Linc rolled his eyes and then smiled, running a hand through his hair. So she’d spent at least part of the night caged in the pet menagerie. He glanced at the clock. She’d be cross at how late he’d slept.
The door slid open, and he considered getting a pastry to feed her through the bars for breakfast, but she might not be in the mood to be teased. So he went to the pet collective. Before he even entered though, his muscles stiffened. A sound, he couldn’t say what, alerted him something was off. He realized belatedly that it was the quiet. There was normally squealing and mewling and laughter and moaning, the sounds of pets playing or being played with.
He glanced down, finding himself weaponless. Return for his knife? Or advance?
His mind clicked through the people he’d met on the ship. If there was dangerous trouble, he decided he wouldn’t need a blade to handle it. Some of the masters were sportsmen and casual hunters, but none of the group that he’d met were professional warriors or military. If someone was armed, he’d take their weapon.
When the door opened, he realized his mistake in only accounting for the men on the ship when he’d arrived. In the middle of the room, Darx, the fiercest Ketturan warrior in history—the one who’d trained him in fact—stood with the tip of his drawn long blade puncturing the tufted floor.
Behind Darx, his brother Detrey crouched down, speaking to a pretty sable-haired pet with big brown eyes. The former authority in the room, Eco, and a pair of masters who must have been visiting for breakfast were sitting in a corner. Eco dabbed at a trickle of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The faces of both masters were bruised. Ketturan warriors didn’t attack private peaceable citizens, but they also didn’t tolerate anything getting in the way of a mission. The blood and bruises meant they’d come with a purpose, and judging by their location, it was to retrieve Gissandre.
When Linc entered, Darx immediately raised his blade and extended it. Linc showed him open, empty hands. Larsinc could easily kill three or four ordinary men at a time in a fight, but he’d never overcome two Ketturan warriors at once, especially when one of them was Darx.
Detrey stood and nodded a greeting. “Almost done here,” Detrey said to Darx before walking to the next cage.
Linc’s gaze settled on the cage that held Giss. She’d been freshly washed and sat cross-legged on her cushion, wearing a light-green sheer shift. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone as she braided her damp hair.
When Detrey finished speaking to the other pets, he walked over. “You stand accused of crimes that violate Ketturan law, Linc.” Detrey held out a pair of shiny rectangular shackles attached to a thick belt. Linc wasn’t familiar with the apparatus, but he knew what refusing it would mean.
Linc slid each fist through an opening, and the cuffs tightened down on his wrists. Then Detrey fastened the belt around his waist. The strong leathery fabric was cool against his skin, but not as cool as the small metal plate that laid against his lower back.
“If you jerk your arms up to try to attack us or free yourself, there’s a spring-action blade in the belt that’ll cut through your spine,” Detrey said. “The damage would be permanent.”
Linc nodded. Paralyzing himself would be a grave consequence of an escape attempt, but Detrey didn’t need to warn him about it. He had no intention of trying to escape capture. Partly because Kettura was his home, and he would face its justice rather than be forever exiled from it. And just as importantly, he had no intention of allowing other men to take Gissandre anywhere without him.
