The nie’dama’ting came at her with a cake of soap and a razor next. Ashia froze as the girl lathered her scalp, wielding the blade with expert strokes.

Amanvah returned when they were finished. Kept her gaze above their heads, letting none meet her eyes. “Dry off.” She pointed to a pile of pristinely white, freshly folded drying cloths. “Then follow.”

Again she turned away, as Ashia and the others dried off and followed their haughty cousin back to the dressing area. Behind trailed the same three girls who had cut their hair.

Amanvah walked past the many rolls of white bido silk to a lacquered box at the far end of the chamber. “You are not dama’ting.” She threw them each a roll of the black silk from the box. “Unworthy to wear the white.”

“Unworthy,” the older girls echoed at their backs. Ashia swallowed at that. Betrothed or not, they were blood of the Deliverer, not some common dal’ting.

Enkido was waiting for them when they emerged from the baths with thin, black silk scarves and robes over their bidos. Shanvah and Sikvah had stopped weeping, but still they clutched at each other, eyes on the floor.

Ashia boldly raised her gaze to meet the eunuch’s eyes. She was blood of the Deliverer. Her father would cut off more than this man’s cock if he dared lay a hand on her. She would not be afraid.

She would not.

The eunuch paid her no mind, staring instead at Sikvah, who shook like a hare before the wolf. He made a sharp, dismissive gesture. Sikvah only stared, uncomprehending, beginning to weep once more.

Enkido raised a finger sharply in Sikvah’s face, causing the girl to gasp and stand up straight. Her eyes, wide with fear, crossed as they watched the finger.

Again, Enkido made the dismissive gesture. As if his finger in the air alone had been supporting her, Sikvah bent again, sobbing harder. This put Shanvah over the edge as well, the two of them clutching each other as they shook.

“She doesn’t understand what you want!” Ashia cried. She couldn’t tell if the eunuch was deaf as well as mute, for he did not look at her.

Instead, Enkido’s hand whipped out, slapping Sikvah’s cheek so hard her head struck Shanvah’s and they were both driven hard into the wall.

Ashia was moving before she knew it, interposing herself between the eunuch and the other girls. “How dare you?!” she cried. “We are princesses of the Kaji, blood of the Deliverer, not camels in the bazaar! The Shar’Dama Ka will see you lose that hand.”

Enkido regarded her a moment. Then his hand seemed to flicker, and she was launched backward, an odd tingling in her jaw. She heard more than felt the rebound of the rock wall as she struck it. The sound echoed in her head as she struck the floor, and she knew pain would soon follow.

But Shanvah and Sikvah needed her. She put her hands under her, struggling to rise. She was the eldest. It was her duty to …

Her vision blurred at the edges, then darkened into black.

Enkido, Shanvah, and Sikvah were in the same positions when she woke. It seemed a mere eyeblink, but the dried blood caking her cheek to the marble floor told another story. The girls had stopped crying, standing with their backs straight. They watched her with terrified eyes.

Ashia managed to push herself up to her knees, then rose shakily to her feet. Her face throbbed with more pain than she had ever known. Rather than terrify her, the feeling made her angry. Perhaps he might strike them, but the half-man would not dare kill them. He was just trying to make them afraid.

She set her feet, daring once more to raise her gaze to Enkido. She would not be so easily cowed.

But the eunuch did not acknowledge her at all, simply turning away and walking down the hall, beckoning them with a wave.

Wordlessly, the girls followed.

Enkido stood before the three frightened girls in a large circular chamber lit only by dim wardlight. Like the rest of the underpalace, the floor and walls were stone, cut with wards and worn to a smooth polish by generations of use. The wards on the floor were arranged in concentric circles, like a marksman’s target.

There were no furnishings save myriad weapons hanging from the walls. Spears and shields, bows and arrows, alagai-catchers and short melee knives, throwing blades and batons, weighted chains and other weapons Ashia could not even put a name to.

They had been forced to remove their robes again, placing them on hooks by the door, standing in only their bido weaves.

Enkido, too, wore only his bido. It was barely a strip of silk, for of course he had no manhood to cover. His muscular body was shaved smooth, covered in hundreds of tattooed lines and dots. It was a chaotic design, but Ashia sensed a pattern that was just beyond her ability to discern.

There was a riddle in them. The Riddle of Enkido. Ashia had always been skilled at riddling games. Riddles were taught to girls at a young age, that they might keep their husbands entertained.

The mute Sharum took a sharusahk pose. The girls looked at him blankly for a moment, but as his eyes darkened, Ashia took his meaning and assumed the same pose. Sharusahk was forbidden to dal’ting, but Ashia and her cousins had been taught dance as well as riddling. This was not so different.

“Follow him,” she told the others.

Shanvah and Sikvah complied, and Enkido circled them, inspecting. He grabbed Ashia’s wrist hard, pulling her arm straight as he roughly kicked her legs farther apart. She could feel his grip long after he let go and turned to Shanvah.

Shanvah cried out and hopped from the loud smack to the meat of her thigh, and then Enkido took the stance again. No fool, Shanvah was quick to resume her imitation. She was closer this time, but Enkido kicked her legs out from under her, dropping her to the floor. Sikvah jumped back at that, and even Ashia let her pose slip, turning to face them.

Enkido pointed at her, and that simple gesture made her heart stop. Ashia resumed her pose as Sikvah continued to back away. Eventually she fetched up against the wall and did her very best to sink into it like a spirit.

Once again Enkido took the pose, and Shanvah was quick to scramble to her feet and mimic him. Her feet were set correctly this time, but her back was not straight. Enkido grabbed the strands of bido silk that connected the weave around her shaved head to that covering her nethers. He pulled hard, pressing a thumb into Shanvah’s spine. She cried out in pain, but was helpless to resist as he pulled her back straight.

Enkido let go and turned toward Sikvah. The girl was backed against the wall in terror, hands covering her nose and mouth, eyes wide and tearing. The eunuch flowed smoothly into the pose again.

“Pose, you little fool!” Ashia snapped when the girl did not respond. But Sikvah only shook her head, mewling as she tried to shrink away farther into an unyielding wall.

Enkido moved faster than Ashia could have thought possible. Sikvah tried to run as he came for her, but he was on her in an instant, yanking her arm to turn the momentum of her attempt to flee into a throw. She cried out as she tumbled across the floor to the center of the room.

Enkido was there in an eyeblink, kicking her in the stomach. Sikvah was thrown over onto her back and hit the ground hard. There was blood on her face and she groaned, limbs limp as fronds of palm.

“For Everam’s sake, get up!” Ashia cried, but Sikvah didn’t—or couldn’t—comply. Enkido kicked her again. And again. She wailed, but she might have been crying to a statue of stone for all the eunuch took heed. Perhaps he truly was deaf.