of slavery, no matter what you call it."
She fell silent, working at a difficult, mud-caked knot, and Shanya did not reply. The state of 'dents in the Province touched a sore spot in Kell. She'd helped her fair share of runaways evade capture, unofficially, of course. Officially, the Law bound her to return indentured servants to Shandar when she caught them. She rather thought Headquarters disapproved of the policy, but she wasn't about to challenge it and draw attention to herself. Instead, she continued her clandestine helping of runaways. Strange that this time she helped a runaway lady, one of the priviliged class, instead of a 'dent with no realistic hope of ever fufilling the terms of her "contract" and winning freedom legally.
"There, that should do it," she said, giving the detangled hair a satisfied pat. She rather thought the stuff would be a light blond once clean, rather than its current muddy color. "Your hair is so fine, it's like cornsilk. It must be hard to take care of."
"Yes. But I've always had help."
Kell sighed and moved the hair away from the row of infinitely tiny buttons stretching down Shanya's back. "Yes, I know. Here go the buttons. I don't suppose you have a hook for these things?"
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I didn't pack properly before my journey," Shanya said, a flash of irony entering her soft voice.
"Well, next time you decide to run away and start a new life, plan it better," Kell said, only half humorously, as she teased a button loose from its tight loop. "While we're speaking of it, what did happen to send a delicate thing like you running for the border?"
The muscles in Shanya's shoulders jumped and twitched as she fought to keep them from hunching forward. "I didn't want to get married," she muttered. Kell continued releasing buttons. After a moment's silence, Shanya took a deep breath and told her story.
"My father announced two and a half days ago that I'd been promised to his best friend's son. We were having a luncheon on the veranda, in the midst of a house party. He didn't tell me anything about it, just made the announcement, then sat down and asked my mother to pass the salt. I was completely shocked. Once I recovered the ability to move, I ran to my bedroom and cried. What my father said—it meant my life, the only world I knew, was ending! Married to some man I didn't even know, forced to bear children I'm not ready for. . . My indentured girl tried to calm me, but I couldn't stop crying for a long time. Then my father sent for me. Lila tried to make me presentable, she really did, but I know the redness showed in my eyes and blotches must have covered my cheeks. I went to the library, as ordered, and he was there too. My father demanded I greet my promised husband appropriately. I made myself do it, walk right over to that near-stranger and take his hands and say hello, promised. Then he—"
She broke off. Kell fought free the last three buttons and flexed sore fingers.
"He said," Shanya continued, voice wavering, "He said, 'She's not much to look on, but I'm sure she'll do.' And that made me burst into tears again, and when my father asked why I was crying I told him I didn't want to marry him at all. And my girl, my Lila, she'd been waiting right outside the door. She ran in and held me, then helped me walk out of the library and back to my own safe room. And later that night she helped me sneak out, with some bread and cheese. I ran and ran. I don't know how far I ran and walked, but I made it here. And then they caught me. Father said that Lila had confessed to sharing my bed for annums. I shudder to think—"
"Wait a minute," Kell interrupted. "Your father was one of those men?"
"Yes. He was in charge."
"Thtock!" Shanya flinched away from the profanity, but Kell didn't care, gripped by sudden fury. "Melanto bela thtock! Your own father, and he was going to, to burn you—"
Outrage choked her voice off. Abruptly, she wrapped her arms around Shanya's middle and held her fiercely, burying her face in that fine, dusty hair. "Your own father," she muttered, around a lump of emotions. Then she released the startled girl.
"Right, then," Kell said, regaining control of herself. The betrayal of family. . . unthinkable, but over and done now. "You're free now, of buttons as well as oppression. So peel out of that filthy clothing and I'll show you how the showerhouse works."
Kell moved briskly to remove the rest of her own clothing. That tightly controlled, ice cold old bastard was this sweet innocent's father? The thought made her guts tremble with a combination of illness and rage. How could he sit there on his fine blood horse and condemn his daughter to death by burning for something that he knew never happened? Kell had no illusions about that confession. The poor 'dent, Lila, had been tortured until she was ready to confess to any number of imaginary sins. And that thtocken bastard sat there smugly, with his worthless confession, and condemned his daughter to death. Not to mention how he watched unmoved while young snots beat his fragile, helpless daughter into the mud. Or had he helped?
A startled gasp and a gentle touch broke into her private simmering anger. Shanya stared at the wound in Kell's shoulder, running her fingers lightly over the abraded skin.
"I—you said you were wounded. Somehow I hadn't realized you were actually bloodied in my defense. I thought perhaps a bruise—" she shrugged, awkward and uncomfortable.
Then it was Kell's turn to gasp. Shanya's fair skin showed a faint but clearly visible network of bruises along her right side, with red spots scattered about where the blows must have struck with more force.
"You've got some real impressive bruises there yourself, missy," she said, then shook her head vigorously, trying not to notice the lithe beauty of the naked body before her eyes. "All these injuries aren't getting any younger. Into the shower we go."
Kell showed Shanya where to stand, then pulled the appropriate levers and opened the proper valves. Shanya yipped with surprise when the overhead pipes rumbled, belched, then began emitting a coarse spray that covered half the showerhouse. Kell stood under the spray and used the soap Maisie had provided with abandon. She felt unclean inside and out from dealing with Shanya's father.
The hot water washed away the afternoon's tensions along with the dirt. By the time they were both clean, Kell felt ready to skip her meal and go directly to bed.
But she didn't. She needed to think of Shanya now, so she made sure the girl got a good, solid meal into her, despite Maisie's teasing at her mother hen behavior.
Upstairs, Kell looked at the bed, then at her armor, then at the bed.
"Damnation," she muttered, then fished her elemental stick out of her saddle bag and uncapped it. A small, steady yellow glow emerged from the end, lighting the armor nicely. "Shanya? Will this light bother you?"
Shanya perched on the end of the bed and regarded the magical object with a combination of trepidation and curiosity. "I think not. What are you doing?"
"I have to clean my armor," Kell sighed again. "Take care of your armor, and it will take care of you, and all that joy."
"That is such a strange concept to me," Shanya said, leaning forward to watch. "A woman with armor. In fact, your whole situation is foreign to me. You are a woman, and yet you are a Ranger, which even I know means you are a representative of Law and your orders must be obeyed."
"Only in my jurisdiction," Kell pointed out, wiping each link of the chain mail carefully with an oiled cloth. No water could be left behind to cause weakness and rust. "And I'm also a historian, and a messenger, and a few other things as well. Have you given any thought to what you'll do, what you'll become, now that you're free?"
"Maybe I'll become a Ranger."
Kell snorted and gurgled, trying to stifle the urge to laugh. "Sorry, Shanya, I'm afraid it's not very likely. Unless, of course, you study your pretty little behind off for a few annums and put in some serious time working with horses and weapons."
"What exactly do Rangers need to know?"
"Well, the laws and customs of all the civilized lands, for a start. Horsemanship—you know we enforce the Law wherever we go, and it takes horses to get us there. History. Strategy. Weapons—you may not rea
lize Rangers work fairly close with the Guard at keeping the trade routes safe. And some of us are historians."
Shanya said nothing, but the look she wore made Kell chuckle.
"Yes, I said historians. Some of the Rangers, myself included, descended from a particular individual, the first messenger when the first group of settlers branched off from Eirian an Age ago. The First Goddess gave him a blessing and a charge, to keep an accurate history and make certain that people never forgot history's most important lessons. She also gave him an archive like Her priestesses maintain, that can only be accessed by his direct descendants."
"Archive?"
Kell grinned at Shanya. "Now promise me you won't try to burn me for heresy."
"I promise."
"The archive is magical. It's a spell that we use to store history."
Shanya looked uneasy, but intrigued. "A spell. Making you a magic-user. And you spoke of the First Goddess, another heresy. And furthermore, that woman downstairs, the innkeeper, she kissed you and you didn't strike her down for it. Are there any more disturbing secrets about you that would get you burned alive back where I came from?"
"Hardly secrets," Kell said complacently. "There are many reasons why Rangers are not welcome in Shandar. But we weren't talking about me, we were talking about you. What do you fancy doing, now that you know being a Ranger is