“We can’t give up so easily,” said Ren. “We’ve fooled them for years.”
“Years, yes, but I was younger then and didn’t have much of anything to hide,” said Tye, brushing a bit of dirt from what had become a slight swelling in her upper chest. Tye was a girl. Only her friends Ren and Adin Fahran, the heir of Feren, knew the truth. Her father had swapped his daughter for his son when the Protector came to fetch the boy from their home in the Wyrre three years ago. Now twelve, Tye was tall and thin, and for the most part lacked the curves that would come with womanhood. She had the light hair and eyes of the southern tribes, a slender nose, and a sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks. She was growing more beautiful every day, and took great pains to hide it. She could still pass for a boy, though each day she looked a little less like one.
“What are you doing in this part of the Priory?” Ren asked. Tye’s chamber was on a different floor.
“Looking for you.”
“Aren’t you sweet—” he teased.
“Shut up, I’m here for a reason,” she said.
“What reason?” Ren asked, seeing her face turn anxious.
“Just follow me.” Tye darted down the corridor and Ren followed. What was so urgent that she would risk missing morning meal? The answer came soon enough when they saw Adin.
“My father’s dead,” Adin said, squinting in the gloom to look for his friends. He stood in the door to his cell, a yellowed parchment clutched in one hand, his skin dusky in the lamplight. Adin was a few years older than Ren, tall and lanky, his hair messy, his chin stubbled, shoulders hunched like a boy afraid of his own height.
“It’s over,” Adin said. “I’m leaving.” The Priory boys were unable to return home until their fathers died or were killed.
For a moment Ren just stared at his friend. This was the moment they lived for every day. Freedom. Home. But Adin looked far from joyous. “What’s wrong?” asked Ren.
“There was a note, from my uncle, Gallach. All is not what it seems. There was a revolt a year ago. A merchant named Dagrun Finner declared himself king of the Ferens and took the throne. He kept my father hostage, then sent him to the gallows for treason. Now the emperor has recognized Finner as king and since my father is dead and I am no longer the first son of Feren, I’ll be set free. My line is ended.”
Heavy footsteps echoed outside, the priors were coming. Their yellow robes emerged from the dark of the corridor. The Prior Master, Oren Thrako, walked at the head of the group. He was stout and strong, the skin over his bald head stretched smooth and bulging like an overdeveloped muscle. He gripped Adin by the neck.
“Time to go, boy,” Oren said.
“Give us a moment,” Ren protested
The parchment shook in Adin’s hand. His eyes darted between the Prior Master and Ren. “The new king will surely kill me once he learns I have gained my freedom. They’re sending me home to my death.”
“Save your worries for someone who cares. Time to meet the Ray,” Oren said.
Ren put himself between Adin and the Prior Master. “Just a moment,” he begged.
“Go back to your cell,” Oren said.
No. He would likely never see his friend again. But before Ren could speak, Oren slammed him against the wall. His fingers wrapped around Ren’s neck, slowly tightening. Ren gagged, his face turning red, fingers twitching. Then something made the Prior Master let go. Tye had taken hold of Oren’s tunic and was frantically tugging at it. The loose threads of the tunic caught Oren’s bronze necklace. She gave the cloth another tug and the necklace bit into his neck, drawing blood.
Oren forgot about Ren. He lashed out at Tye, slamming her with his fist and knocking her to her knees. “Stupid boy,” he said, gesturing for one of the priors to hand him his cudgel, meaning to beat her, right there in front of them.
No, no, not Tye, this is my fault. Ren swiftly drew his blade and pressed the iron against Oren’s back.
The Prior Master turned slowly around, his eyes settling on the little knife. “What are you going to do with that?” he scoffed. “Skewer a mouse? You’d be better off threatening me with a thimble,” he said. “Throw it down or I’ll carve you with it myself.”
More priors hurried down the corridor. Seeing the knife, three of them immediately surrounded Ren. A fourth took Adin and led him away. His friend resisted the prior’s pull. “When you get out, find me, you sons of bitches!”
“Go, you idiot!” Ren backed toward the wall, the knife feeling heavy in his palm as he faced the priors and an enraged Oren Thrako. At least he’s forgotten about Tye. “May you share the sun’s fate—and all that!” he called to Adin. “We’ll find you sure enough, I promise. If we ever get out of here,” he muttered to himself.
Adin twisted to look back at his friends, and seeing them in obvious jeopardy, struggled to return to help. He struck the prior who was leading him down the hall, knocking him on the jaw and hurrying back down the corridor. But two more priors arrived, blocking his path. They faced Adin with a snarl and each one took one of his arms.
“I mean it—come to Feren,” Adin yelled before he was pulled back into the shadows.
Before Ren could reply, Oren took him by the fabric of his tunic. “You should have dropped the bloody knife,” he said. “I’ll take a finger in payment, or maybe two.” He held Ren by the neck while the remaining priors scrambled to take hold of the blade. It took two of them to restrain Ren while the other pried the knife from his hand, peeling back his fingers one by one. The knife clattered to the floor.
Oren took a step back, removing himself from the melee, straightening his tunic, and fixing his necklace. His hand came away red with blood from the ugly cut on his neck. “You’ll go to the wells for this, Tye,” the Prior Master raged. He held up his red fist. “We’ll let the sun judge you for your sins.”
“No,” Ren said. “I’ll do it, I’ll stand beneath the sun. I drew the blade. Let me take his place.” He knew the Prior Master would not pass up an opportunity to punish him, so he offered himself in Tye’s place.
Oren glanced from Ren to Tye and back again, weighing the matter. Then he grunted his acceptance, as Ren knew he would. “Good enough, Hark-Wadi.” He smiled grimly, as if this was what he had wanted all along. “In place of a finger, I will send you to the sun. You will stand and face the Sun’s Justice,” said Oren.