois. Elois rose and set about arranging her bedroll. Brie watched her with a soft smile on her face. When she sat up and looked at Tove, the smile fell away. “We arrive tomorrow.”
This was news. Tove hadn’t been this far into the mountains before, and Brie had given no indication where they were before this moment. When they left Richeleau, Tove would have greeted this news meekly, but two weeks of Brie’s lectures and the couple’s icy disregard wore away Tove’s dewy-eyed fawning on the murtair.
“Are you going to lecture me on how difficult my life will be again?” Tove asked.
Brie’s expression didn’t change, but she studied Tove for long moments before saying, “If you are as flippant tomorrow, you will never be Desulti. It will be difficult enough getting them to accept you without you offending the members of the Inner Council.”
Tove fought the instinct to drop her eyes. To hide her face. Instead, she rubbed the scar that ran from her left eye to the corner of her mouth, then pressed her hands to her thighs to prevent them from betraying her nervousness. “Don’t worry. I remember what you told me to do.”
“See that you do,” Brie said. “They’ll insult you and the Alle’oss. They’ll call you l’oss.”
Tove’s face warmed at the slur, but she didn’t respond.
“You must not rise to it. You must bury your temper.” Brie pursed her lips. “If you can. I will paint you as a woman who has suffered horribly at the hands of Imperial men.” Her eyes flicked to Tove’s scar. “I’m guessing that’s not far from the truth.”
Tove couldn’t stop herself from lowering her eyes. Noticing her fingers digging into her knees, she forced her gaze up and pressed her lips together.
“But I will also tell Nessa you have potential. She’s the leader of the Murtair.”
Tove’s breath caught.
“I’ve seen enough to believe it might not be a lie,” Brie said.
“I can become Murtair?” Tove asked, unable to hide her desire.
Instead of answering, Brie said, “If she believes me, she will vote to admit you. Lyssa is the Chief Executive, the head of the Inner Council. She will never vote to admit you. Nessa will have to maneuver Siofra into agreeing to admit you. Siofra is the Order’s Chief Financial Officer, in charge of the Order’s commercial interests. She’s less… prejudiced than most Volloch. But admitting a Brochen woman into the Order is bound to be disruptive. She may decide it isn’t worth it.” She paused, then said, “Even if they allow you into the Order, many will object. They will make your life miserable and will look for any means to rid the Order of the l’oss stain.”
Tove knew the insult was deliberate, meant to test her, but she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Having second thoughts about the deal you made with Alar?” She knew the scar on her face stood out against her darkening skin, but she didn’t care. “Want me to slink away so they won’t hold you responsible for staining your precious Order?”
Again, Brie’s stoic exterior didn’t crack. “That anger will stand you in good stead in the months to come. If you can control it. If you can’t, you’ll be on your way home tomorrow. Assuming they let you go.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Tove said. After weeks of indifference, she needed someone to care, even if it was only the taciturn murtair.
“I would not have agreed to the deal if I didn’t believe in it,” Brie said. For the first time, her eyes left Tove’s and something of her inner thoughts troubled her expression for a moment before it was gone. “I… I have my own reasons for wishing you success. I need to make sure you are serious. That you understand what you will face. I will do what I can to get you in. After that…” She shrugged.
When she fell silent, Tove held her breath. What reasons could this dangerous woman have for wanting Tove to be Desulti?
But instead of explaining, Brie gave her head a shake and retrieved her bedroll. Before retreating into the shadows where Elois had gone, she said, “For Daga’s sake, keep your temper under control.”
Ka’tan was an Alle’oss city, high in the mountains of Argren. The first women who banded together to found the Desulti fled the Empire and decided Ka’tan was remote enough for them to be safe. They established the first Desulti community in a valley southeast of the Ka’tan. They called it Téama, an ancient Vollen word that meant refuge. From its humble beginnings, it grew and was now larger than most Alle’oss villages.
Knowing they could never defend themselves against the Empire’s armies, the first Desulti determined to make themselves powerful through their own enterprise. Now, the Desulti’s commercial interests extended throughout the known world. They were rich beyond imagining and were not shy about exerting their influence through whatever means they thought necessary.
While they waited in Richeleau for the snows in the mountains to recede, Alar and Tove learned as much about the Desulti as they could. It wasn’t much, but it was clear the Desulti inspired as much fear among the Volloch elite as the Inquisition did among the lower castes. Tove watched Brie swaying in the saddle ahead of her. Before she left, Alar told her, “Be careful. The last thing people who anger the Desulti see is a woman wearing Murtair blacks.”
He meant it as a warning, but it fired Tove’s imagination. Her fingers came up and traced the familiar path of her scar. She’d seen Brie fight. The murtair was a small woman, like Tove, but she doubted Brie ever felt small. Not like Tove did. Small and vulnerable. Brie may have had doubts about Tove, but Tove would swallow her anger, suffer any insult, do anything it took to not feel afraid anymore. The Desulti would have to do a lot worse to her than call her names.
They finally topped the pass they had been climbing all morning to reveal the village of Ka’tan to the north. When the first Desulti arrived, the village was a small collection of modest buildings. But due to the Desulti’s prosperity and discovery of coal in the surrounding mountains, Ka’tan grew into the third largest city in Argren.
Brie pointed to the east. “Téama is beyond those hills, a league from Ka’tan. Another two hours.” She twisted in her saddle and looked down the narrow path they climbed to get to the top of the pass. “Last chance to back out. They’re watching us now. They know we’re coming. If you descend to the bottom of the valley floor, they won’t let you go without asking who you are and what you’re doing here.” Though it was late spring, her breath misted in the cool mountain air.
Tove nodded. “I’m ready.”
Brie studied her face, then said, “Let’s go,” and urged her mount into motion.
Brie described Téama as they approach it, but Tove was still impressed by the Desulti community. It was larger than she thought it would be, nearly as large as Ka’tan. Having lived in both of the larger cities in Argren, Kartok and Richeleau, she decided Téama was an odd mix of Imperial Kartok and Alle’oss Richeleau. The streets followed the Imperial grid pattern, and there were buildings constructed in the staid Imperial style, but there was more green space than in Imperial cities and many buildings adhered to a more eclectic Alle’oss aesthetic.
From the attention Brie received, Tove guessed it wasn’t often a murtair arrived. Many of the Desulti women waved and followed them through the streets. The Desulti were easy to identify because they had the black hair almost all Imperials shared. Some of them wore white robes, but most were indistinguishable from Volloch women elsewhere in the Empire. She saw one other murtair, wearing the tight black clothes all murtair wore. Unlike Brie, whose scalp was shaved, this woman had short hair. The woman exchanged a nod with Brie, then fixed an intense gaze on Tove. Tove glanced back after they passed and found the murtair still watching her.
Outside of the unnerving attention of the murtair, no other Volloch seemed to notice her. After Brie’s repeated lectures about how unwelcome she would be, Tove imagined hostile crowds pelting her with rotten vegetables as soon as she arrived.
Besides the Desulti, there was also a surprising number of Alle’oss, identifiable by the many hues of red or blond hair. In contrast to the Desulti, many of the Alle’oss peered at her, pointed and broke into conversations as she passed. Even though Ka’tan was a large town, they recognized her as a stranger.
She caught up to Brie and asked about the presence of so many of her countrymen.
“Most of the Desulti in Téama are involved in running the Order’s affairs,” Brie said. She held Tove’s gaze and said, “The Alle’oss provide the services too menial for women in the Order.”
Tove barely pulled her retort back before it escaped her lips. Instead, she asked, “Are they slaves?”
Brie laughed. “No. They’re paid for their services, and they’re free to leave if they want to.” She looked away so that Tove barely heard her say, “As long as they follow our rules.”
Tove studied Brie’s profile, fighting to hold her tongue. She wouldn’t make it very far if she rose to such mild provocations.
They stopped at the edge of a large paved plaza surrounded by the imposing stone buildings common in Imperial cities. The only difference between these and most Imperial buildings was the absence of the friezes and statues that glorified the Empire’s history. Brie pointed to the largest building across the plaza. “That’s the Great Hall,” she said. “They know we’re here and they’ll be waiting for us. You ready?”
“The Inner Council,” Tove said. When Brie nodded, Tove said, “I’m ready.”
As they approached the plaza, the Desulti women following Brie noticed Tove, but only stared curiously. Now, as it became apparent they were heading toward the Great Hall, curiosity shifted into uncertainty and disbelief. News spread quickly, and the numbers swelled. By the time Brie called an Alle’oss man over to tend to their horses, the crowd had guessed Brie intended to take Tove into the Great Hall. While the mood wasn’t openly hostile, there was an edge that sharpened as the three of them mounted the steps.
Brie led them into a large room she identified as the reception hall. It was as large as the ballroom in the governor’s mansion in Richeleau, but it was much more spartan than that grandiose chamber. The walls were bare, unadorned stone. A row of columns along each side left darkened alleys along the walls. Light from windows high on the walls lit the ceiling, but had little effect on the rest of the room. A rectangle of sunlight from the immense doors illuminated the center space, and small braziers set at intervals along the sides pushed the shadows back into the spaces between the columns.
The room was empty when they entered, save for three women standing on a dais at the far end. Tove, Brie and Elois were followed by the crowd that gathered as they crossed the plaza. They poured into the dark spaces on both sides of the room and filled the large open space behind Tove.
Brie told her to keep her eyes downcast when they met the Inner Council, but Tove couldn’t help studying the three women, trying to match them to Brie’s descriptions. The woman on the left, wearing the blacks of the Murtair, must be Nessa. She gave Brie a small smile before turning a speculative gaze on Tove. On the right was Siofra, wearing the kind of stylish dress Tove often saw elite Volloch women wear in Kartok. Siofra ignored Tove but cast a disapproving frown at the crowd. The woman wearing a white robe standing between the other two, giving Tove an icy stare, must be Lyssa.
Without taking her gaze from Tove, Lyssa said, “Brie. You’ve returned.” The murmurs of the crowd quieted.
Brie only gave her a brief nod.
“We’ve had word from Richeleau,” Lyssa said, her eyes leaving Tove for the first time. “Governor Adelbart is in very good health.”
“He was when I left him,” Brie said.
“I assume, despite evidence to the contrary, you’ve managed to secure payment of his debt.”
“We worked out a payment plan.”
“Who authorized you to propose such a plan?”
Nessa cleared her throat. “Lyssa,” she said. “You know the Murtair have broad discretion when in the field. Let us hear the details of this plan before we pass judgment.”
Only a slight tightening of the muscles around her mouth revealed Lyssa’s irritation. “Of course,” she said. “I look forward to hearing your explanation.” She looked past Brie. “And who is this?”
Brie turned and gestured to Elois. “This is Elois, Governor Adelbart’s daughter. She has already been accepted into the Order in Richeleau.” Brie waved Tove forward. “And this is Tove —”
“She’s Alle’oss,” Lyssa said.
Tove felt the pressure of the crowd’s response to this statement on her back.
Brie gave Tove a small nod.
Tove licked her lips. The words seemed so simple when Brie had her rehearse them. Now, they fled her mind. She opened her mouth and hesitated before they came to her. “I request sanctuary,” she said, fumbling over the last word.
Brie explained the varying personalities and motivations of the three women of the Inner Council and how they might respond, but their reaction to Tove’s simple statement was identical — shock.
And then the room erupted.
