“You there! You let my man go or you will find yourself without a head!” barked a voice from within the coach. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw the man leaning out of the window of the conveyance.

Dethan turned to face the man. “Oh, I’ll let him go,” Dethan said. “Only, not with his whip. The whip is mine now.”

“How dare you commandeer anything of mine! How dare you interfere with—!”

He broke off suddenly when a delicate, gloved hand appeared from the darkness of the coach and rested on the hand of the man within. It was wearing a glove of white and there was a sprig of flowers ringed around the wrist.

She, for it was obviously a woman, must have said something—Dethan could not hear what—for the angry man subsided somewhat, though it was very clear he was not happy about it. He looked to the left and right, seeing the crowd they were beginning to draw.

“But … my dear … he is an upstart of a peasant and we cannot suborn—”

“Is this truly worthy of your time?” she asked, this time loud enough for Dethan to hear, though in no way with strong emotion. More like she might scold a puppy. Then she finally appeared in the window, and Dethan felt his breath lock up in cold shock in his chest.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen … save the goddesses themselves. Her only flaw, immediately noticeable, was the burn scar along her lower cheek and jaw on the left-hand side of her face. But he hardly saw it because the rest of her face was stunning, her eyes dark and bottomless, her nose small and delicate and her lips lush and smiling over perfectly white teeth. It was a shock to him that she had all of her teeth. Women of his time hardly made it to her age with all intact.

Her hair was dark and curly, piled high on her head with a jaunty little cap set amidst it. The teal cap had a stiff veil that dropped down over the left side of her face, presumably to hide the scar, only it had been pushed back either by accident or design and she could be seen quite clearly. She had the longest of necks, the whitest of skin. Her gloved hand was graceful on the man’s.

“Can you not see how out of line your carriage driver was, Lord Grannish?” she asked him gently. “This man was only doing what was right. Those with power should not use it to press down those without,” she said, almost pointedly. No. It was with a point. Something he did not fully understand was being passed between them.

“Very well,” Grannish groused, his narrow face with its curling moustache looking a cross between angry and deferential. Whatever it was, he was not happy about it. “Driver!”

“Sir.” the lady addressed Dethan. “The driver cannot drive without the whip.”

The unspoken implication was clear. She was trying to manipulate him the way she had just managed the other man. But he had no intention of being managed.

“A whip should not be applied to such fine horseflesh, woman. If he cannot control them with reins alone then you are in need of a better driver. And I am in need of a belt.” With a sharp movement he whipped the whip around his waist, effectively belting up his pants and tying the end tightly to his body.

“This is a woman of the highest born blood,” the man Grannish hissed. “You will refer to her by her title—!”

“ ‘My lady’ will suffice,” she cut him off.

“Your pardon, my lady, I am a foreigner to these lands and things are different here than where I come from.”

“Then it is understood. Truly, you are forgiven. Driver, ride on!” she said in loud command.

The driver had since climbed out of the mud and back up into his seat, Dethan having kept a sharp eye on him the entire time. He made a sound to the horses and they drove on with a jolting start. Dethan watched them go, his eyes on the woman and hers on his the entire time. It took him a minute to shake himself free of the trance in which he found himself, and then he found himself questioning why he had done what he had just done. He should be worrying about his own skin, his own tasks, and not what happened to a lone man in the filth of the street.

“Thank you, sir,” the man said then, coming up to him and grabbing his hand. He touched the back of his hand to the back of Dethan’s pressing them together. “I owe you much. Come let me reward you.”

“I have no need of reward,” Dethan said. He eyed the other man. “And you have little to give, I think.”

“Any other day that would be true, but today is the fair and I have been saving my silver to go. I think I might find me a wife today, if I can be so lucky.”

“You intend to buy one?” Dethan asked.

“Oh well … I suppose I could. From one of the slavers. But my money is so little that I wouldn’t be able to buy any woman of passing health. It takes a strong woman to be a mudfarmer’s wife.”

“You might be surprised,” Dethan said. “A sickly slave might be made well with good care. I’ve seen it done.”

“It might be cheaper at that!” The man chuckled; it was a low raspy sound. He ran a hand back through his hair, obviously a habit because there were streaks of mud in various stages of wetness from the times before. “By the time the courting is done a man can be begging in the streets. Your idea has merit, that’s what! So, to the fair then? I’ll buy you a roasted gossel leg for your trouble though I wish it was more.”

“A gossel leg is more than fair and will be more than welcome.”

“Very well then.” The man pressed the backs of their hands together again. “My name’s Tonkin. You are new around here.”

“Yes. Why does that matter?” Dethan said uneasily.

“Well, no one who knows would step in to interfere with his lordship the high jenden’s business. He’s a cruel bastard, make no mistake about it. If I hadn’t fallen I would never have come close to that vehicle of his. He rides it round here all fine and fierce looking, making sure all us drudges know our place.”

“Jenden?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t want to seem too strange to this individual. But by the look the man sent him he could tell he was very much so strange.

“Advisor to the grand. You know, advisor to the king,” he stressed when, no doubt, Dethan’s expression remained blank. “And anyways, that was the grandina, the grand’s daughter, with him. I guarantee you had she not been with him the whole business would have gone much differently. It’s rumored that once the jenden killed someone right in the middle of the street. And the grand is so enamored with all the jenden says and does he can do no wrong. I suppose that’s why he’s given his eldest daughter and heir to the jenden to marry. Though some say he’s getting the raw deal, what with her being so ugly and all.”