Town Hall Square overflowed with people, even if it was only six thirty in the morning.

Etana didn’t need a watch to tell the time. She had no clue how, but she always knew exactly what hour of the day it was, down to the minute. It was her thing.

She looked around.

The steady drizzle, coupled with an unusual morning chill for summer, dampened people’s clothes and hair and made their teeth clatter. Wiping their wet faces, men and women pulled their soaked garments tighter around their shoulders in a futile attempt to keep warm.

On a regular day, people would’ve deserted the square in such weather—provided they’d showed up in the first place—regardless of the entertainment they’d been promised.

But not today.

Over the last week, all of Iltaqa’s residents, except for the bedridden and very young, had been urged by the authorities to attend Areg Sebi’s second public flogging.

Announcements had been placed in the Iltaqa Gazette. Messages had been broadcast in public spaces. The police went door to door with lists of residents in each house making sure they knew where they had to be on the morning of First-day the twenty-sixth.

Last night when Sir Gokk read out the latest announcement to the household, his voice trembled a little. He was scared.

In her seven years as a laundry maid in the Gokk House, Etana had rarely seen her employer intimidated. A rich and influential man, the biggest producer of level-one machinery in Eia, Sir Gokk was perceptive, cautious, and good-natured. Those qualities ensured he got along with pretty much everyone and had remarkably few ill-wishers.

But this time, it was different.

Because of the public debate Areg Sebi had held in the Gokk House shortly before his arrest, Sir Gokk had every reason to be afraid. And not just for his own safety, but also for that of his wife and children.

While Sir Gokk read the announcement, Etana said a quick prayer for the Gokk family, asking Aheya to shield them from harm. They were good people, kind people. She was lucky to serve in their house.

His jaw set, Sir Gokk pointed out a bolded passage. “All of you need to be at Town Hall Square tomorrow morning regardless of what you think of Lord Sebi’s conviction. If you don’t show up, you’ll be in trouble.”

Etana hadn’t needed the warning. She would’ve come here even if coming got her into trouble. In fact, she was among the first to arrive while the square was still lit by the faint glow of the big moon and the little moon. She wanted to be as close to the scaffold as possible.

Too bad Rhori wouldn’t be by her side through this. He’d been sleeping like Aheya’s angel when she got up, washed, and dressed. Given the rate at which people were arriving now that the sun had risen, there would be a crowd between her and Rhori by the time he got to Town Hall Square. Then again, perhaps it was better this way.

“Step aside! Clear path!”

She turned in the direction of the commotion behind her.

The crowd grumbled, grunted, and split into two, letting an armored vehicle with a mounted police escort pass. Two more motorized vehicles, probably Chief Ultek’s and Judge Mahabmet’s, closed the convoy.

People gawked and pointed fingers at the fancy conveyances.

“It’s like Major Sebi said in his talk,” someone said, as the crowd came together again behind the last vehicle. “They tell the common folk level-two tech is bad, it will burn us, but they don’t mind using it themselves.”

“That’s because they’re not like us,” someone else offered. “Their asses are fireproof!”

People around him burst out laughing.

Etana didn’t remember Lord Sebi making such a raunchy comment in his talks. Then again, she’d only attended one—the debate held at the Gokk House two months ago.

That debate that opened her eyes.

For the first time in her life, someone knowledgeable and trustworthy had said publicly that Eia’s setup was wrong. It was wrong because it shortchanged most of the population—a majority that included her, Rhori, Mayka, and their parents.

But it could be improved. Lord Sebi had explained how.

That she, a menial, a birth-duty laundry maid, could one day do other, less exhausting, types of work was amazing enough. She’d earn more. She’d be able to go on holiday with her family or friends. And not just in Eia. It would be possible for them to tour Teteum and other planets like people in the Homeland Arm of the galaxy did, discovering new places and cultures.

Etana was thrilled beyond words.

And that wasn’t even the best part of the setup Lord Sebi had described. The best part was that her sister Mayka could have a chance at a better life, too. Perhaps even at a normal life. After all, if level-two tech was so advanced, Mayka could dream of more than a motorized chair to move around the house independently. She might be able to use her lifeless limbs the way unbroken folks did.

None of the books in the temple library spoke of such possibilities for the menial class, not to mention the “broken ones.”

Those books glorified Eia’s society for giving menials five years of schooling and the right to vote, which wasn’t the case in Teteum. What more could be done for the unfortunate lowest-born? They should be grateful for what they had, and they should work hard until they couldn’t work anymore.

That was what birth-duty meant. A destiny.

Ma, Pa, and the vestals at the temple told her the same thing, reminding her that endurance was the highest virtue.

And then Lord Sebi came along and said menials didn’t have to wait until they died and were reincarnated to enjoy a better life. He said birth-duty was a misinterpretation of the sacred texts.

As was birthright.

“Nowhere does the Book of Xereill prescribe a rigid social order and customs we should stick to,” he’d said, his eyes bright with conviction. “That’s not what it’s about.”

When the shocked whispers had died out, he added. “The original Ra people knew that. It’s obvious when you consult the Ra records at ERIGAT.”

“Have you seen those records?” Lady Marye Atiz asked.

Etana couldn’t help a smile, remembering what everyone in the household called the young woman behind her back: the Bookworm.

“Yes, I have.” Lord Sebi’s face softened. “The Book of Xereill aims to help people sharpen their moral compass so they can tell good from evil. That’s it. That’s how the Ra used it. All the prescriptive parts, the concepts of birth-duty and birthright, all that was added later. It’s human interpretation. And politics.”

Sitting in the back of the room, Etana felt as if a huge sack had been removed from her back, and her body hovered, suddenly as light as a feather. If Lord Sebi told her she could fly away now, go anywhere she wanted, she’d cry with joy.

But she’d stayed put.

The world out there, even reduced to the Habitable Area, was still big and scary. Here in the Gokk House, she was safe, fed and warm, and she was earning wages, no matter how meager. It was a good life for a menial, all things considered. She’d better hold on to it.

Etana had watched Lord Sebi’s handsome face as he spoke. His dark, expressive eyes were lit with so much energy, so much determination! He could do it, she thought. If anyone could change Eia for the better, it was this man.

“Professor Dreggo and I are convinced it’s within reach to improve the menials’ lot,” Lord Sebi said. “As well as the lot of the broken. We believe it’s the government’s duty to do so.”

He added that if the people of Eia endorsed Professor Dreggo, he’d make that conviction a reality.

It was then, among the cheering in the back of the room and the cautious murmurs in the front, that he asked if someone remembered the verse in the Book of Xereill about the “broken ones.” He didn’t want to massacre it by citing it wrong.

There was a hesitation in the room, people whispering to each other, unsure. Sir Gokk sent a servant to fetch the Book of Xereill.

In Etana’s mind there was no doubt—it was the verse she privately called “the Mayka Commandment.”

She could recite it by rote right there.

But decorum dictated she keep her mouth shut and wait for someone above her—which was pretty much everyone in the room—to raise their hand.

Moments passed with no one venturing.

Etana glanced at Rhori.

He gave her a firm nod. “Go.”

She raised her hand.

“Yes!” Lord Sebi, visibly relieved, pointed at her. “The dame in the back. Please, stand up.”

Etana’s heart skipped a beat at how he’d called her “dame.” Technically, that was the appropriate title. She was a dame—a female commoner—but no one had ever in her entire life called her that. Perhaps he couldn’t make out her menial headdress and her servant clothing, behind all those people in front of her.

That was it.

The handsome, brave, noble, divine Areg Sebi simply hadn’t realized who she was.

Her knees weak, Etana stood and gave him a moment to survey her properly. She searched his face for signs of disappointment.

But there were none.

His expression of happy anticipation only intensified, if anything.

She opened her mouth and moved her tongue, but her speech organs refused to produce the smallest sound. She cleared her throat.

“Go, Etana,” Rhori’s hot whisper came from her right.

“Perhaps…” She swallowed and drew in a shallow breath. “Perhaps my lord was thinking of verse 189.”

She took another ragged breath before reciting.

She paused after the introductory lines, stunned by how quiet the room had grown. All eyes were on her as she continued.

“This verse talks about caring for wounded soldiers and parents in their old age,” Lord Kenchyl, a snooty nobleman who sometimes came by Sir Gokk’s house, said. “It is not about the broken.”

A few people grunted their agreement.

Padefa, Dame Gokk’s maid, clapped her hands. “Hear, hear! Well said, my lord!”

Bile rose in Etana’s throat at Padefa’s toadying.

“I disagree with Lord Kenchyl,” a familiar voice sounded from the front row. “Etana… er, Dame Tidryn is right.”

Could it be…?

Indeed, it was Sir Geru Gokk, Sir Gokk’s oldest son, a dashing twenty-four-year-old.

In all of her years of service in the Gokk House he’d never addressed a word to her beyond a muttered greeting when their paths crossed. Which was almost never, seeing as Etana rarely ventured beyond the laundry room, the servants’ hall, and the little bedroom she shared with Padefa.

She’d had no idea Geru Gokk knew her name until he spoke it a moment ago.

“The verse is about everyone who’s fragile,” he said. “The old, the wounded, the sick, but also the broken. If level-two tech makes it possible to help them in ways they can only dream of today, I think Divine Aheya must be pleased.”

Geru Gokk being well liked in Iltaqa, especially by eligible young ladies and their parents, the room clapped and cheered.

His best friend, Lady Marye Atiz, swiveled in her chair and rewarded him with a look that confirmed what all servants in the Gokk House suspected. The Bookworm was smitten with their masters’ oldest son.

Sir Gokk gave him a proud pat on the shoulder.

Etana felt her face expand into a happy smile.

She looked at the podium where Lord Sebi stood, grinning, and their gazes met. He gave her a tiny nod, and in his dark eyes she saw respect and encouragement.

She’d cherish that moment forever.

A drum roll tore her from her reminiscences.

“Silence!” Police Chief Ultek shouted from the scaffold. “Bring out the accused!”

The doors of the armored vehicle opened, and a dozen policemen poured out onto the pavement. In tight formation, they marched up the steps and then to the center of the scaffold. Only then did the group split in the middle, making a hole big enough for the public to see Lord Sebi.

Unlike last week, his hands were not bound, and his torso wasn’t bare. He wore decent clothes and even had a pair of shoes.

Etana’s heart pinched with a sense of foreboding.

On the face of it, the way Lord Sebi was presented to the crowd this morning meant he wouldn’t be flogged. She felt relief at that thought. But right under the hopeful surface, lay another realization. Eia’s hero had given up fighting. He was going to confess to treason he most likely hadn’t committed.

And then he would be executed.

Judge Mahabmet climbed on the scaffold and stood next to Chief Ultek.

The crowd held its breath.

“Areg Sebi!” the judge cried. “Do you confess to collusion with the enemy and treason?”

Don’t. Please don’t, Etana beseeched him inwardly.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

The square erupted in a wild mixture of boos, hisses, and cheers.

“Take it back, Lord Sebi!” someone cried out.

“Don’t do it! Don’t let us down!” a few more voices joined in.

His face a mask of determination, Lord Sebi remained silent.

“Death to the traitor!” a woman shouted, and a few voices parroted her bloodthirsty call.

Judge Mahabmet raised his hand, palm toward the crowd.

“Silence!” Chief Ultek yelled.

“In the name of Divine Aheya and by the power invested in me by the lord governor,” Judge Mahabmet said, “Also, on behalf of the conclave of Eia’s judges, I shall pronounce the verdict.”

He paused to draw a breath.

Etana’s hands shook violently, and her knees were so weak it was a small miracle she could still stand.

“Lord Areg Sebi,” Judge Mahabmet said, “you are convicted of conspiracy and high treason.”

His expression was hard, but Etana could make out a trace of emotion in his eyes, and that emotion was regret.

“Next First-day,” he spoke again, “on the third of Late-summer, Xer-year 701 of the New Ra-human Era at eight in the morning in Town Hall Square of Iltaqa, you will be decapi—”

“Wait!” Etana heard herself yell.

There was a loud swish, as everyone on the square and up on the scaffold turned in her direction.

The high judge surveyed the crowd. “Did I hear someone say wait?”

Etana’s whole body shook like a leaf. Her mouth wouldn’t open.

“Was that a jest?” Judge Mahabmet’s face contorted. “Do you think this is a time for jests, you fools?”

She made herself speak. “It wasn’t a jest.”

His eyes found her. “Do you have something to say to me, maid?”

“Yes, my lord, I do.”

“Very well.” He let out a sigh, looking suddenly tired. “I hope you realize that if what you’ll say is worthless and a waste of my time, you will suffer consequences.”

“I do, my lord.”

Chief Ultek bugged his eyes out at her. “Shut your filthy mouth whore, or I’ll skin you alive!”

“Speak,” the high judge said.

“Divine Aheya be my witness,” she said. “I wish to invoke canon number 216 of the kingdom statutes.”

The police chief glared at her before turning to the high judge, “What in the stinky pit of Xereill is she talking about?”

Instead of answering, Judge Mahabmet turned toward his underlings clustered a few steps behind him around a makeshift table with piles of books and folders on it. Immediately, the clerks pulled a thick volume from the bottom of one pile and got busy leafing through it.

Bound in red leather, it looked much newer than the yellowed copy Etana had perused in the vestals’ library last week on her fourth night there. Still, it was the same book, the same compilation of Eia’s customary law passed down through generations that held Etana’s chance to get Areg Sebi’s death sentence commuted to life imprisonment.

When the clerks found the canon, one of them picked up the book and scurried to the high judge.

“Right here, my lord,” he said, pointing at the relevant section.

Judge Mahabmet read the Canon silently while the crowd held its breath. When his lips stopped moving, he flipped through to the beginning of the book, then to the end, as if looking for something.

He turned to the clerk, his brows drawn. “The canons in this section… they were all abrogated centuries ago, weren’t they?”

Another assistant trotted up to him with another volume in his hands. “Most of them, my lord, but not all. It looks like canon number 216 was never formally repealed.”

Judge Mahabmet exchanged looks with his apologetically shrugging assistants. Then he glanced at Chief Ultek, red-faced with rage, at Areg Sebi, frowning in confusion, and then—finally—at Etana.

“State your name,” he said to her.

“Etana Tidryn, my lord.”

“Are you of age?”

“Yes, I am twenty-four years old,” she murmured.

He looked her up and down as if trying to figure out how a young menial had learned about a long-forgotten but never-abolished custom that even he, Eia’s high judge, had no notion of until now.

“Speak louder,” he commanded. “Are you married, or have you been married before?”

“No, my lord,” she said.

He nodded. “Go on then, Dame Tidryn. Tell us why you invoked canon number 216, otherwise known as Maiden’s Privilege.”

Next to him, the police chief clutched his holstered gun and hissed an elaborate profanity. It was more of a tale, actually, relating how ‘the little whore’s whoring mother’ had fornicated with every single reeking bum on Hente to produce such a whore of a daughter.

Etana pushed her chin up. “I wish to marry the condemned.”