Kaveri woke sharply, dry-retching and disoriented.

Her head throbbed, not a localized pain as if she'd been struck, but a hazier feeling that her mind connected to a vague memory of arms seizing her from behind and a sickly-sweet scent.

She'd been gagged with some kind of rough fabric that simply absorbed all the saliva from her mouth and felt like it was going to choke her. Her arms were bound behind her, wrists together and then elbows forced as close together as they'd go, and she could feel thin bands of rope or leather painfully tight around her torso to secure it. Her ankles were bound, and just above her knees, and her ankles seemed to be connected to her wrists and also to further bands around her upper thighs, keeping her legs so tightly flexed her knees ached as much as her shoulders did. There was nothing between her skin and her restraints, no sensation of clothing—although that was a blessing, overall. She concluded after a moment that she couldn't see simply because there was absolutely no light in the cramped space, barely large enough to accommodate her even in her bound position. There was a very little fresh air from somewhere, she thought it was below her, but she couldn't change position to track it.

The surfaces around her, she decided, were wood—so smooth she thought they'd been oiled as well as polished. Since there was no trace of fish scent, it hadn't been done with the cheaper fish oil.

Judging by the swaying and the rumbling vibration, she was inside a wagon or carriage of some sort. Given the oiled wood, it was probably something expensive and upper-class.

Exactly the kind of vehicle Tyrel and the rest of the Watch had been unable to search on standard checkpoints.

Looks like the plan worked. Made enough of a nuisance of myself, refusing to change my story so it could be swept under the rug, that they decided to make me vanish.

Good. Now maybe we can figure out how they're doing it without getting caught.

Some kind of inhaled drug. That makes sense. But no fancy carriage could be down by our shop without drawing attention. How did I get from there to here? There were two men fighting in the back alley, they must have been meant to distract Kieran so they could get me. But how? It was past the morning rush but there were still enough people on the street that someone would have seen something.

She couldn't think of anything unusual she'd seen, but then, her role behind the counter didn't allow for much observation of the outside world. With any luck, Tyrel would be able to pick up something.

Speaking of picking up something... she had to make sure that he could track her. And there was one way that would leave a trail that might as well be glowing to a canid nose.

She relaxed her bladder muscles and allowed enough urine to trickle out that she felt it pool briefly against her thigh. When the amount decreased she concluded that it had found ventilation and possibly drainage holes, or at least a seam that wasn't watertight, and tensed the muscles again. If she paid attention, she should be able to feel any corners or any pauses, and mark which way they'd gone.

Having something to concentrate on helped, but it was still a journey she wouldn't have wanted to repeat.

The carriage came to a stop, and she heard, so faintly that purely human senses probably wouldn't have caught it at all, voices. One of them, she was sure, was Ander. She must have been unconscious for a while and Kieran had stirred the Watch to try to find his missing wife, then the Watch had set up the gate checkpoints. The carriage started moving again, proving just how badly the search restrictions were hampering the Watch in their job.

She made sure to mark the road just outside the gate.

The carriage went straight for a long time, almost lulling her back into unconsciousness again as an escape from the increasing physical discomfort. How much worse would this be for a woman who lacked the certain knowledge that she had a way out of anything and this was only a brief unpleasant experience for a good cause? For a woman terrified and helpless and torn away from everything she counted on?

These men are going to be stopped. Tyrel and Madoc's father and his kind are bad, but they don't know any better. These ones are using structures and systems meant to protect everyone to do this to women. This is going to stop.

The carriage finally slowed—suddenly alert, she emptied whatever remained in her bladder, figuring this must be their destination—and turned and then, almost immediately, came to a stop. She felt it rock as bodies stepped out, felt it rock again a moment later, and then there was fresh air to breathe as, with a tripled click from some lock mechanism, someone raised the top of her prison.

“This one pissed herself,” a male voice said scornfully, while her eyes struggled to adapt to sudden direct sunlight. “We're going to have to scrub out the carriage.”

“Thoughtless bitch,” a different voice said from outside the carriage. “Toss her out here. Hope the other one didn't.”

Other one?

The man in the carriage heaved Kaveri out of her small prison with no more concern than he'd show a sack of grain, and bound as she was, Kaveri could do nothing to affect her own balance. She couldn't stop her instinctive struggle to do so, though, which only drew the laughter of at least three men nearby. She was dropped to the ground, a hard wooden floor that abraded her bare skin, with a carelessness that knocked the wind out of her in a grunt.

A second man cut the bindings keeping her legs tightly flexed and her knees together, though he left the ones on her ankles; Kaveri whimpered as he simply unfolded her legs with no concern for the abused joints. He tossed her over his shoulder, all her weight on her compressed abdomen, which made her already-laboured breathing an ongoing struggle—although four years of wearing a tight corset actually helped a bit, since at moments when she moved the wrong way that did briefly restrict her breathing.

She got fractured impressions of a building of some sort that had wide openings allowing a lot of light, definitely not a house, more like some kind of outbuilding. Mostly all she could see was the high-quality woven linen of her handler's tunic. Midnight blue with shiny gold edging. Midnight and gold. That had to be someone's livery, a uniform, and probably an extremely high-end one, but she had no idea whose. She made a note of it, anyway. Probably Tyrel would know, and if not, he could find out.

He dumped her on her side in a small poorly-lit room; just behind him was a man who tossed a second body beside Kaveri. A knife sliced through the remaining brutally-tight restraints, left her entirely free, and the gag was yanked unceremoniously away. Both men left, and Kaveri heard the door lock with a solid-sounding metallic clunk.

Not that being untied meant she could move with any freedom. Joints and muscles, after the extended period in an unnatural position, screamed in protest at every twitch.

The woman beside her was half-sobbing, huddled in a tight awkward ball as best she could despite what must have been similar pain, but Kaveri recognized that honey-coloured hair that had escaped its braid even worse than usual, the tall strong build. And who else would manage to get herself into trouble like this?

“Mirren,” Kaveri said gently, wincing a little at the hoarseness of her own voice. “I know you are not all right. I will not ask that. But try not to fear. Tyrel will track us.”

“They haven't been able to track anyone else,” Mirren retorted, but it was muffled.

“He will track us,” Kaveri repeated. How much should she tell? Were there eavesdroppers? That seemed unlikely. She wriggled herself to a sitting position, wishing for the moonlight or at least a mouthful of water, and looked around.

The room was just a little too short in any direction to allow one to lie down flat; the walls were more polished oiled wood, something very dark that absorbed what little light reached them from above. The walls continued absolutely flat and straight and smooth up to a ceiling she estimated she wouldn't be able to touch even if she could move properly, and just below it, a single window too small for a human body to fit through allowed in a limited amount of air and light. More than enough of that latter for her to see with perfect clarity, but she doubted it was more than dim gloom to human eyes. The floor was similarly smooth, tightly-joined oiled wood, sloping slightly towards the centre of the floor; at the lowest point was a small round hole that was covered by a cross of wood, though even a slender hand couldn't have fit down it, let alone a person.

No way to escape, no ready way to injure themselves.

Mirren, sniffling, dragged herself up to an awkward sitting position. “Tyrel told me this was going to happen. But they usually kidnap girls that are marriage-age. Not married women. Or women past the age any man'll marry them.” She gave Kaveri a faint smile. “I guess refusing to be quiet really upset someone.”

“Yes, it did,” Kaveri agreed. “Did they go looking for you?”

“No, it's my own fault. Ezkurra asked me to come see if you had any pastries she could have, it was a busy morning and she needed something while we made more food. There was a delivery wagon outside your place. Beer barrels. But you get yours from us and I knew there wasn't any today, so when I saw a couple of men take a barrel inside, I wanted to see what was going on.”

“Beer barrels. Full ones come in. Empty ones go out. No one looks twice. It would not occur to anyone to tell the Watch they saw a delivery wagon.” Kaveri bent her head to sniff at herself. Probably her missing clothing had absorbed the worst of the scent, and serving it periodically through the day did leave a trace of it... but yes, her skin did have a stronger hint of beer than it should have. “You came in yourself? You did not think to summon a guardsman? Or call for help? There have been off-duty guardsmen near my home at all times.” Where, for that matter, had the current guardsman been? She hoped he wasn't injured. More still, she hoped he hadn't compromised himself and sold her out.

“I know, I recognized them. But I didn't see anyone around. I didn't really think, anyway, I just had to check it out. When I got inside, you were unconscious and there were two men shoving you into the barrel I saw them bring in. I didn't realize there was a third one until someone grabbed me from behind. I didn't even get a chance to use everything Tyrel's spent so much time teaching me about defending myself.” Mirren sighed. “It was a stupid thing to do. I'm always doing stupid things.”

“No,” Kaveri said gently. “You are always doing brave things. It is not your fault that in Galimont they are currently so nearly the same for a woman. Not all the world is like that.”

“Maybe not wherever you're from.” Mirren frowned. “You don't normally talk much, so I never noticed before. Your accent sounds a lot like Tyrel's.”

Intelligent and perceptive as well as courageous. As out of place in current Galimont as a raven in a flock of hens.

If Kaveri told and they were overheard, it would jeopardize everything. Madoc might not see whoever was in charge, they might try some exotic way to kill her or Madoc or both that might actually succeed—there were deaths that lay outside the promise Valeyan had made to Neoma and her descendants.

But Mirren was terrified, though doing her best not to give in to it. A brief, if rather unsteady, investigation suggested that the walls were sturdy ones, quite possibly meant to contain the screams of hysterical women. And who was going to bother listening?

“Can you move? Come lean against me. We can keep warmer. I will tell you a secret story. Some things I cannot say yet. It would be very bad if any overhear. I will tell what I can. About a girl from a tribe that lives within a vast Forest. And why I know Tyrel will find us.”

There was one interruption. A large man who might have been one of the two who had carried them here opened the door; with barely time for Kaveri to identify what rested on the floor beside him as two large wooden pails, he picked up each pail in turn and tossed the rather cold water within over them. Muttering something that sounded like, “Stinking bitches,” he closed and locked the door and they were alone again.

“I wanted water,” Kaveri said breathlessly. The shock had been distinctly unpleasant, but the lingering water was actually refreshing. She licked what she could off her own skin, sucked what little she could from her hair, but she wasn't desperate enough to try licking it off the floor itself. Mirren, uncertain, imitated her. “If they have any use for us they will have to give us water soon. If they wished us dead I think they would have killed us by now. I have heard nothing of women found tortured to death as examples. I do not think they will start now.” She wasn't entirely sure of that, but she hoped Mirren believed it.

“I hope not,” Mirren said quietly.

“Tyrel and Kieran must wait for dark to track us. But they will.” She was much less concerned for herself than for Mirren, and hoped Tyrel and Kieran could track them before anything worse happened.

Mirren leaned against her again, Kaveri's arm around her shoulders, and Kaveri went back to her story, keeping her voice low, only a murmur near Mirren's attentive ear. She told her own history, and that after moonrise they could change shape.

Other things she left out: what those other shapes were, though she mentioned Tyrel's canine sense of smell; where Tyrel's brother currently was, though she thought she saw Mirren's eyes narrow speculatively; that moonlight healed and that death by anything of earth meant a visit to one's moon; that they would stay forever their current apparent ages. Those things, she thought it best not to say even quietly.

And, with time still slow and heavy, she spun it out to describe the plague-stricken village, and Umako's beautiful valley-garden, and other things they'd seen in the decade since they'd left Dunnval: fabulous buildings, a waterfall so high the water seemed to fall from the clouds above, people who were wonderful and people who weren't.