Rows of tall shrubs blanketed to foothills of western Jiovar, laborers tending the coffee trees as the sun-baked their bare backs. The prince strode through the orchard on the land master’s heels. His steward struggled to keep up and write simultaneously while Sora scanned their surroundings.

“Relax, Sora. Unless… do you think the coffee trees are going to launch an ambush?” Prince Kaeto asked, turning to give Sora a wry smirk. She had to stifle a sigh.

“Funny, my lord, but with all due respect, I’d be more concerned about the laborers if I were you,” she said, tone flat as a paving stone. “Even gin can kill when pushed too far.”

Kaeto frowned at that and turned his attention back to the land master, the other man’s face dripping with sweat. “My shield’s words hold a hint of wisdom, I believe. Tell me, Master Nettar, how do you keep your Gin? I’ve seen a fair few fresh lash marks on their backs, and in this humid heat, well, even the tamest of dogs could snap.”

Land-Master Nettar wrung his hands. His gaze flickered from Sora to Prince Kaeto, to a group of Gin harvesting cherries a dozen strides away, then back to the prince. Men and women alike, dirty shirts wrapped around their waists and worn trousers rolled up past their knees, worked, stripping fruit off the trees with agile hands worn pale with scars.

“You know Gin, my lord prince,” the man stammered, his hands wet with sweat. “You need a hard grip to keep them in line; else, they’ll never do what you tell them to.”

Kaeto brought up a hand to stroke his long wine-red goatee, raising one eyebrow towards the land-master. The sharp metal nails over his fingers aided his aura of intimidation. “And how hard is your grip, Nettar?” The prince paused, as if in thought, before continuing. “Perhaps you might show us the Gin’s barracks? I suddenly find myself curious as to how the lesser peoples live.”

Nettar’s complexion became sickly, his eyes darting around as if looking for a way to escape. “If… If that is what my lord wishes, then I would ask he follows me,” the wiry man said, voice pitching up slightly, before spinning and briskly starting back the way they’d come.

Giving Sora and the steward, Adarelle, a gesture to fall in behind him, Kaeto followed the land master. Sora’s long cloak kept snaring on branches and sticks as they walked. Despite that, and despite the heat threatening to bake her alive in the black bulk, she kept it wrapped around her, shrouding her hammer and saber.

She kept an eye on the orchard around them, watching the Gin laborers and Nettar’s guards as they passed, holding tight to her sword-staff. The weapon served as a helpful walking stick to keep up with the prince and land-master’s quick pace, but if a fight did break out, it’d be of little use in the narrow alleys between the trees.

Since the king and council fiercely protected Jiovar’s coffee plantations, crime was essentially unheard of in the foothills. However, the recent spike of rebel activity from the Haetnell province in the south kept her on edge. She’d seen plenty of Gin turned to violence by Haetnellian lies before.

The Gin barracks appeared at the base of a shallowed hill as they crested the opposite rise. The buildings were barely sound piles of stone and thatch with curtains in place of proper doors; each could likely only hold a hundred Gin by Sora’s estimation.

There had to be other barracks around the plantation since the three buildings there couldn’t account for the entire population they’d seen at work. At least, Sora hoped there were others.

“Well, at least there are roofs on the things,” Kaeto muttered just loud enough for Sora to hear where she stood behind him. She only gave a soft snort in reply.

Just standing outside one of the structures, a faint sickly sweet odor wafted around the group, and Sora’s expression hardened.

“After you,” Nettar said, stopping beside the door and gesturing towards the tattered curtain door, hands shaking slightly. Kaeto gave Sora a meaningful look.

“I apologize, Master Nettar, but I’m afraid that honor goes to my shield. You understand, yes?” He said, smiling at the shorter man.

Nettar visibly swallowed. “Oh, of course, my lord prince, of course, it is as you say,” he said, gesturing again towards the doorway.

Planting the butt of her spear in the ground with a solid thud that made Nettar wince and back away, Sora reached into her cloak to the sword at her side and half drew the weapons. She walked forward, giving the small man an unnervingly calm stare, before pushing past the curtain.

Immediately, a wave of noxious smells washed over her, decay choking the hot and stagnant air inside. With only a second’s thought, she backed out of the room, her training and experience the only things keeping the contents of Sora’s stomach where they belonged.

She rounded on the land master, her calm facade shattered by a rush of rage. “What is that?” She growled, grabbing him by the collar of his sweat-slicked shirt and slamming him against the wall with both hands. The man gasped, choking beneath her grip.

“Sora,” Kaeto said warningly, but she ignored him. His face promised her pain for that later, but she didn’t care. It was only pain.

The land-master squirmed under her two-handed grip, spluttering until Kaeto put a hand to her shoulder. He dug in with the sharp metal nails over his fingertips, drawing blood, and immediately Sora released the man. He dropped to the ground in a sagging sweaty pile, heaving for breath as she turned away, cloak blurring her motion.

She stepped away without so much as a wince to stand beside Adarelle, running one hand over her bald scalp to brush away the building perspiration. The other woman didn’t so much as blink at her.

“Well, Master Nettar? Answer the question,” The prince said, looking at the blood on his steel-tipped fingers and looming over the crumpled heap of a man at his feet. Besides Sora, the steward was scribbling furiously in her book, somehow managing to keep her sweat from wetting the page as she wrote.

The land-master spluttered some more as Kaeto put a foot on the man’s chest and raised a questioning eyebrow. Nettar wriggled beneath the prince’s boot for a moment in an attempt to right himself before giving up and slumping against the stone wall of the barracks.

“My lord prince,” he began slowly, breath heavy in the damp air. “If we took the time to treat the sick and injured Gin or to bury their dead, there wouldn’t be enough time for the harvest. As I’m sure you know, the council and the king have certain expectations.” The man was rambling; words fell so fast from his lips they slurred together in a spluttering mess.

“Let me worry about the council and my father, Nettar. Even Gin deserve to bury their dead. I’ll grant that perhaps there’s nothing you can do for the infirmed, but when I receive the inspection report, I expect to see this resolved.”

The prince’s tone was placid, almost as if he were talking to a child. Nettar simply nodded, swallowing hard. “I understand, my lord. It will be as you say.”

Kaeto removed his foot from the man and straightened. “Good, now, I think I’ve seen enough coffee trees for the next year. With your permission, Land-Master Nettar, I will take my leave.”

Without waiting for Nettar’s reply, the prince turned and strode away back towards the plantation’s gatehouse. Sora and Adarelle fell in behind him. They strode silently through the orchard, passing more groups of worn workers and small patrols of liveried guards in the black fox emblem of Jiovar.

They walked in silence to the stone gate and remained silent after passing through. As the trio approached the other Jah Annan waiting for them on the other side, Leahan, Bortaran, and Lawthe, Leahan smirked at Sora.

The other Jah Annan’s hand flashed out a message in hand talk, Have fun being a body servant?

Sora kept from rolling her eyes at the man and shot back, better than being a doorman. Leahan’s slight smirk fell slightly, but before he could send another message back, Lawthe raised an eyebrow at the pair.

They both went silent, and Botoran smiled, practically a guffaw coming from a trained Jah Annan.

Lawthe’s hand signed, how did it go? Sora nearly grimaced.

Not well, she returned, starring at Kaeto’s back. She could practically feel the frustration wafting off him and began bracing herself.

She’d know it was stupid, letting her emotion rule her actions like that with the land master. She’d been born and raised to be a protector, a killer. There was no room for anger inside her.

The prince’s camp came into view nearly half an hour away from the plantation, close to where the foothill’s vegetation began to thin into scrubland. A sprawl of liveried soldiers and gin filled the walkways between neet rows of canvas tents going about their daily tasks.

Adarelle split off from the party of Jah Annan behind the prince with a murmured farewell that Kaeto barely acknowledged with a nod. Instead of reliving Sora or the other Jah Annan to their regular duties, he leed them straight towards his tent, near the center of the camp.

He pushed aside the flap and walked inside with a careful grace reminiscent of the wind before a storm. With a gesture from Lawthe, Leahan and Botaran took up posts on either side of the tent flap while Sora and Lawthe followed the prince inside.

“Sora,” the prince said softly, turning slowly in the center of his tent, surrounded by his many colorful rugs, cushions, and chests. He took a step towards her, a grim smile on his face as he reached towards her chin. Cold metal brushed her skin, and it was all she could do to keep from shivering at the touch.

“Would you mind explaining what happened?” He asked. She didn’t need to ask about what.

“I erred, lord prince. Emotion overruled my mind. I let myself slip.” She did not bother promising it wouldn’t happen again. This was the third time in as many months.

Kaeto studied her face for a moment, then pulled his hand away, sliding one of his razor sharp iron fingernails along her jaw and drawing a thin line of blood. He rubbed it between his fingers, looking from her, to his hand, then to Lawthe.

“I trust you will teach her what it means to be Jah Annan and Shield to the prince of stars, yes?” he asked dryly.

Lawthe saluted, pressing the back of his thumb against his lips with a closed fist while bowing his head forward at a slight angle and sweeping the other arm behind his back.

“I will do as I must, lord prince,” was all he said, the prince looking down at his bent bald head.

Kaeto spun on his heels and walked towards a row of cushions. “Leave me then. And remember, the final inspection is tomorrow. Choose whichever of your three who will accompany me, and have them ready.”

They both saluted this time and then backed out of the tent. Lawthe was silent as the pair walked towards the Jah Annan tents, but Botoran caught Sora’s eye as they left, sending stay strong, little sister, with his hands.

She smiled at that, sending back, Is there any other way?

The inside of the tent was sparse, filled only with flat woven pallets and a space in the center for practice. The Jah Annan were always practicing when not on other duties.

“Tell me,” Lawthe said, moving to the center of the room. Sora followed, not hesitant or even wary. She knew what was about to happen.

His back still to her, she began unclasping her cloak. “I attacked the land-master,” she said simply as the black cloth hit the ground. After removing her belt, sword, and maul, she began working at the straps of bandolier and pistol holsters.

She settled the four grenades and powder horn carefully on the floor beside the pair of powder pistols, careful not to crack the spark caps at the ends of each fuse. She began on her scaled armor, and a few moments later, the steel hit the dirt with a heavy clatter.

Lawthe stood there silently waiting for her, so she hurriedly slipped from the thin tunic and trousers and knelt on the ground, bared in full. Finally, Lawthe turned, saber drawn in one hand.

“You know the price of penance. Will you accept it?” He asked, tone hard but not cutting. Sora bent her head further as the ritual demanded.

“I accept and await. Mark the price of my crime upon my flesh so that I might remember,” She intoned. Lawthe moved behind her, a grim set to his jaw.

“Then accept the weight of your wrongs,” he said, and a moment later, a sharp line burned down the left side of her back, parallel to her spine. She hissed through teeth gritted so tight they groaned under the pressure.

Then she felt the blood running down her back, down her legs, the burning, stinging pain, the aching of every muscle in her body. “The mark is set, the price paid,” Lawthe said, then a few seconds later, she felt a cool sting wash over her back.

“What are you doing?” She asked, panting slightly.

“I cut deeper than I should have. You’ll not want this while riding, trust me.”

She nodded, though there wasn’t anything she could do about any of it anyway. That breath of Kar felt like cold water in her veins, the power of the stars rushing through her body to repair and smooth the rougher aches and pains.

It fled as fast as it appeared, leaving her feeling hungry and a bit drained. Pain still pulsed along her spine, and she could still feel the thin line on her jaw.

“That should be enough,” Lawthe said, and Sora felt him rise behind her. Slowly, she staggered to her feet with a stifled groan, body aching, gingerly feeling at the injury. There was still split skin and some bleeding, but no more than there should have been.

“Thank you,” she said, moving to her own travel chest and retrieving bandages and salve. She began applying as much of the stuff as she could to the wound. Pain lanced through her every time she wandered too far into the cut, but otherwise, she worked well. She was well-practiced at bandaging herself now.

“If you keep doing this, I’ll have to find another Jah Annan to serve as shield, Sora,” Lawthe said, still standing in the center of the tent.

“I know, Lawthe, I know. I am trying. I just, sometimes it’s just too hard to keep it all under control, you know?”

She finished applying the bandage and turned to face the other Jah Annan. Lawthe was built solid in mind and body, like a stone wall with as much expression. The man could make steel look soft.

The small band of silver-glass on his ear still glowed a faint white with kar as he wiped away a thin line of blood running down from his earring with a silk cloth. She winced at that, the cost he suffered from healing her.

Averting her gaze, she began pulling her clothes back on, doing her best to ignore the irritating pain in her back.

“Do you even want to be shield?” he asked her suddenly, and she started, shirt half-tucked into her trousers.

“Of course I do! What Jah Annan wouldn’t?” she said, staring at him. He just nodded, sheathing the saber back beneath his cloak.

A knot of worry twisted around in Sora’s stomach. She wasn’t the only candidate for shield Lawthe had selected. Leahan and Botoran were also his students, and sometimes she worried that one of them might be a better fit for the honor.

He was silent for a long moment before speaking again. “I don’t have much longer, Sora. If one of you do not take the title in full, well, I do not wish to see Jah Annan pitted against one another for such a simple thing.”

She turned back to stare at the shield. It was strange looking at Lawthe, seeing the wrinkling folds of skin around his mouth and eyes, the tired way he stood. In her mind, Lawthe had always been the strongest of the Jah Annan, but he didn’t quite look the part anymore.

Pulling her cloak back around her shoulders, she stood, then saluted towards him with a thumb and fist to her mouth. “I understand. On our return, I will take the title from you at last. I am ready, Lawthe. More so than the other two. You’ll see.”

He just sighed. “We will see,” he agreed and then turned to leave the tent. Sora followed shortly afterward, using her sword staff to hold herself up as she walked. She ignored the hand talk Leahan flashed in her direction as she left the tent. It was going to be a long day.