Free The Devil Incarnate (The Devil of Ponong series #2) by Jill Braden

neared the marketplace, she passed a furious woman
balancing a large basket of roasted jikal roots on her head. There were other
tense Ponongese in the streets as she neared the town square. She couldn’t
decide if they were fearful or humiliated; then wondered why she imagined
either emotion. Maybe something had happened in the marketplace. She wanted to
ask, but the children would be home for lunch in a couple of hours, and she
needed to sell at least one sarong before she returned to the apartment.
    Between the government
building and the dour Thampurian bank, she caught a glimpse of the marketplace.
There were only a few stalls set up, as if it were still very early. Craning to
see, she ignored the spice merchant who stomped past her.
    Four soldiers
gathered to block her way. Thampurians were a head taller than most Ponongese
and solidly built, but these men were huge even by Thampurian standards. Their
uniforms resembled the ones the colonial militia wore, but their shewani
jackets were crisper and they had no flashy braid or jangling medals across
their chests.
    “No Ponongese in the marketplace,” one of the soldiers said.
    RhiLan was sure she hadn’t heard right. “But I have a
permit.” She reached into her basket for the piece of paper that had cost her
ten coins.
    “All permits are revoked.”
    She bowed her head and softly said, “I’ll just shop then.”
She tried to step around the soldier, but the others formed a wall of dark blue
jackets much too close to her face.
    The soldier told her, “Until further notice, no Ponongese in
the marketplace, to buy or to sell.”
    Her chest tightened. She pointed to the Thampurian merchants
setting up their stalls. “But you let them in!” She was so confused. What was
going on?
    The soldier spoke over head as if she wasn’t there. “These
snakes are deaf. No matter how many times we tell them, they think the law
doesn’t apply to them.”
    Now her face was hot and her hands trembled. The regular
soldiers called her people snakes when they thought no one else could hear, but
they’d never said it loudly in front of her. She was so embarrassed. She turned
around and walked away with as much dignity as she could summon, but hot tears
welled in her eyes.
    RhiLan wondered for a moment if it was because she harbored
the wolf slayer in her home. Could the soldiers sense the fear wrapped around
her shoulders? She should have heeded QuiTai’s warning against taking her in,
but now it was too late. After the swift stab of fear passed through her, she
realized that the soldiers ignored her. They didn’t seem to care about QuiTai.
Afraid that they’d see guilt in her face, she walked away quickly with her chin
pressed to her chest. If only she could turn invisible, or maybe the ground
would kindly rip apart under her feet and swallow her. She wanted to hide in
her apartment until the shame went away.
    At the next street corner, the Ponongese spice seller she’d
passed earlier rushed over to her and stroked her arm. “It’s okay, auntie.
You’ll be fine. We were all turned away. Come talk with us. Please, auntie.
Don’t cry.”
    Tears dropped down her face, but she nodded and followed him
to the group that squatted on the veranda of a café. She’d often seen
Thampurian ladies seated inside, with plates of delicate food so pretty that it
had to taste like music. Of course no Ponongese would ever be allowed inside,
except maybe to work in the kitchen where they couldn’t be seen. She felt
special and brave simply sitting on the veranda outside.
    The spice seller smiled at her as he gestured for her to
take a spot closer to the center of the gathered Ponongese. She set her basket
at her feet and cast fleeting glances at the others. Many of them she
recognized from the market, and most she knew by name. That made her feel a
little better.
    “We should protest
to the governor!” someone said.
    “How? First, we’d
have to get to the government building, and that