The Peasant Queen

By Laurent Delépine

Twenty years after being turned into a living jewel and forced to flee her home village, Deirane returns to save a young girl who seems destined to follow the same fate as her.

The tyrants had been defeated eight years ago, leaving the world in ruins with deadly rains. Over the past few years, Deirane, the beautiful peasant girl who became a queen, has been the talk of the town. However, nobody has heard anything about her for some time, and everyone thinks she is dead. However, when a child is sold as a slave, she reappears to prevent her from suffering the same fate. Unexpectedly, she receives help from an old friend. A help that turns out to be for selfish reasons. And it seems that the one who bought the young peasant girl is the torturer who once made Deirane a living jewel, the object of all covetousness. But isn't this all a trap to find her? Besides, who is the real target of all these plots?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tektime
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9788835437079

Book preview

I

Boulden nowadays.

In tears, facing the crowd, the girl placed her arms around her breasts to hide her half-naked body. Next to her, on the platform, the horse trader was trying to figure out by how much more he could raise the bid. Three hundred cels was already a nice sum. But he hoped he could get fifty more. Moreover, she was crying, and this tended to make buyers even more generous.

This vile scene was taking place in Boulden, a free Ocarian city, south of the Yrian Kingdom. The city was stuck between the Unicorn Mountains and the large Unster River, which flowed through the richest parts of Ectrasyc continent. However, it was separated from this river by a swamp of poisoned water, which made it a very isolated place.

This isolation suited the city's traders perfectly. The transactions that took place there required some discretion. The Principality was the only State in Unster Valley where intelligent beings could be bought and sold like cattle. Unlucky persons from across the continent ended up here, and most of them lost their individual status and became objects. All races, without distinction, were found here; human beings, Edorians, Dwarves and Bawcks rubbed shoulders as companions of misfortune. Near the eastern gate, the market to which Boulden owed its wealth was crowded with people. Boulden was the major slave trade center.

One of these flesh traders had set up his stall in the center of the market square. And if there was any man who exemplified happiness, it was him. It had been a profitable day. Although the morning was barely over, he had already sold three slaves, far fewer than his colleagues, but his were much more expensive. He had specialized in perversion, which turned out to be most lucrative. And the more perverse it was, the more it paid off. Pehla's stock in trade consisted of young girls in the prime of their teens. His oldest resident couldn’t have been more than nine years old¹ . And this very morning, he had sold a girl that was barely six years old. The poor thing was crying her eyes out as she saw herself exposed almost naked; she didn't understand what all these people wanted from her. And that was better for her. Had she known, she would have been petrified with horror.

A movement caught the trader’s attention. The crowd at the foot of his platform was dense, proof of his success, although some of them hadn’t come to buy, but just to have a look. However, that doesn’t matter; their gossip would be his best publicity. In the midst of this crowd, a couple was trying to reach the front row, causing some protests. A slender figure wrapped in a cloak that completely covered her was moving forward, pushing people aside. She was followed by a young man towering above her, in his twenties, looking surly. More precisely, he was trying to look threatening, but the way he moved indicated that he was more at ease with books than with a sword. He apparently had no weapon; however, his expression killed the scathing remarks on the lips of those who would have wanted to quarrel with him. The way he watched the hooded figure before him, coupled with its too frail stature, seemed to indicate that it was a woman. Some promising curves on her chest and on her hip confirmed this. Her height, well below average, indicated a human or Helaria Stoltzin rather than an Edoriana. And even for this country, she was tiny, hardly bigger than a child. Since she was covered, it was impossible to estimate her age or her beauty. Nevertheless, her confident gait seemed to indicate a certain maturity. She was certainly too old to be one of his items for sale. However, it was possible that she was coming here to stock up. The fact that she was hiding suggested a noble lady from the palace who didn’t want to be recognized. His curiosity aroused, the flesh trader watched her.

She stopped a few rows away from his platform and pushed back her hood. It was indeed a woman. Her face was obscured by a veil that revealed fine, delicate features; all that could be seen were eyes of an almost grayish blue, carefully made up. She looked young at first sight. However, her blonde hair that disappeared under her clothes was strewn with a few rare gray threads, and the fine wrinkles that radiated from her eyes belied this first impression. However, what immediately caught the slave trader’s attention, the particularity that would have made anyone turn around on his way, was a ruby encrusted in the middle of her forehead. It was a beautiful stone, not particularly big, but which alone would have justified the acquisition of this unknown woman. Yet her outfit didn’t seem to indicate immense wealth, which excluded her from the city’s nobility. Not to mention that what he saw of her meant nothing to him. However, given the size of the city-state, there were few well-born families, and he knew them all. A foreigner only, and not very rich. So, his hopes of a good deal with her disappeared.

The slave trader lost interest in this new arrival and returned to his business. He still had two young peasant girls to sell, and he would have to bargain hard to get a good price for them. The first, a seven-year-old girl, was pretty. Nonetheless, she bore too much of the mark of her Yriani origin on her features to hope to pass off as anything other than a country girl. He only had about a hundred cels for her, which wasn't bad after all. Not to mention that the buyer paid in good and honest gold coins.

For the second and last one of the day, it was a completely different matter. She was also a peasant girl who had just arrived from the Yrian Kingdom. Although she came from its northern provinces, she had the dark complexion of girls from the southern coast of the continent. Her body was shapely. She didn't have the grace of a noblewoman, or a girl raised for that purpose and educated properly from an early age. On the other hand, she had cost much less to acquire; there was no need to feed her for ten years before obtaining profits on the investment. All that was needed was to spot saleable girls early enough, and then when the time came, to raid the family farm. Nothing forced him to tell the truth about the origin of his merchandise. No one could verify.

The canvas that closed the back of his display stand parted and a girl no more than nine years old entered, pushed firmly from behind. She was in tears. That was the problem with farm girls. At home, they were quite liberal in their morals - well, this one was still too young for that - but, unlike slaves by birth, when forced they didn't take it well. To disguise her origin, Sangärens patterns had been drawn with henna on her body and a chain was attached to her earring, which was connected to a wing of her nose, as was the custom among these savage people.

When she saw the girl enter, the woman with the ruby was startled. A tear rolled down the corner of her eye. In fact, it wasn't just a tear, her face was downright wet. The young man also made a sudden movement. She put a hand on his arm to hold him back. He was boiling inside; his anger was so visible that the people around him moved away as far as they could, that is to say very little, given the density of the crowd.

In his trade, the merchant would never have reached his age if he hadn’t a keen eye for observation. He had noticed the reaction of the two new spectators as well as the woman's calming gesture, and he had drawn some conclusions - she was in command. He had guessed so since he saw the ruby. He was sure of it now.

He turned to the crowd, taking a deep breath, and announce in a loud voice:

Now, this is a nomadic Sangären princess, one of the many daughters of Warlord Relgark; she was captured with her sisters by a rival in the ill-fated raid that claimed her father's life. My representative was able to acquire her for three horses and eight goats. She was raised among a people known for their sensuality and knowledge of the pleasures of the flesh. She will give many pleasures to whoever possesses her. Her starting price is one hundred and fifty cels.

The amount was high, but he had to continue with his lie to the end if he wanted it to stick. He noticed two men leaving the crowd in front of him. Sangärens. Too bad! These nomads didn't care that their people were enslaved, they were the first to sell their own. Yet they couldn't stand their women stripped naked in public. That Relgark never existed, and that the girl wasn’t Sangären didn’t matter so long as he presented her as such. He should have at least provided a veil, which he would have removed once he was sure that no members of that breed were present. It was too late to complain now. Fortunately, the chief of his guards had seen them too, and he had followed them with a few men. The next day, two more bodies would be lying on the banks of the river and the problem would be solved. No one would care about two murdered nomads. The only people who could have investigated this double murder weren’t allowed to practice in the city. So, everything was going well.

Reassured, he could now concentrate on the sale.

Who’s the first bidder? he asked.

He didn't have long to wait.

One hundred and sixty cels, called out a voice which he recognized as that of one of his accomplices.

One hundred and sixty, for a princess, that’s not much; she’s worth at least five times as much. I can't let her go for less than two hundred cels or I'll lose money. Who wants two hundred? Come on, two hundred cels, and you'll get a good deal.

A hand went up. To his surprise, it was his beautiful stranger. He remained silent for a few moments. Strange, he thought, she’s the one leading the bidding, not her clerk.

Two hundred cels, he said at last, for a young Sangären virgin; that's a bargain. No one will offer more?

A Sangären Princess? called out a voice. She's just a simple peasant girl.

Again, he recognized an accomplice. It was part of his sales tactics to denigrate the merchandise so that he could then sing its praises.

A simple peasant girl? You didn't get a good look at her. Look closer. You can see the blood of the Sangärens on her face, on her complexion. Look at that soft skin that has never been exposed to the scorching sun, or those fine hands that have never worked the land. She wears patterns that symbolize her tribe and her rank. You know the Sangärens, no one would dare to wear such tattoos if they weren’t of royal lineage. I would be dishonest if I didn't tell you that her tribe doesn't exist anymore, it has been exterminated, which diminishes her value, but two hundred is ridiculous. Nobody will go up to at least two hundred and twenty?

A hand went up, too quickly for him to identify its owner. A few tösihons² later, the woman raised the bid to two hundred and fifty cels.

Two hundred and fifty cels for the beautiful lady in front of me, who bids more, who will go up to three hundred?

Two hundred and fifty cels.

Two hundred and fifty cels, nobody offers more? She’s a princess all the same.

Two hundred and sixty cels, the woman called out.

Two hundred and sixty-five cels, said her opponent after a moment's hesitation.

There was no hesitation, however, when the unknown woman went up to three hundred. The other immediately raised the bid.

The merchant's curiosity was aroused; he wanted to know the identity of this woman and he began to hope that she had the cash to win the sale. He had been quick to eliminate her from the list of potential buyers. Neither she nor her opponent seemed to be counting the expense. Perhaps she was considering selling her ruby, which was well worth ten times that amount. Soon, the five hundred cels bid was attained and passed. Everyone was holding their breath at what was obviously no longer a sale, but a duel.

They were approaching one thousand cels. He was on the verge of fainting. The best sale of the day without his accomplices having to intervene to artificially raise the stakes. And all this for a simple peasant girl, a bit of henna and a piece of fake gold jewel for a quarter of a cel. He had never made such a good deal.

The one thousand cels bid was attained. It was the male voice that called out the bid. The unknown woman hesitated a few vinsihons³ .The salesman hoped she would go up further, but he was convinced she had come to the end of what she could afford, she couldn’t go any higher.

One thousand one hundred cels, she finally called out.

He tried to interpret the shadow that went through her blue eyes. She was bluffing, she didn’t have the money. Her companion leaned over and whispered something in her ear. She pushed him away.

You’re taking very big risks, beautiful stranger. You know what it costs to bid more than you have.

I’m well aware of that, she replied in a clear voice.

That’s fine, do you maintain your bid, or do you retract?

She thought for a moment.

I don't have all of that with me, I can have the rest tomorrow, she said finally.

You know the rule. The purchase must be paid immediately after the sale. Otherwise, the transaction isn’t valid.

Only one day delay, the time it takes for the banks to open their doors. I have sufficient credit in Nasïlia Bank.

Sorry, he lied.

She conferred with her companion for a moment. From his stall, he didn’t hear what they were saying. However, the young man’s reaction was revealing. He didn’t like what she said. She looked up at the slave trader.

Just off the cuff, I can't have more than a thousand cels, she said finally, I hadn't expected the bids to go up so high.

So, you give up?

No, I'm just adding something else in payment.

And what’s that? An IOU. I can't accept it.

One night with me.

A night? What for?

Leave that to your imagination.

She took off the veil that hid the lower part of her face, revealing her beautiful features and her mouth painted red like Hanse women. There was something else even more remarkable. The slave trader’s eyes immediately fell on golden volute lines on her cheeks and small blue diamonds embedded in her skin. The ruby on her forehead wasn’t a jewel. It was part of her, like all the stones in her body. Then he immediately recognized her. This face was famous among slave traders. Before Boulden, the Orvbel dynasty had controlled the slave trade. And this woman had been their queen a long time ago, almost twenty years ago. He didn't know anything about her people of origin, perhaps she was from Sangär; the design on her face reminded him so much of their style. Had she come to help a fellow countrywoman? Hadn’t she not recognized a foreign peasant girl? Or was it the custom of her people, who made it a point of honor to treat anyone presented as Sangären as Sangären so as never to lose face in public? Did she really belong to that degenerate race?

I know you, he said finally, you’re the lady known as Serlen, the former Queen of Orvbel.

Serlen died when the Orvbel dynasty was dethroned, she replied.

He had heard it, indeed. However, no one had been able to show her corpse. By making false bids, you could end up as a slave or a whore.

What’s life without any risk?

A very small risk, he said to himself. Before being queen, she had been a royal slave. She knew what it was like to be forced to sleep with a man you couldn't stand. What would a night with him look like after such treatment?

That’s what I like to hear from a pretty woman, he continued. But apart from our common taste for pleasure, what then do you have to offer me that I don't already have? I've heard about you for twenty years. I have lots of experienced and much younger slaves in my harem.

Certainly. But I doubt if they have my experience. And is this an old woman's body?

She dropped her robe, revealing much of her body. On seeing her body, the crowd roared.

No, that wasn’t an old woman’s body. She was wearing loose silk pants and a puffed bodice that left her waist and shoulders bare. A slim and slender waist that the slave trader could almost wrap in his hands. Her golden hair came down to her waist. Except for her much shorter than average height, she was the kind of woman he would have liked to put in his bed.

She didn't look as old as she really was, unless her fame was more recent than he thought. No! He was going to be thirty soon, and Serlen was already famous when he was only a teenager. She was really quite a few years older than him. And yet, she bore none of the stigma associated with age. She had a smooth and flawless skin, no wrinkles, no marks indicating she had given birth, no sagging flesh. Nothing but a few gray hairs barely noticeable in her blonde hair and a few fine lines at the corner of her eyes.

What was most remarkable, however, was neither her beauty nor her apparent youth, but the hallmark that had made her famous. Like her face, every visible part of her body was embroidered with gold thread and encrusted with precious stones. They were of all sizes and colors, though none was larger than an olive pit. As far as he could tell, only the inside of her hands seemed to be untouched. Her whole body didn’t seem to be arranged randomly; unfortunately, her clothes prevented him from appreciating the pattern.

For a moment he was tempted to accept her offer; after all, he was only a man, with impulses. Until then, he had always considered her a legend. Knowing that she really existed aroused his curiosity. And he wondered what it would feel like to caress her, to let his hands run over that soft skin studded with sharp, hard diamonds. Had the diamonds taken on the warmth of her body, or had they remained stone cold? He quickly came back to his senses. He was a professional and he wasn't going to be coaxed by a pretty face, no matter how exotic it was.

I'm sorry, he said at last, you aren’t offering me anything I can't afford for a few gold coins. As for your jewelry, it's nothing more than a slightly exotic tattoo that doesn't justify the amount of money I’d lose by accepting it.

Yet there’s a greater fortune in it than you’ve ever owned in your life.

I also know that they can’t be taken away from you without killing you, and you aren’t easy to kill. Too many have tried and died for me to take a chance.

As you wish.

She didn’t insist. She too knew her job. She knew he wouldn’t go back on his decision. The young man covered her with his cloak. She was putting it back on when he called out to her one last time.

I remain, of course, at your disposal if you want a man of experience to spice up the pleasures of your young lover.

As soon as he pronounced the words, he knew he had said something stupid. The resemblance between the woman and the young man immediately made him understand the bond that united them. Although her legend never mentioned it, she was old enough to have a son. Given his youth, he had scarcely taken the man for an adult; and yet he could only be that, or a younger brother. He hesitated between the two possibilities, but finally leaned towards the son, provided she had him very young. The couple didn’t seem to pick up on his stupid remark, and left the square in silence.

He watched them make their way through the crowd, gently dismissing the few men who dared to approach him. For a brief moment, he almost regretted rejecting her offer. Only a brief moment. Then he remembered that her brief stint on the throne of Orvbel had meant the end of slave trade in that city. Did she want to do the same in Boulden? She suddenly seemed less amiable. What did it matter after all? It wasn't his problem, but the prince's. He looked away. It was time to get back to his business. He was in a hurry to hand over this young peasant girl. The former queen, the famous Serlen - if that was her real name - had invested too much in this sale. You don't offer your body if you don't intend to go through with it. She was leaving, with her mind apparently made up. Nevertheless, he was convinced that she wouldn’t stop there. He didn’t know what resources she had. As for him, he would rather have the buyer than himself as an adversary.

II

Boulden nowadays.

Boulden's transient district was located just south of the slave market square. There were inns, taverns, and all sorts of businesses useful to travelers. In one of these inns, which was far from luxurious, but decent, Deirane and her son, Hester, had taken a room. She returned there immediately after her bids at the market square.

They came out at nightfall. She still wore her cloak, to protect her from the cold that the heat since the end of the war had almost eradicated, but she had traded in her courtesan outfit for a light, loose shirt and a pair of leather pants. She had also removed her makeup, camouflaged the ruby within a silver mesh of which it seemed to be a part. Her only jewelry was a pair of polished bronze chains on each wrist and a bracelet made of several rows of small beads of seemingly random shape and color. Its clasp was a small plate engraved with an intricate pattern. There was nothing she could do about the diamonds on her cheeks, but in the dim light they could easily be mistaken for Sangären tattoos. She had often used this artifice so as not to be noticed. And this evening, she hardly intended to expose herself to the light. Her only concession to femininity, her hair left loose behind her back, made her look like a teenager.

She walked down the still busy street towards the riverbank. Her son was walking beside her, but it was clear that she was the one deciding which way to go. The young man looked like a scholar, not a man of action. He was trying to fool people as much as he could, but any good swordsman would understand right away that he wasn’t the one to watch. Deirane's confident gait and apparent nonchalance were a danger signal to any trained spy. The couple arrived at a tavern. Feigning submission, she let him enter first.

Most of the conversations ceased immediately. Apart from soldiers and waitresses, it was rare to see a woman in this place, especially a human. Some saw it as a provocation, others as an invitation. In most cases, it ended badly. The woman was being accompanied and the young man didn’t seem to be comfortable, so the drinkers didn’t budge. There were so many more welcoming women that there was no point in taking a bad shot. At most, they just looked at her insolently.

Only one group, gathered around a table, hadn’t flinched when they entered. They were watching a game between two of their own. They were a group of Helarieal free warriors who had been brought together in this city by the luck of their mission. These individuals were warriors in name only. They knew how to fight, but their role was that of a police force with a mandate to act anywhere in the world. Many lords would have thrown them out of their domains, but the Prince of Boulden couldn’t afford it.

Their freedom of action, the presence of many women in their midst and the symbol of justice that they evoked were at the origin of a whole romantic literature featuring them. The most popular hero of this genre was Gaba, a very beautiful dark-haired warrior who travelled the world to resolve injustices.

The people of Helaria professed strict gender equality in most tasks, including war. In their ranks, there were almost as many warriors of both sexes, and the presence of a woman in a tavern was no surprise to them. If, when Deirane entered, some of them looked up because she was beautiful, they had quickly resumed their activity. In this case, it was a game of chess. It was between a Stoltz and an Edorian, watched with interest by their companions of both peoples and sexes. Even for Helariaseny, this kind of hobby wasn’t common, which made this group all the more remarkable.

The young man guided Deirane to them.

Gentlemen, he said in a shaky voice, could we have your attention for a moment?

The Stoltz player looked up.

Can't this matter wait until after the game?, he asked.

Of course, we're only a few stersihons away, Deirane said softly.

The participants’ interest was aroused. Everyone had understood who the head of the duo was. They were intrigued by the way the move had been announced. Above all, the identity bracelet had been revealing. The message transcribed in its pearls was instantly read. Many outsiders in the Pentarchy wore them, but few had been vetted by Calen of Jetro, the Librarian of Helaria. Technically speaking, this woman's power ended at the gates of her university, but she was so respected that most Helariaseny would do anything for her, even giving up their lives.

The chess players settled into their seats and waited.

It's a girl, said the young man, "a slave. She was captured a few weeks ago from her parents and sold here a little less than a monsihon ago⁴ .

You want to give her back to her parents, isn’t it? asked the Edorian.

That’s my desire, indeed.

And are the parents rich enough for you to embark on such a quest?

No, I'm afraid not. That's why I'm in charge, they couldn't afford the services of a warrior.

A murmur ran through the group. From other parts of the room came snickers. The Edorian's tone showed that if he didn't say anything, he was thinking the same thing as those laughing.

These warriors weren’t that different from those of other realms after all. While they were more careful with their words, they thought the same as every soldier in the world. To free a young girl out of altruism and get her back to her parents, without compensation, was very foreign to them.

That's an honorable thing to do, said the Edorian, but is your slave a Helariasen?

I'm afraid not.

Was she captured in Helaria?

"No, she wasn’t captured in Helaria.

Is she from a place with power to use our services?

From Yrian.

I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do. We can act on Yrian territory, but not in its name. Slavery is not forbidden in Boulden. And the activities of this city do not conflict with the laws of the Pentarchy, which only apply to our citizens or on our lands. This girl is outside our jurisdiction, sad as it is.

So, you refuse to help me?

We would like to, but we don’t have the right, unfortunately.

The young man looked sheepish.

But Deirane instantly left her role of a submissive and self-effacing woman. She tipped back her hood, revealing her jewel-encrusted face.

Some of you must remember me, she said.

The men hesitated, but one of them nodded.

And does this bracelet mean anything to you?

We respect Dean Calen. But the fact that she placed her trust in you years ago doesn’t give us the right to break treaties signed by our Pentarchs. That could lead to war and would cause far more deaths than a simple slave. Besides, if I openly disobeyed orders, I’d never be able to return to Helaria, and I have a wife and children there.

I see, said Deirane, I was hoping I could count on you. I was mistaken.

She should never have said those last words, but disappointment made her bitter. She put her hood back on and turned away from the players. They looked sad, but their hands were tied. She was heading for the exit when a female voice stopped her.

So, you're trying to lure away my men.

Deirane and her son slowly turned around. The woman who had called out to them was leaning casually on the bar, a mug in her hand. She was wearing an outfit quite similar to Deirane's, but she had tied the shirt under her breasts to expose her waist, and opened her bodice to reveal her breasts. In fact, the way it was unzipped seemed to indicate that an inquisitive hand had just left the area. Right next to her, a man looked rather sullen.

Hester scrutinized the woman. She was obviously the kind of person who had inspired the author of Gaba's adventures. She was beautiful, with an athletic demeanor that didn’t alter her femininity in any way. She appeared independent and looked young, younger than her mother. But her feline eyes and shimmering skin were those of a Stoltzin. These people had a much longer life than anyone else. She could be any age between twenty and a thousand years old.

On seeing her, Deirane's face was shining with such joy that Hester hadn’t seen in months.

Are these your men? she asked.

Who else but me would recruit chess players?

I thought the free warriors were independent.

These are soldiers, I'm the only free warrior in this room.

Helarieal soldiers here! Does the Prince of Boulden tolerate this?

How could he object?

The two women hugged each other like two old friends.

Saalyn, I never thought I would see you again.

It's a small world, we were bound to run into each other sooner or later.

Saalyn. Hester didn't know that name, but not everyone in the room did. Most of the soldiers turned to get a better look at the one bearing it. As for her one-night stand, he seemed to have given up his plans and was now trying to get away from her as quietly as possible. The looks that came her way were of fear or admiration, often both. At their table, the Helariaseny seemed quite satisfied with the effect their companion had produced.

Saalyn had good reason to be famous. As the first free warrior in Helaria, she had enjoyed almost a century of success and few failures. Her original mission, to rescue and return Helaria's slaves to their homeland, had quickly spilled over. She had ended up bringing everyone back, regardless of race. For example, she had brought the first Edorians into the Pentarchy, turning it into a multi-ethnic State. It was estimated that, either directly or through their descendants, half of Helaria's inhabitants owed their freedom to her.

Paradoxically, while she was feared for her talents as a warrior, it was in this field that she was least known. Her missions were more about spying than direct attack. She was a master of stealth and camouflage in a world where these two words didn’t yet exist. So, her greatest successes were unknown to the general public.

Her intelligence, her beauty, her gifts as an observer, her ability to play any role, to bluff, her tenacity, everything was a weapon and she freely used them to accomplish her mission.

Her consecration came when, eighty years earlier, she had brought back into the fold the Pentarchs who had disappeared during the war against the Feythas. But what she was best known for wasn’t even an act she had performed herself: the revenge led by her fellow guild members against Jergo the Younger, the one who ironically had made her his personal slave, two decades earlier. A cruel revenge, worthy of what she had suffered at that time.

So, this is what Saalyn was, this nonchalant Stoltzin slumped against the counter of this tavern. And she spoke to Deirane like an old friend.

Have something to drink and come join me there, she said, and explain this matter to me.

She pointed to a discreet alcove. She was busy, but as she approached, the drinkers suddenly remembered that they had an urgent business elsewhere.

When Deirane and Hester joined her, the beautiful free warrior wasn’t alone. Four Helariaseny were sitting next to her, all Stoltzts. They took their places on the free bench.

Deirane, Saalyn began, it's been a long time since we last saw each other.

Twenty years ago.

And all this time, you haven't been able to find a single moment to come and see us?

I've been very busy all these years.

I know, we've followed a lot of your exploits.

So, you knew where to find me all this time, why didn't you come?

Saalyn burst into a crystalline laugh that brought a smile to Deirane's face. Then she turned to the young man.

And this handsome boy is certainly your son. And considering his age, he must be the oldest, Hester.

The young man was taken aback.

How do you know me? he asked.

I delivered you, Saalyn replied.

Deirane raised a questioning eyebrow that wasn’t lost on any of the Stoltz present.

Okay, a midwife delivered you, but your mother was in my arms.

Deirane's gaze grew sharper, drawing some laughter.

You're tough, Deirane. Actually, it was Celtis, a young woman on the Embassy staff who was soothing your mother, but I was there.

The embassy? Which embassy?

You were born in the Helaria Embassy in Sernos. Didn't you know that?

No one ever told me where I was born, replied Hester.

Celtis, I haven't thought about her for a long time. What has become of her? asked Deirane.

Last I heard, she was traveling in the mountain kingdoms. She wanted to see the whole world before going home and settling down. But my information is about fifteen years old, so I don't know what she's doing now.

It doesn't take fifteen years to see those kingdoms.

To go across them, a few days are enough. But to really get to know them, that's far from enough. Usually, she stays there for a year and then hits the road again. There are over twenty kingdoms. She must still be there.

Deirane felt a pang of emotion for the young Stoltzin who had been so close to her in the past, before returning to the discussion at hand.

In fact, Saalyn was very helpful to me during your birth. I was so busy reassuring her that it took my attention away from the pain. I think I even remember her turning away.

Sardonic smiles greeted the revelation. So Helaria's most famous warrior, after the twin Pentarchs, had some weaknesses.

You humans do lose a lot of blood, Saalyn pleaded.

You must have spilled quite a bit yourself, Deirane remarked, You weren’t kind to your enemies.

And mine has been spilled a lot too. It's not the same thing. In fact, it's not at all the same, whether the blood belongs to a friend or an enemy.

Deirane smiled.

The first time I saw Saalyn, she wanted to kill me, Deirane explained.

Not exactly, but to teach you a lesson, you had just hurt Calen.

The Dean? asked Hester.

Yes. But when I tracked down this poor, frightened, starving, injured and obviously abused peasant girl, I felt sorry for her. All I could do was reach out to her and help her up. At that time, I had just gone through similar ordeals. I understood what she must have gone through.

Saalyn put her hands on the table and looked Deirane in the eyes.

This slave you want to rescue, is she your daughter? she asked.

No, she's a peasant girl kidnapped from her parents and sold into slavery, Deirane replied.

"Why do you want her back so badly? Is it because she reminds you of your own story? Or because you know her family?

A bit of both.

Saalyn thought for a few seconds.

I heard you were a warlord, and a good one, for a few years. So, you must have learned how to make a detailed report. So go ahead.

The sale took place this afternoon at the seventh monsihon on the central market platform. I have no idea who bought her. And I couldn't see him. But I did get a glimpse of the person who validated the transaction, an Edorian. The payment was made in Helarieal assignats. Since slave traders don't trust paper money, delivery should only take place after the banknotes have been turned into good gold coins. So not until tomorrow, since the banks were closed at the time of the sale.

Helarieal assignats. Is that why you came to us?

Partly. I thought you could easily get the identity of the buyer. I don't have the authority to investigate Helaria banks, you do.

The prison doesn't seem to have damaged your brain anyway.

A veil passed over Deirane's eyes.

I see that you know much about of my life.

As with all the people who make news around the world, we have a file on you, as thick as your arm. But it's not complete. It tells us all about why you were imprisoned, but it doesn't explain how you got out. In fact, we even thought you died there, until today.

I got to see the buyer, Hester said, I was tall enough to get through the crowd.

Saalyn held back a smile, it’s true that Deirane wasn’t very tall. She could barely reach the shoulder of her son sitting next to her. If the fairies had bent over her cradle in great numbers and given her many qualities, height wasn’t one of them.

He’s a tall Drow, Hester continued, about a pole and nine palms high, dark almond-shaped eyes, thin mouth, no particular signs. He wore a black leather tunic, same for his pants. On his left ring finger, he had a ring, I noticed it because it looked quite poor for such an individual, two rubies framing a fake diamond of poor quality on a copper ring, a poor woman's ring. He was armed, on the left he carried an ornate dagger in a scabbard attached to his belt, and I suspect another in the right boot.

You could see all this drowned in the crowd? asked Saalyn.

He was standing a little bit apart. Well isolated from the people.

Logical, an individual of his kind wouldn’t mingle with the plebs.

She then noticed that Deirane had changed her attitude. She had become silent. Her face was now showing intense panic.

Any problem? asked the free warrior.

I know this fellow, Deirane replied in a faint voice.

Who is he?

I don't know his name, but I know who he is. Or rather, what he is.

An expression of annoyance crossed the faces of those seated at the table. They were hoping for a revelation, a name they might recognize. Saalyn spoke first.

Why don't you tell us what you know about him.

It isn’t something I like to recall. That ring belongs to me. It was my older sister who gave it to me.

She hesitated, searching for those words.

I must tell you my story for you to understand.

"What story?

From the beginning, how it all started.

She pulled up the sleeve of her shirt, tearing it in her haste, revealing her arm studded with gems and embroidered with gold thread.

How this happened she replied.

You’re arousing my curiosity, when you were with us, you never told us.

I’m sorry. When you first met me, it was still very fresh in my memory. It was hard to talk about it. After that it was too late. My life had taken a totally unexpected turn. I...

She ran her tongue over her lips, delaying the moment to begin telling her story.

I think it's best to start from the beginning, when I was living with my parents, so that you can see how much I lost.

That's better, Saalyn agreed.

Other Helarieal soldiers sat on the benches around the table, ready to listen to the story she would tell them.

III

Alcyan Ford twenty years earlier.

The farm gate swung open, letting out a young girl in her mid-teens. Like every morning, Deirane was going to the river to fetch water for their meal. For her sisters it was a chore, but not for her. She even enjoyed doing it. Not lifting and carrying two heavy buckets full of water, of course. Especially when the contents might burn her skin if she spilled it on herself. This allowed her to escape the suffocating family cocoon for a moment. Not that she was unhappy, on the contrary, only that it was... stifling. This was her moment of freedom. Her family had vaguely understood that it was necessary for her and respected it. Only because there was nothing wrong with it and she was doing her job properly.

Her favorite moment was when she looked at herself in the mirror formed by the still surface of the small lake. She felt she was pretty. And in fact, she was. Regular, slightly oval features, grayish blue eyes surrounded by a cascade of fine blonde hair, a thin smiling mouth, a small straight nose that wrinkled easily. Deirane was very beautiful, and not just because of her face. A young girl of ten, her supple and slender teenage body promised a woman of great beauty in a few years. Moreover, the boys were seriously interested in her, much to her father’s dismay.

Her father, a stern but fair man, scared her a little with his gruff manners. But she adored him. He had never raised a hand on her, not even to slap her when she did something stupid. And she had done some stupid things. Her younger sister had taken part in most of them.

Let's talk about her younger sister, that little pest. She was like all young sisters, perfectly stupid, not knowing anything about the concerns of grown-ups - a compliment her sister returned to her for her futility - she had denounced her more than once. In fact, the only person she would really miss, if she were separated from her own, was her youngest brother, a mischievous kid who adored her. He did whatever she asked, and she took a little advantage of it. After all, it's an older sister's right to abuse her little brother. And maybe, on second thought, she would miss her older sister too.

So that day, a day like any other, Deirane happily was walking down to the river. She had taken the two buckets attached to the device that purified the water from the poisons it contained and was walking briskly to the lake below the hill. She put down her buckets and crouched down in the grass by the shore to admire her reflection. She felt the contour of her face, adjusted her hairstyle, unfastened her bodice exposing her breasts and watched the effect. She wasn’t fully satisfied with her figure. She found her breasts too small and her figure a little skinny. Her mother and her aunt often told her that she was still young, that she would fatten up soon, but she could hardly believe them as she looked at herself in the mirror on the surface.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a movement behind a bush. Most likely Jeten, the son of the baker in the town, which was in fact a village of about ten houses on which the farm depended. He had been peeping on her for several days. He thought he was discreet, and had even bragged about his scouting skills, going so far as to say that he had elf blood. Poor guy, if he had known how visible he was, he would have been jaundiced. No city boy could compete with a country girl. Besides, even an ignoramus like her knew that cows couldn't mix with sheep, dogs with cats, and elves with humans.

Amused, she decided to shake his blood a little. She untied a few more laces from her bodice and spread it wide, without going so far as to strip. Then she leaned over the water. If he were where she thought he was, he would faint. And maybe that would make the big ninny want to join her. Whenever she had been alone with him, she had done everything she could to make him woo her. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to understand what she wanted. Boys could be so stupid sometimes.

Anyway, this one was so cute that she was willing to forgive him almost anything. He was the cutest of all the boys around. It wasn't hard, he was the only one her age. Mind you, she didn't have many rivals either. It had been known for years that they would get married one day. It wasn't divination, you just had to be able to count to two to figure it out.

Finally, the fool came out of his hiding place. It had been necessary to go all out. She was nevertheless surprised that it had worked so well. She got up, waiting for him. He stopped a few steps from her, suddenly shy.

Hello, he said awkwardly.

Have you been peeping on me like this for a long time? she asked reproachfully.

I was just passing.

Good excuse, at dawn, he was just passing by. He didn’t know how to lie; on second thought that didn’t seem like a bad thing for the future.

And how many times a week do you just pass?

This is the first time, he protested unconvincingly.

Wasn't it you yesterday too?

It wasn't me.

Are you sure?

The smile she gave him made him realize that she wasn’t angry. He calmed down a bit. His eyes left the girl’s face. His glance over her widely opened