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To make matters worse, ranging ahead of the sailing ships and flanking them were seven large galleys, fully armed with well-equipped Chalcedean mercenaries.

Their announced purpose was to escort safely the Satrap’s vessel through the pirate-infested waters of the Inside Passage.

Only when they were underway did Serilla discover that they would provide a further show of the Satrap’s power enroute.

They intended to raid and pillage any pirate settlements the ranging galleys discovered on the journey north.

Whatever wealth and slaves they carried off from these raids would be transported to Chalced in the young nobles’ ship, to help offset the cost of the diplomatic mission.

The younger sons would participate in the raids, to prove themselves worthy of favour.

The Satrap had been especially proud of this bit of accounting.

Over and over, Serilla had had to listen to him enumerate the advantages: ‘One, Bingtown will be forced to admit that my patrol ships have discouraged the pirates. The slaves we take will be proof of that. Two, Bingtown will be impressed with the might of my allies, and hence will be less prone to oppose my will. Three, we will be reimbursing the treasury for the cost of this little expedition. Fourth, it will make of me a living legend. What other Satrap has ever gone forth like this, to take matters into his own hands and straighten things out? What other Satrap has ever been so bold?’

Serilla could not decide which danger was greater: that the Chalcedeans would take him to Chalced, hold him as a hostage, and make Cosgo a puppet ruler, or that the nobility of Jamaillia would seize every scrap of power they could while the boy Satrap was gone.

Probably both, she decided bitterly. There were times, like tonight, when she wondered if she would ever see Bingtown at all.

They were completely in the power of the Chalcedean mercenaries operating the ships.

There was nothing to stop them from taking them directly to Chalced.

She hoped they would believe it was to their advantage to take him to Bingtown first. If they did, she swore that somehow she would escape there. Somehow.

Only two of his old advisers had tried to dissuade the Satrap Cosgo from this trip.

The others had all nodded affably, admitting that it was an unheard of journey for a reigning Satrap, but encouraging him to do as he thought best. None had offered to attend him.

They had loaded him with gifts for travelling and all but nudged him onto the ship.

Those he had ordered to accompany him had gone reluctantly.

Still Cosgo had been unable to see the danger signs of a conspiracy to be rid of him.

Two days ago, she had dared speak of her concerns to him.

He had first mocked her, and then become angry.

‘You are playing on my fears! Well you know how my nerves trouble me! You seek to upset me, to ruin my health and digestion with your wild talk. Be silent! Go to your cabin and remain there until I summon you.’

Her cheeks burned when she recalled how she had been forced to obey him.

Two grinning Chalcedean seamen had escorted her there.

Neither one had touched her, but they had discussed her body freely, in word and gesture, as they took her there.

She had set the flimsy door catch as soon as she was inside and then put her clothing chest against the door.

He had let a full day pass before he called her.

When Cosgo did summon her back to his side, the first thing he asked her was if she had learned her lesson.

Fists on his hips, he had stood grinning, awaiting her reply.

Never would he have dared speak so to her if they had been in Jamaillia still.

She had stood before him, eyes downcast, and muttered that she had.

It had seemed the wiser course, but inside she had been seething.

She had learned her lesson. She had learned that he had left civilized ways behind him.

Before, he had been a man toying with dissipation.

Now he embraced degeneracy. She decided to take her freedom as soon as she could.

She owed this swine nothing. Only her loyalty to the Satrapy troubled her conscience.

She had silenced it by convincing herself that there was little she, a woman alone, could do to stop its decay.

Ever since then, the Satrap had watched her like a cat, waiting for her to challenge him.

She had been careful to avoid that, yet would not appear too subservient either.

She had set her jaw and been both deferential and courteous, while contriving to avoid him as much as possible.

When he had summoned her tonight, she had feared a clash of wills.

She had blessed Kekki’s rabid jealousy. The instant Serilla had been admitted to the Satrap’s chamber, the other Companion had done all in her power to occupy Satrap Cosgo completely.

She had succeeded very well. Cosgo was unconscious.

Kekki had no shame. She had become a Companion on the strength of her knowledge of Chalcedean language and customs. It was now apparent to Serilla that she had embraced their culture as well.

In Chalced, a woman enjoyed power only through whatever man she could captivate.

Tonight, Kekki had shown she would go to any limit to keep Cosgo’s attention.

A shame, Serilla thought, that Kekki’s path was the swiftest way to lose Cosgo’s fascination with her.

She would soon be discarded. Serilla only hoped Kekki’s blandishments could keep him entertained until they reached Bingtown.

Serilla was still staring at them when the Satrap opened one drug-reddened eye. She did not avert her glance. She doubted he was even aware of her presence.

It was a mistake.

‘Come here,’ he ordered her.

She crossed the thickly carpeted deck, picking her way past abandoned garments and discarded dishes. She stood an arm’s length from his couch. ‘You summoned me for consultation, Magnadon?’ she asked him formally.

‘Come here!’ he repeated petulantly. His forefinger stabbed at a spot adjacent to his couch.

She could not take those final steps. Her pride simply would not allow it. ‘Why?’ she demanded of him.

‘Because I am the Satrap and I command it!’ he spat out. He was furious. ‘You need no more reason than that.’ He sat up suddenly, shoving Kekki aside. She moaned dismally, but rolled away from him.

‘I am not a servant,’ Serilla pointed out.

‘I am a Companion of the Heart.’ She drew herself up straight and recited.

‘“Lest his head be turned by flattering women, lest his vanity be stroked by those who seek only gain, let him choose for himself Companions, to sit beside him. Let them not be above him, let them not be below him, but let them speak their wisdom openly, advising the Satrap only in each one’s specific area of erudition. Let him have no favourites amongst them. Let him not choose them based on comeliness or amiability. Let his Companion not praise him, let her not defer to his opinion, let her not be fearful of disagreeing with him, for any of these things may compromise the honesty of her counsel. Let her…”’

‘Let her shut up!’ Cosgo shouted out and then laughed uproariously at his own wit.

Serilla fell silent, but not at his command. She did not move from where she stood.

For a moment, he surveyed her silently. An odd spark of amusement lit his eyes.

‘You foolish woman. You are so full of yourself, so certain that a mouthful of words can protect you. Companion of my Heart.’ He sneered the words.

‘A title for a woman who fears to be a woman.’ He leaned back against Kekki’s body as if she were a cushion.

‘I could cure you of that. I could give you to the sailors. Have you thought of that? The captain is Chalcedean. He would think nothing of me discarding a woman who had displeased me.’ He paused.

‘Perhaps he would use you first. Before he passed you on.’

Serilla’s mouth went dry. Her tongue stuck to the roof of it.

He could, she realized dully. He had become capable of it.

It would be months before he returned to Jamaillia.

Who would demand an accounting of what had become of her?

No one. None of the nobles on board would oppose him.

If they had had that strength of will, they would not be aboard.

Some might even feel she had brought it upon herself.

She had no alternative. Once she capitulated to him, his debasement of her would know no bounds.

If she showed fear of this threat, he would continue to use it.

She suddenly saw that. Her only hope was to challenge him.

‘Do it,’ she said coolly. She stood up straighter and crossed her arms on her chest. She could feel her heart hammering inside her.

He could do it. He might do it. If he did, she would not survive.

The crew was large, and rough. Some of the female servants had already appeared with bruised faces and unsteady gaits.

No rumours had reached her ears, bad she did not need rumours to have suspicions.

Chalcedeans saw women as little more than cattle.

She prayed he would back down.

‘I will.’ He lurched to his feet. He took two unsteady steps towards the door.

Her traitorous legs began to tremble. She clenched her jaws to keep her lips from quivering.

She had made her move and lost the game.

Sa, help me , she prayed. She wanted to wail with fear.

She feared she would faint. She blinked rapidly, trying to drive away the shadows at the corners of her vision.

It was a bluff. He would stop. He wouldn’t dare follow through on this.

The Satrap halted. He swayed, but she could not tell if it was indecision or instability.

‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ There was a leering taunt to the words.

He cocked his head at her. ‘You would rather go to them than attempt to please me? I’ll give you a moment to decide which you want. ’

She felt dizzy and sick. It was the cruellest thing he could have done, to offer her this last chance.

She felt her strength ebbing away from her.

She wanted to fling herself to her knees and beg his mercy.

Only her conviction that he had no concept of mercy held her still and upright.

She swallowed. She could not reply. She clung to her silence and hoped it would pass for refusal.

‘Very well. Remember, Serilla, you chose this. You could have had me.’

He opened the door. There was a sailor outside it.

There was always a sailor outside it. Serilla had always suspected he was as much gaoler as sentry.

Cosgo leaned on the doorjamb and patted the man affably on the shoulder.

‘Run a message to your captain, my good man. Tell him that I offer him one of my women. The green-eyed one.’ He pivoted unsteadily to leer at her.

‘Warn him that she is bad-tempered and unwilling. Tell him I have found her a sweet mount, all the same.’ His eyes walked up and down her body.

A cruel smile curved his mouth. ‘Have him send someone to claim her.’