Free Captive by Aishling Morgan Page B

be caged naked in Zihai to be pelted with refuse and dung, much as if I were captured at home, I imagine,’ Sulitea answered. ‘Count Alanthor was not specific in this regard.’
    ‘You seem very calm at the prospect.’
    ‘In Kavas-Arion I was chained under the sump for a night because I failed to stand still during an inspection. Do you think mere exposure and a little horse dung scares me? Women are almost never executed, and certainly not a Count’s trophy. Besides, the point is moot. Prince Ythor will not lose. Now here is money, run and buy these items. You can read, can’t you?’
    ‘A little,’ Aisla answered and took the piece of charta Sulitea was holding out.
    In the streets the city seemed only marginally less placid than the day before, and although Aisla caught snippets of conversation about the coming battle, the interest struck her as strangely impersonal. Unlike the previous day, there were soldiers in evidence, wearing emblems showing either the crossed swords and bar of the Prince or Count Alanthor’s portcullis along with other insignia she did not recognise.
    While struggling to read Sulitea’s writing and find the shops and stalls she needed her thoughts ran in a circle, from how to get back to Korismund, to what Elethrine would have done in her position, to the fact that Elethrine was in Korismund and could not instruct her and so back. With Sulitea firmly involved with Count Alanthor there seemed no way of completing her task, leaving her to be dragged deeper into a rebellion she wanted no part of. Her preferences were clearly irrelevant to the scheme of things, with her regarded as a simple maid who would do as she was told.
    The sun was close to the zenith by the time she had everything Sulitea wanted, or at least approximations. The underwear had proved impossible, with her descriptions of Mundic drawers and pantalettes greeted either with incomprehension or open laughter. In their place she had been forced to settle for the Hai equivalent, small drawers of light silk, cut tight over the bottom and flounced at the thighs, which she was sure Sulitea would consider both inadequate and indecent. By contrast Sulitea’s order for whips had proved alarmingly easy to fill. In the market were several stalls, each with a bewildering range, while the fact that it was her own bottom the implements were intended for made the choice yet more difficult. Knowing that choosing examples inadequate to the task would cause her more pain than it saved, she selected a horn handled lash much like the one Madame Yasma had carried and a simple dog quirt for her own sense of humiliation. By the end she had become quite friendly with the stall holder, and he pressed a cane on her, free of charge and apparently oblivious of the consequences of his generosity.
    After treating herself to a lunch of sweet pastries and fruit she returned to the keep. A bell had begun to toll and everybody else seemed to be heading in the same direction or in the way. Eventually she found Sulitea, seated in a open carriage with an expression of frozen haughteur on her face. Opposite, also in a position of rigid formality, was a brown haired woman of early middle age who had clearly been a great beauty in her youth. Aisla guessed this to be Elmaea and performed a careful curtsey which was entirely ignored by both women.
    With some difficulty she managed to identify Elmaea’s maid, Laia, a small, dark haired girl her own age who, to Aisla’s relief, was both friendly and helpful. Together they loaded a wagon with the ladies’ belongings and their own, finishing moments before the bell began to toll again and a blare of trumpets signalled that the column was due to leave.
    As they moved out from Jihai Aisla found it impossible not to enjoy herself. The day was bright and warm, while Laia chattered as merrily as if they had been going on a picnic outing rather than to war. She answered Aisla’s questions without reserve, especially those