Tyr wakes up a very different person. Tyra is forced to renounce her past, abandon her place as her father's son and heir, and remake herself as her mother's daughter. Old friends become strangers. A new bond is forged with her sister, Tisa, but is it enough to save her?

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The Legal Stuff: The Warrior from Batuk  © 2004, 2007 Aardvark
 
This work is the property of the author, and the author retains full copyright, in relation to printed material, whether on paper or electronically. Any adaptation of the whole or part of the material for broadcast by radio, TV, or for stage plays or film, is the right of the author unless negotiated through legal contract. Permission is granted for it to be copied and read by individuals, and for no other purpose. Any commercial use by anyone other than the author is strictly prohibited, and may only be posted to free sites with the express permission of the author.
 

 
Photo Credit: 3.bp.blogspot.com

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Chapter 3
 
 
My eyelids opened slowly, then focused. The ceiling was not my own. I moved. Not right! I moved again, sharper this time, and felt -- them -- move on my chest. I shook my head, shocked anew by a mass of hair. Through my rapidly disappearing lethargy, I forced my head to lift from the pillow and looked down. I wore a nightgown where I had always slept naked indoors. I had breasts! I felt them, the texture of the cotton… I brought my hands up and touched them, pressed them inward, took them in slender olive hands. Not mine! They were the hands of a woman -- and I felt it all!

“Tyr?” spoke Tisa’s familiar voice, softly from the side, and her hand lowered to rest upon my shoulder.

Starting at the contact, for even that gentle pressure felt stronger than it should have, I snapped my head away from the breasts I had been exploring and looked up. I was in Tisa’s guest bed; the light from her window meant it was early afternoon. Tisa stood, leaning over the bed and staring down at me in grave concern. She looked bone weary.

“Tisa!” I began, then stopped at the sound of my voice. Feeling sick, I managed to push myself up with appallingly weak arms into a sitting position. As I did so, gravity reformed those breasts lower on my chest, and a wider, more rounded bottom shifted. Breasts. I had breasts. I was a woman. Only Ruk’s Serum could have done it. My fists clenched on the sheets and blood rushed to my ears as I tried to will it away. I was no longer a man!

“Tisa!” I shouted, hating the feminine shrill of it. “How did this happen? Who did this to me?”

She took my hand, a woman’s gesture of support I absolutely did not want. I snatched it away and stared at her. “Tell me!”

She bit her lip, shaking her head rapidly. “We don’t know! Father was hoping that you could tell us when you woke up.” Her eyes were puffy from crying earlier, and she seemed ready to start again. “You’re still a part of Eagles, Tyr. Remember that.”

“Who knows?”

“Everyone, certainly everyone at Eagles. It was an impossible secret to keep. Father announced it two days ago to the men. I’m sorry.”

I took a few deep breaths, trying hard to ignore the unnatural masses on my chest, and forced myself to concentrate. If I remained completely still, I felt nearly the same. It was only when I moved that my new dimensions became apparent. I still had a family. It wasn’t much consolation, a pathetically thin reed, but I held onto that, reciting a warrior’s mantra meant to calm the heart rate before a battle.

It could hardly be worse. Not only a woman, I was a natural slave -- a disgrace to my family. When it happened unexpectedly it was considered the will of the Gods. But it was no God who had a hand in this. I didn’t think I could get any angrier, but I was wrong. As I twisted towards my sister, the motion jiggled my breasts again, and I had the oddest feel of a small waist over wide hips.

“Where is Met?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

“Confined to his quarters. Father wanted to see you before he did anything. Goddess, I’m so sorry,” she said, and offered me her hand again.

I saw it as a test. It was a woman’s gesture, but it had been well meant. I didn’t want to insult her again, so I allowed her to take it -- and nearly snatched it away again.

My hand, once so much more massive, was the same size and shape as my sister’s; her slender fingers and palm joined mine seamlessly. My forearm, layered with tough muscle I’d taken years to build was gone, replaced by a smooth, elongated impostor, perhaps a third its circumference. Raging now, I had a new desire, a compulsion. I threw back the covers. I wore a cotton nightdress, a woman's garment. Where the fabric settled showed clearly what I had lost.

I swung my legs over the side. Dizzy from the sharp movement, Tisa was again there with a hand, which I accepted only because I had to get to my feet. There was a short drop to the floor, startling me. Everything was so much bigger. The solid wooden beams of the ceiling were farther away, the window was higher and Tisa, once shorter than me by eight inches, was my height or taller. Walking was an adventure. The muscles on my legs attached to wider hips, forcing a slight sway to my gait. Dimly, I realized that I was walking like a woman.

I made it to the bathroom on my own, pushing Tisa’s hand away when I had my balance, nearly falling once because of my changed center of gravity. I went immediately to stand before the large mirror. It showed the full length of a furious woman in a nightdress staring back at me. I struggled to remove the garment, and this time allowed Tisa to help me. Gritting my teeth, I supposed that there was no reason to keep her from seeing me as I was. There was nothing I had that she didn’t, not anymore.

I was beautiful, of course. Ruk’s Serum DNA was taken from only the finest on Zhor. The woman who’s appearance I copied might still live, or could have died centuries ago. My breasts were well chosen for my build with large, dark and doubtless sensitive nipples befitting a hot slave. I was slim, but not as slim as my sister, having more muscle than I had thought, this body being closer to athletic than lush with a smooth covering of soft skin.

All traces of my manhood were gone; there was no indication that I had ever been a warrior or man. Where the external had mounted, I had nothing. Below that, the beginnings of a slit between my legs announced my sex.

“By the Gods!” the woman in the mirror shouted in a girlish snarl, glaring back at me. Even the way I stood was different. It wasn’t just that my hips had widened. It had increased behind me as well, expanding my rear end, redesigning me to allow the passage of children. I could give birth!

As a woman, I would have periods unless I took slave bitters. Babies! And that wasn’t the worst of it! I threw back my head and shrieked.

“Tyr! Are you all right?” Tisa shouted, moving towards me.

“Stay back, Tisa!” I yelled at her.

She came anyway and took my hand. I glared at her, trying hard to look threatening, but it didn’t have its usual effect. She continued to hold on, extending only sympathy and concern. I made myself rigid, and fought the urge to cry, a woman's reaction to stress! I doubted that I had the strength to shake her arm loose. Formerly one who led men into battle, I couldn’t even muster the authority tell my little sister to leave me alone. Gods! I was weak. Even when my strength returned, all men would be stronger than me. My weapons were too heavy to be useful, my warrior clothes useless.

When she let me, I returned to the woman in the mirror. There was nothing of the old me in her. The blond hair and blue eyes I'd shared with Mother and Tisa had been eradicated. Hair like midnight fell halfway down my back. A fine straight nose nestled in an alluring face with large black eyes, and my lips seemed larger than average.

Men would think about abducting me. Without the strength to stop them, or protectors to aid me, I wouldn’t have a chance. The woman in the mirror was very pretty, perhaps even prettier than Angel. In my head I saw her as attractive and desirable. As a normal Zhorian male, I might have had a reaction, stirrings in my groin, or at least a desire to place my hands on her womanly curves.

The desire was there, but it wasn’t the same -- I no longer had the means. Desperate to hold onto a piece of what I was, I wanted her with a power and need I had never felt before. It was absurd, but I wanted to take me.

“Tyr. Please!” Tisa pleaded, pulling gently on my arm to get my attention. “How can I help?”

I ripped my gaze from the mirror to her, and flushed. My sister was always an attractive girl growing up and had developed into a fine-looking woman. With her so much larger and assuming greater authority, and with me in my reduced state, it was like looking at someone else. She looked at me through the clear blue eyes of an intensely attractive woman, not my sister. Her lips and skin… I shook my head to clear it. For an instant, I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her. A strange, exciting sensation flowed through my body, utterly at odds with my male desires, tingling my skin, and invigorating new internals between my legs.

I wanted to laugh, or pull my hair until I woke up from this horrible dream. Compared to waking up as a serum girl, the desire for my sister was minor. It wasn’t even totally unexpected. It happened occasionally that new serum girls were found in their pens wrapped together in the morning, or caught out moaning and crying out in the night, their soft lips meeting in passionate kisses, and slender fingers exploring newfound hot and exciting places. Slavers generally didn’t even punish them, knowing that they were merely succumbing to their urges. They usually just pulled them apart and chained the girls separately. Ruk’s Serum’s effects varied somewhat from girl to girl. Enjoying the sight of women temporarily was not rare, and would disappear in a short time on its own, or could be driven out of a girl easily, as a dominating man stimulated her submissive urges.

I looked back to my image and forced myself to admit what was obvious. Hesitantly at first, but more as the fascination became irresistible, I moved my head this way and that, turned and made different expressions. Gradually my mind began to accept the woman to be me. Leaning forward, placing my palms against the glass, I looked into my eyes and made myself see who I was at that moment, a young insecure woman, confused and afraid.

I despaired at what I had become, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I should have been shouting, screaming, running down the hall with a knife to spill the blood of the one who had robbed me of my life. The serum, at least in part, was denying me the full rage I was due by making my new body feel normal. Even now, movements that had been awkward, like walking, shifting while maintaining balance, moving my arms and legs, and even brushing back hair that had become an instant annoyance when it fell in front of my face, were more automatic, more natural. My body, through its responses, was telling me that I was a woman.

It was part of the process. Unlike a serum that made a man larger or more handsome, or changed a woman to match a form she desired, Ruk’s Serum was more involved. Male responses and movements had to adapt to the serum girl’s new body. The more my mind accepted what I was, the more I would come to think of myself as a woman. My mind and body would blend.

The process with Rita, Kitten, and Flower had been rapid. Of course, they had been given no chance. Any resistance had been met with the whip, the rack, or stimulation the new serum girls were unprepared to fight. All three were now girls, in spirit as well as body. I touched the place where children might now grow, wondering at the feel of my skin, then moved my fingertips over the thin layer of fat that made women soft and smooth. It was like touching Angel or Wanda. The second pass contained less wonder; my body was already at work, informing me that it was the way I was supposed to feel. My libido would change and become more active; it had to eventually, unless I forced it to remain dormant by locking myself away forever, never to see the sight of men.

Serum girls were natural slaves. Our sexual passions were legendary. It was just a matter of time, from tomorrow to years, before I would feel it.

I leaned closer and sighed heavily into the face I now owned.. Over time, it would slowly replace the image of my male self in my mind. It was all so different! It was almost easier to think that I had died in battle, or that Tyr had left one day and never returned. So, Met had won after all, just not exactly the way I had thought he would. But it would not be the final victory. I looked deep into my black eyes. They were pretty and expressive. Men would like them. I willed myself to look further, imagining steel in their depths. There were a few serum girls who fought to keep themselves free -- and won.

I turned to face my sister, who was staring at me with the most peculiar expression. She alternated her gaze, first at my face, then to my breasts, then between my legs, and then back to my face. “Tisa,” I said, breaking her fixation, “we must talk.”

Her eyes moved up and focused on my eyes. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was surprised,” she said in a tight voice.

“It’s all right,” I said, managing a grim leer. I could hardly trust myself to speak, but I took a long shuddering breath, and then said what needed to be said: “I’m a serum girl. My days as a warrior are finished, and I will not inherit Eagles.”

Between my interest in her and her staring at me, it didn’t feel right standing naked in front of her, so I shrugged into the nightdress. My breasts, as I had suspected, were sensitive. The fabric moving over them had caused a strong, pleasant reaction, one that I resented bitterly. I ground my teeth, allowing my hate. I wanted to scream. I would kill my brother for this!

“Tisa,” I said in my woman’s voice, pitched slightly higher than my sister’s, “I hope you don’t think badly of me.”

She shook her head quickly. “Of course not! You did nothing to deserve this! You were my brother and now you are my sister. What must be will be.” She looked down then, embarrassed for me. She knew very well what would likely happen.

It was as good as I could have hoped for from her. “What about Father, Mother, and Ron?”

She shrugged helplessly, lifting her arms uncertainly.

“Tisa, tell me.”

“Honestly, Tyr, I don’t know! Father is heartbroken, of course. Mother is, well -- Mother. Ron…” She sighed. “Ron is taking this very hard. I think he feels he let you down.”

“That absurd. I’ll talk to him.”

She glared at me. “Don’t. Let him come to you when he can. I doubt that he wants to see you -- like this. Wait at least until some time has passed.”

I turned away so that she wouldn’t see me fight-off tears. My emotions were already far closer to the surface than I liked. I tried to put myself in Ron’s position. He followed the warrior’s way. He might prefer to think of me as one dead, wishing to remember me as I was. It was a form of respect, although one that I wondered if he could sustain -- considering that I had no intention of leaving Eagles.

“All right,” I sighed.

“There is one thing. Father wants you to wear a veil when you leave the room. He says that you’ll eventually have the needs of a serum girl, and Eagles can’t have a scandal traced back to us.”

Even the comparatively few serum girls who could function as freewomen had to have their urges sated. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that; the idea of mating with a man disgusted me; I shivered thinking about it, but it was almost certain that I would change. “I’ll fight the urges, Tisa. I won’t disgrace the family.”

She gave me a good hard look, apparently finding what she wanted to see. “I know you will, and I’ll help you,” she said. “Well, you certainly won’t need Angel and Wanda any more.”

“Let it alone, Tisa,” I said. My voice was too girlish and amiable to make it sound the way I wanted it to. Unless I growled, everything forceful I said came out sweet with all the power of a suggestion.

She nodded. “I’ll tell Father and Mother that you’re awake. Before you meet them, you should take a bath. You smell from three days in bed.”

I sighed at the thought; this would be a very tough meeting. I sniffed my armpit. I did stink, although it wasn’t the sweat I was used to. It was something to do; for a moment, I would have something to keep the nightmare away. “I’ll heat the water now.”

She shook her head. “No, sister,” she said. By the way she said it, she liked the way it sounded. “You’re too weak. I’ll do that for you.”

I was weak; even lifting the nightdress had been a struggle. At least my humiliating dependence would be temporary; the serum’s weakness would pass in a few hours. In the meantime, Tisa waited to see how I dealt with the label she’d just applied. I took it as another test. A warrior must accept reality, regardless of how harsh it was, but this would harder than most. “Thank you -- sister,” I said.

Tisa smiled and stepped forward, pulling me into a perplexing embrace. Despite what I would have wanted, I enjoyed it in a strange way, feeling her hands on my back, her breasts against mine, and our pelvises meeting. I inhaled the sweet smell of her hair, and my nipples expanded into absurdly large, hard cones under the nightdress. I did nothing, of course, enduring my attraction to her.

I rested while she pumped the water for the hot water pot and the bath, fighting tears whenever I thought too much. The fire she started under the pot didn’t take long to heat the water. As soon as the bath was ready, Tisa left to tell our parents that I was awake.

A little stronger now, I pulled the nightdress over my head and climbed into the sunken tub. I had avoided touching my breasts and saer before. To wash my body, though, I had to touch them.

As expected, washing the gap between my legs was dangerous. From my experience with Angel, Wanda, and others, too numerous to count, I knew the power of that well of feminine joy. Pretending that I was washing someone else was impossible. The feel of the sponge as it glided over each new curve and altered dimension screamed that they were mine. I held off until the last, that new space, and slid down the widened hips, across the broadened expanse between, over the girlish triangle of silky black hair and what was gone, down to where I couldn’t see. Fascinated and terrified, I discarded the sponge and widened my legs, exploring myself with the tips of my fingers, first the softness of my inner thighs, especially where they approached my saer, and then gradually inward, panting and biting my lower lip as I drew near -- but I needed to know.

First there was a ridge of flesh on both sides, like a protection, which separated as my legs widened. Another layer, more delicate, lay beneath, and I parted it with two fingers of one hand, and slid a third inside, penetrating and feeling that which no man could ever feel, the inside of oneself, and the tiniest sense of fullness. I stopped and withdrew, accidentally brushing the tiny nodule between folds, which produced a twinge of exquisite pleasure. I forced myself away and waited for it to recede, imagining the feel of my blade entering my brother’s throat. After that I was far more careful.

The breasts were nearly as bad. I rubbed the rough sponge over, under, and around, refusing my skin the feel it desired, and avoided the hard, erect points, taking perverse enjoyment in denying this alien body what it so fervently wanted. With discipline, I avoided touching them more than absolutely necessary, and gradually my nipples gave up and subsided.

Tisa had laid-out some clothes on her bed for me while was in the bath. Women wore dresses in Batuk. Only a comparative few cities on Zhor, mostly in the forests and mountains, where a dress might catch or otherwise impede a woman’s progress, used breeches. There were split dresses for riding, but either Tisa thought I would have no problem wearing a dress, or she thought that it would be better that I became accustomed to it as quickly as possible. I tried to convince myself that a dress was just an article of clothing, and a halter was just a piece of cloth that went under a blouse, but I couldn’t rationalize it away. Only women wore dresses. Women with breasts wore halters. Still, unless I wanted to greet my father and mother naked, I would have to wear what Tisa had set aside for me.

After drying off, I pulled on the shift, and then the halter, which would hold my breasts in check. It cross-laced up in the back, tying off just behind the neck. I had to adjust the strings a couple of times before it was relatively comfortable, as I discovered that I was slightly larger than Tisa.

In the end it wasn’t too hard once I had the knack, but the anger I’d managed to suppress returned with a vengeance when I realized that unless I became a slave and my master wanted my breasts free, that I’d be doing this for the rest of my life! Some of the careless joys of life were gone: taking my shirt off in the sun; even pounding my chest in the Eagles salute, would be traded for a woman’s undergarment that needed to be laced correctly so that it wouldn’t bind or sag; that would likely be hot in the summer; might catch food at the table if I wasn’t careful -- and was designed to capture the attention of a man.

I barely cooled when I reflected that all freewomen, unless they were small, had to wear them, and I had rarely heard them complain. Regardless, most of them never worried too much about becoming a slave! None of them had lost their lives, the woman they loved -- their manhood.

I buttoned up the long-sleeved blouse and drew on the woolen brown dress, the shape of which amazingly fit me after I pulled it completely over the flare of my wider hips. With the Eagles colors of orange and brown, Tisa was letting me know in no uncertain terms that I was family. Despite the long dress, wearing nothing under the shift made me feel half-naked, as if I was hiding something. Moving around the room to get used to the feel of cloth brushing against my legs, I couldn’t escape the sensation of unnatural freedom.

This novelty didn’t do anything except infuriate me. The freedom in the dress was because there was nothing below my waist except legs. Nothing stuck out, I noted coldly; there would be nothing to scratch in the morning or adjust. Tisa would think nothing of it, but never a man.

I fought off tears that threatened to break my control, and clenched soft, weak hands that would never again be able to use a sword effectively or lead men. The absolute best I could do now was find a way to live according to a set of rules that had never been intended for me. And my freedom might be brief. I had no illusions.

A man could take me at any time. With my slave genes, I would be branded and chained at his feet, living to please him. I would be happiest if my master were demanding and strict. If I had been born to it, it would have been one thing, but to force it on me…

I exhaled slowly. It was no use getting worked up over it. Woman or not, I would fight until I could fight no more. But first, I would plan ways to kill Met.

But even those pure thoughts of revenge were difficult to sustain. I stood at the window as I waited. Tisa lived on the first floor with iron bars on the windows to prevent abduction. It overlooked the garden behind the house. She enjoyed walking there; perhaps I would as well. Confined to the house without a veil, I suddenly wished powerfully to go outside.

When the door opened, I expected my mother and father to appear, but Tisa had returned alone. She smiled when she saw me. “You look wonderful, Tyr. One might think you had been wearing dresses your whole life.”

I snorted. To a man it would have been a deadly insult. “I know dresses; I’ve undressed a few freewomen.”

“Tyr, are you all right?” She moved closer and had a good look at my face. Unsure of what to say, I said nothing. She looked straight at me, and I discovered that with shoes, we were exactly the same height. “I’m not going to pretend this will be easy,” Tisa said, “but I’ll do what I can. As my brother, you were my strength. Allow me to help you now. I can, you know.”

It was hard to look at her. I had always been the strong one. Now, I had nothing to give her -- except the truth. “I don’t know where I’m going, who I am now, or even if I have any chance at staying free. I’m not sure how to fight this! How in Hades am I supposed to live as a woman?”

“You start with a name. I can’t call you Tyr all the time. Maybe Shadi, Syri, Pila, Kria…hmm, I’ve always liked Lyssel…”

“No. My name will be Tyra.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“It’s not meant to fool anyone. The truth will come out sooner or later; I’d rather say it and get it over with.”

She placed her hand on her chin considering. “Tyra. Tyra l’Fay. It will remind you who you are. I see much of Tyr in you, Tyra.”

“I think it might be better to try to forget him,” I said, failing to control the wavering in my voice. “Look at me! I can’t go back. I can’t even face the men I know without a veil. All I can do is move on. If the Gods say that I must be a woman, then I must accept their will. I … I will be Tyra, whoever — sh ... she is.”

She covered my hand with her own, the familiar gesture used to comfort women. I could say nothing; I had just told her that I accepted my fate. She moved closer, and when I looked, there were tears in her eyes. “I’ll never forget him, Tyra. Tyr is within you. He was the best of us all. There’s no reason why Tyra can’t have his heart. But there is also a woman inside you now. I tell you that there is no shame for you to be afraid.”

I dropped my head and sighed. Tisa was likely the only true friend I had left in the family. She was saying that I wasn’t a warrior anymore, that a woman could admit fear, should admit it when necessary. An ache swelled my heart, rising to my throat, blocking words, and then to my eyes. Emotions that I could no longer control expressed themselves in ways that I wouldn’t have permitted had I been a warrior. “Tisa,” I began, and to my despair I had to wipe away a few tears, “I am afraid of what I might become.”

She held me for a time, another female moment. I let it continue for a while, then I backed away. “I intend to fight. I would rather this were an enemy I could see, but I’ll do what I can. I’ll leave the city rather than disgrace our family.”

Her face shone. “That’s the Tyr in you speaking!”

I nodded towards the window. “I’d like to go outside if there’s time.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I don’t want to stay here.”

“All right. Father and mother won’t be here for a half-hour. Here, let me fix your hair first.” Using a large wooden barrette, she showed me how to pin my hair up in an easy style that would keep it out of the way.

Just before we left, I put on the veil. I loathed what it meant, but it really wasn’t too uncomfortable, just annoying. Women wore it in the city for a variety of purposes: sometimes a very pretty woman was afraid of being abducted; another might wear one to pretend that she was pretty enough to be stolen; and some wore it for privacy. This one was a sheer glossy black and covered my face below the eyes. With a scarf to cover my hair, I could be practically anonymous.

The entrance to the garden wasn’t far from Tisa’s door. Once we stepped outside the back way into the garden and I tasted freedom from the house for the first time. The garden was divided into several parts; each designed to be a surprise to the visitor. Divided by tall hedges, there were several paths and hidden entrances not visible until one was very close. We walked through a few; a small brook running by a sea of daffodils; a varied display of roses; and Tisa brought me through to her favorite spot, a circular bench surrounding an oak tree. From there could be seen a few smaller hardwoods and a view of the Fortress.

“How do like the garden?”

I shot her a glance. Tisa used to know when I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. “It’s quiet,” I said, hoping my short answer would remind her.

“It’s a world away from talk of killing, fighting, politics -- and slaves.”

“Tisa…” I shook my head, resigned to it. My little sister seemed determined to talk. “Yes, I suppose it’s a good place to forget the world for a while. As for slaves -- we can’t avoid the subject.”

She put her hand over mine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it must be painful for you: I think of women crossing their wrists, begging to be slaves.” She shuddered. “I’ve seen it, and yet it’s still hard to imagine.”

“For slaves, it’s freedom. I own Angel and Wanda. I cherish them, and treat them as their natures require. Of course,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, “all that is over.”

“Tyra, I…” She turned her head and began to cry.

“Tisa?”

“Tyra, I could never tell anyone this before, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like. I’ve dreamed that a brave, strong man might steal me from Eagles. I’m afraid sometimes that I might be a natural slave!”

Now that is something she would never tell me if I were a man.

After hesitating for a second, I took her into my arms. My breasts pressing against hers was still strange, but I pushed the distraction aside. When she stopped crying a minute later, I gave a quick look around the garden, making sure there was no one in sight. Then I pulled the veil aside and took both her arms to get her attention.

“Tisa, listen to me! I believe that most women have dreams like that whether they admit it or not. It's normal. This doesn’t mean that you want to be a slave. You’re curious.”

“But … how can I be sure?” she asked, sniffling.

“Tell me, do you tease strange men shamelessly with your body, men you think might steal you away?”

“Of course not!”

“Do you hate men, sparing no opportunity to describe them as barbarians, pigs, disgusting animals and the like?”

Her mouth turned up a fraction at that. “You know I do not. Despite the actions of a few, men are not, in general, beasts.” She sighed. “So, you don’t think I'm a natural slave?”

I shook my head, still surprised by the mass of hair on my back. “No, Tisa, I don’t. And I would say that I know something of the subject.”

She leaned back against the tree in relief. “Thank you. From you, I believe it.” She glanced at the shadows from the concealing hedges surrounding the private garden, measuring the time. “How does it feel so far?”

I laughed. Tisa had sounded like this was some sort of adventure. “Gods, what a question. This body is trying to tell me that it’s mine, but it’s a damned liar.”

“We will manage this together, Tyra. Big sister,” she said confidently, then smiled in a way that promised shopping trips, tea parties, and other girlish delights.

It was more than I could stand, and I rose from the bench. “You know, I’m feeling much stronger. I want to go back inside now.”

“Good.” With another glance towards the shadows, she stood and brushed off her dress. Then she reached over and pulled a piece of long grass from a fold in my dress behind me and smoothed it down over my thigh, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was, but a man would never have done that to another. “Tyra, instead of moving back to your old quarters, why not stay with me for the time being -- at least until you’re more comfortable?”

“I’ll stay the night, but tomorrow I’m moving back.”

She nodded, but I could tell she was disappointed. “Did you know that Angel and Wanda are still living there?”

“I’m not too afraid to face my own slaves. If things don’t work out, I can always send them to the slave quarters.”

“Mm, true.”

We went back inside the same way. It was nearly unavoidable that I would see men. The corridors in the main house weren’t only for living quarters. Eagles didn’t just operate a company for booty, or in peacetime, as guards for hire; most of Eagles’ wealth was in trade and investments. Business was likely to be conducted inside the main house at any time during the day.

The few men I saw did nothing for me, but it didn’t mean they had no effect. Like all normal men on Zhor, they were bigger, stronger and taller than me. Three men looked in our direction in a male once-over. One took a longer look at my breasts and I imagined eyes targeting my rear end. Suddenly very conscious of what sex I was and what I looked like, my heart pounded like a deer in wolf country. Tisa merely gave a couple of men she knew a brief smile, said hello once, and passed on. I ignored them as much as I could without looking like an idiot.

She opened her door and I followed her inside. I ripped off the veil and sat on the bed where I awoke as a serum girl not quite three hours before.

“Are you all right?” she asked me.

Hades, no, I’m not all right! I’m a serum girl! I’d rather face the long spear with my bare hands than see a man look at me like that again.

“Men looked at me like I was a woman. I assume that I’ll get used to it in time.”

“If you’re sure. It seemed to me that you were upset.”

I wanted to scream. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had described me as being “upset,” a distinctly female word. “I’m fine. Tisa, would you mind if I talked to Father and Mother privately?”

“Are you sure you won’t need me there?”

“Yes. I’ll see you afterwards.”

“All right. When they arrive, I’ll be taking a bath.” She left to heat up a kettle.

I wasn’t sure that she understood. Father had to see me strong, as strong as he could see a serum girl who used to his son, anyway. I was not as sanguine as Tisa about my future. I clenched my hands into fists. And there was the matter of Met…

As I expected, when I answered the door, Father was furious.

He looked at me closely, stepping aside to allow Mother a good view. His face twisted in disgust and he spit into the hall. “Tyr, how did this happen?” he shouted.

I gave my report, related the day’s events leading up to the time I felt ill. We went through it together, compiling a list of ways that could have put Ruk’s serum into my system. Ruk's Serum was normally injected into the blood. I hadn't felt the prick of a needle, but I had been wounded that day. As best we could figure, the fresh cut in my mouth had been the likeliest route. Theoretically, someone might have introduced the serum in the food or drink at supper, where only I would have been affected -- or in the tavern. A minute amount likely had made the serum slower to affect me. If this were true, it would be impossible to tell who had done it. Almost anyone at Eagles would have had the opportunity.

Father collapsed in a nearby chair and held his hands over his eyes. It is not true that warriors do not cry. They, as well as any other Zhorian, cry in joy when witnessing things of great beauty or cry tears of sadness when appropriate, but father would have to be strong this day for the family.

He seemed worn out: no revelation that -- he had waited three long days for me to transform, waiting to see if I had evidence to clear or convict his oldest son.

He looked at me in the face, his black eyes fierce under brooding eyebrows. “Met denies doing this to you, and I don’t have proof.”

I swallowed hard. Without proof, Father wouldn’t kill anyone, although no one else would have had a reason to make me a serum girl. Gnashing my teeth, I cried, “Father! You should call me by my new name, Tyra l’Fay. After all, it will be my name for the rest of my life!”

Father looked up at my shrill tone, but he let it pass. “Tyra,” he said, trying the name on his tongue. He glanced at my mother. When I swapped my suren for a saer, I had ceased to be my father’s son and became my mother’s daughter. Not too surprisingly, Mother didn’t look overjoyed to have a serum girl offspring. “Tyra is an interesting choice for a name,” my father grunted. “And it has the virtue of being easy to remember. You would fight this then?”

“Hah! Of course.”

“You know the odds against you?”

I looked towards the ceiling and laughed. “Does it really matter, Father? I have to try.”

“It matters. Your chosen name imposes an obligation on us all. With it, you are saying that you are still a member of the family. What you contemplate has honor, but only as long as you stay free. You had better be sure you know what you’re doing. I will not permit a scandal at Eagles. If you fail, daughter or not, you will be sold to the first caravan.”

I lifted my head and stared. “If I’m unsuccessful, you won’t have to. I’ll leave on my own. What I will not do is live in some foreign city and wait until a man decides to brand me!”

“Are you certain that alternative wouldn’t be better? You won’t have the freedom to do as you please here. You want everything to appear ‘normal’? Fine, then; be normal. You’ll be expected to attend family functions, and sit for dinner at the high table, occasionally in full view of the men you once commanded. You will conduct yourself as a well-behaved daughter, and wear a veil outside your quarters. Can you accept those conditions?”

“Yes!”

He snorted. “Very well. If you want it that badly then you’ll get your wish. I know what serum girls do. Do whatever is necessary to stay free, but do it quietly; I can’t permit you to dishonor this house. Are we clear?”

“Like temple glass.”

“Good.”

He stood up and walked towards me. Formerly my height, he now towered over me by more than a head. He hesitated, and then he thrust his arms straight out, grabbing my shoulders hard enough to hurt, although I didn’t think he knew that.

“I regret that I didn’t stop this. It was -- preventable,” he said. Father stopped to stare at me, waiting for my reply.

His words jarred me more than his rough treatment. My father wore an expression I’d rarely seen from him before: remorse. I hated Met with a black passion, but there was darkness enough in the pit for Father. In hindsight, he should have seen what was obvious and declared either Met or me his heir. Tight lines that strained his face and puffiness around the eyes were signs that he had paid for it with sleepless nights. It was nothing compared to what had happened to me, but in a way I was proud of him. He was my father; his carelessness had contributed to the loss of my manhood and likely my freedom, yet he was still brave enough to look to me for judgment. I would have liked more of an apology, but a mistake is not a malicious act -- no matter that both can have terrible consequences -- and he was not the direct cause.

“I blame the one who gave me Ruk’s Serum. It begins and ends with Met.”

He nodded gravely at my absolution, turning it into a small bow. To my utter surprise, he blinked a few times to stop tears from forming. I wasn’t sure what to do, not that I could have done much, locked as I was at arms length in twin grips of iron.

“Father?” I asked.

He forced himself to look at me. “I’ve lost two sons today. You won’t see Met in Batuk again.”

“You’re exiling him?”

“When I leave this room, I’m going to his quarters. Met will be out the Lion Gate within the quarter-hour. He will have a sword, the clothes on his back, and three days rations. If he ever returns to Batuk, he will die, law or no law.”

Outside the gates, Met would still be a free man to make his life as he would. I would always be a serum girl, a poor revenge -- for now. “Yes, Father,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Tonight at dinner, I will announce Ron as my heir.”

I’d expected that, so the blow was minor. “Yes, Father.”

“It was to have been your place. As heir, Ron will be my second.” The words were severe enough, bringing back what might have been a few days ago, but the way he looked at me when he said them contained a question and an implication I didn’t care for.

“What are you saying? If you’re asking me if I will accept his authority, I will, of course. Are you thinking that I might make trouble -- like this?”

“Tyra…” he sighed. Sapped by worry and lack of sleep, he let his guard down for a moment -- and I understood.

Ruk’s Serum ensured that a man would not remain so in a woman’s body. Inevitably, I would change. From now on, whenever Father saw me, there would a question in his mind of how much of the man remained in me.

But that didn’t explain all of it. Worse than watching his son become a woman in body and mind would be seeing me fade away, witnessing my defeat as the urges overwhelmed my last defenses, seeing me on my knees, crossing my arms before a strong man -- the moment when all traces of his son were extinguished. It was only through my father’s love that he had given me the choice to stay in Eagles. It was clear now that Father, and probably Ron, gave me little or no chance.

I lowered my head, close to tears. I understood better now why Ron avoided me, and why father literally held me away. He feared to be near me. He didn’t want to feel my thinner arms, or breasts against his chest. He didn’t want to know me as Tyra. There was nothing I could say in my defense. Father would not want to hear assurances that would likely fail. In the end, only staying free would be believed.

“Tyra,” he said quietly, squeezing my shoulders to get my attention. “Stay away from Ron. He will talk to you when he is ready.”

“Yes, Father.”

He nodded, then left me without a backwards glance.

“Tyra.”

I turned at Mother’s voice. She and I rarely spoke, not because we hated each other, but because we had virtually nothing in common -- until today.

“Mother?”

“Wear something else this evening. The orange in your blouse doesn’t contrast your color well. I won’t require much; I expect that you’ll be on time for dinner, and to be polite -- for as long as you can, that is.” She flashed a brief, insincere smile, and then she, too, disappeared into the hall.

I closed the door behind her and leaned my back against it. Father had at least tried to attack the matter sideways. Mother had just said it. Except perhaps for Tisa, nobody thought I could stay free.

Tisa’s blonde head peeked out behind the corner to see if everyone was gone, then came into the room wearing a white bathrobe and a towel for her hair. “Are you all right?” Tisa asked me, concerned.

I sighed softly. “Yes, Tisa. I’m fine.”

“Goddess! Would father have really sent you away?”

“I think so, but he always liked to give someone a chance if they were willing to fight for it. I hoped that he would feel that way about me.”

She sat on her bed, mouth half open in shock. She unwrapped the towel from her head and shook her hair free. “I never thought father would even consider it.”

“In some ways I know him better than you do.” I snorted. “Do you have something I can borrow for dinner? You heard what Mother told me.”

She smiled. “Of course,” she said and bounded from the bed, heading for the closet. Pulling out a shift for herself, she picked out several blouses, placing them in front of me as I stood there, to check for color combinations, then selected three. “Try these on.”

Still numb at trying on women’s clothing, but knowing that this was just the first day of many, I went to the first blouse, an off white that would, I decided sullenly, contrast well with my olive skin and still match the dress. As I made my mother happy, Tisa removed her bathrobe, leaving her naked in front of me rubbing her hair dry with a fresh towel.

I had never seen my sister without clothes before. She was pretty, with a lean proportional body, prominent points in wide pink areolas, and a soft yellow triangle between her legs. Like most young women of twenty, she wore her hair long. Tisa turned towards me and pointed. “I like that blouse. It’s a good color for you.”

“Thanks.”

She hadn’t cared at all that I’d seen her without clothes, and, after a moment, I realized that neither had I. My interest in women was gone.

***

The curtain between the high and low tables were pulled back when I arrived for dinner, opening the view from the high table to the rest of the hall. My father had told me years before that critical moments were to be confronted with courage and a good attitude. It could still go wrong, he had gone on to explain, but at least there would be no excuses.

When Tisa stepped through the door, I wasn’t far behind. Silence greeted me like an oppressive cloud. Not thinking, I took a step to the right towards my old place, but the two chairs on that side, for Met and me, had already been removed and the table reset as if he and I had never existed; only Ron sat by father now. But it was only a misstep, and I recovered, finding my new place, a delicate gold-filigreed chair with a plush purple cushion, to the immediate left of my mother, the place for the oldest daughter.

My mother looked up as I arrived and checked my appearance critically. She nodded her tentative approval until I sat. Then she nudged me with her elbow and looked down with her eyes. I had been caught with my legs apart. Even though I wore a long dress, my “modesty” was at stake, and I squeezed my legs together like the good daughter I had agreed to be, burning with humiliation at how far I had fallen.

Virtually all of the men below the dais watched me. They would see me act with the delicacy and manners of a woman. In a pretty dress and blouse, my hair pinned up and back with a silver brooch, they would find it difficult to see the man I had once been. In the manner of men, they would imagine what was underneath my clothes, and not a few would imagine their hands on it. Regardless, I faced them from my place on the dais. I was no longer the warrior and son, but I was still a part of this great house; I had status as a daughter of Eagles.

Father began dinner when he picked-up a knife. Conversation started, but it wasn’t as loud as usual, and there was no laughter. For a time, I provided no more entertainment than eating and drinking, and ate under my mother’s watchful eye -- slowly and with small bites -- as befitted a lady.

Eating in a veil, I quickly determined, was a stupid waste of time. There is a trick to it: never look up while eating. It’s easiest to hold a hand over the mouth under the veil to create a space, but sometimes the hand picks up what is intended for the mouth. Drinking is easier as long as the vessel is narrow, like a woman’s wine glass, but it’s still clumsy. Besides that annoyance, I had to lean to avoid spilling on my breasts, which jutted forward precariously. I couldn’t see my hands as they came under the veil, and I had to cut my food into tiny bits to pass through my smaller, female mouth. I couldn’t think of a single advantage of being a woman, and I seethed behind my enforced calm, cursing Met for the third time that day.

For a while I was spared feminine chatter. Mother knew better than to ask me about fashion, and I didn’t know their friends the way they did. The upcoming flower festival held no interest, and a rumor of marriage that enthralled Tisa bored me to distraction. I concentrated on eating properly, and that took my mind away from the prattle, as well as the men who watched me. But that was short-lived. My stomach had nowhere near the capacity of old, and I filled it completely after one plate. Dabbing my mouth with the napkin and sitting back in the chair was a signal that I could no longer remain aloof.

My mother pounced immediately: “You look charming this evening, Tyra, but it could be better. You and I shall meet after dinner…”

It was difficult to tell if my mother was obtuse, or supremely dedicated to her role as Mother of Daughters. “Mother!” I replied through my teeth. “Could you at least give me a day before I receive instruction on how to be a better woman?”

She frowned, but considered what I said. “Very well, Tyra,” she said slowly, “you shall have your day, but before you leave this hall, thinking that you have evaded me, answer me this: Can you give me a single reason why you should not learn skills every woman your age already knows?”

I fairly glowed from shame imagining a curriculum of cooking, sewing, beauty tips, and manners. Any warrior would rather fry in oil, but she was right. I nearly choked on the word: “No.”

Tisa squeezed my hand under the table and leaned forward. “Mother, I can help her! Tyra and I will be together much of the time anyway.”

Mother examined us both before speaking directly to me. “All right, perhaps it would be better with someone closer to your age, but I’ll expect steady progress. Being ill-prepared would reflect poorly, not only on you, but on Eagles.”

“Yes, Mother. Now, about the veil…”

“Yes?”

“I see the need to wear it outside Eagles, but as soon as I sat down, everyone in the hall knew who I was. I’m not fooling anyone here with this piece of cloth.”

She nodded behind her and to her right, towards my father, her manner informing me that it had been his decision. “For now, I think that it’s a good idea, for no other reason than you need to learn to eat gracefully behind it. After that we’ll see.”

It was, I supposed, the best I could hope for. I turned my attention elsewhere. Up until that time, I’d been occupied with eating. Other than casually glancing up every now and then, without meeting anyone’s eyes, I’d done my best to ignore the men below the dais.

But before I started my descent into femininity, I would see those I’d led, those who had fought the dance of death beside me. I skipped over the two smaller tables in the back for the servants, gardeners, and various functionaries. Immediately below us, occupying the center of the hall, were the warriors, at a quick count, fifty-two strong this evening.

I sought out Der, my childhood friend and former second. When our eyes met I nodded. After a brief hesitation, when he searched this strange black-haired, olive-skinned woman for some trace of his old friend, he dipped his head. I passed on, meeting those who would see me: Ger, next to Ketrick, the oldest warrior; Reth, the best with the sword and shield; Yed, who had a tear in his eye; Dylan, who lifted his tankard; Ketrick looked on solemnly -- he had become my friend and one whom I would miss greatly -- and there were some who looked away.

Mother jabbed me with her elbow, hard enough to hurt. “By the Goddess, what are you doing?” she hissed.

I faced her glare easily. Good daughter or no, I would finish this.

“I’m saying goodbye.”

She had learned something about warriors in a hundred years, for she said nothing else, and I continued down the line, recognizing those would see me, passing by those who had already counted me as lost. When I was finished, I was determined not to cry, and I did not.

Towards the end of supper, Father banged his tankard on the table and stood. Ron stood with him. “Men of Eagles!” Father shouted, his gruff voice carrying easily to all corners of the hall. “Tonight I name Ron t’Pol as my heir. Until that day he is my second. Obey him as you would me.”

Most of the men pounded their mugs on the table. Many who still had cold siolat drank it down in a single motion, then joined them. But some looked to me, perhaps as many as a third, some with raised mugs in their hands. Tears flooded my eyes, and my heart came near to breaking as I realized the final loyalty of those who still saw in me a remnant of who I was. But it could not be.

I filled my glass with wine, raised it to Ron like those on the floor, lifted it to my lips and forced it all down my throat. Then I brought the glass down hard enough to nearly snap its base, producing a clear high note that rose above the heavier pounding of the men.

Mother grabbed my arm, outraged that I would insinuate myself into traditions that no longer belonged to me. “How dare you?”

“It is necessary, Mother, that I finish this.” I extended my slender index finger and touched the rim of the glass. Then I pushed it over. It fell, bouncing against the table, ringing twice in the sudden silence of the hall before lying still.

She let go of me and sighed, understanding the meaning of that tradition, at least. “I see,” she said.

To my former men, Tyr the warrior was now dead. There was only Tyra.

***

Later that night, after the sun had set completely, we again left Tisa’s room. Only a few oil lamps lit the empty corridors. Tisa pushed back the door to the garden and we passed through. It was a different place at night. The steady breeze from the mountains rustled the small leaves of the bushes, now shiny black in the dark, and wafted the larger ones overhead. The stars guided us through the maze of shadows and hedges to the bench around the tree.

Tisa smiled when she saw that I had already removed my veil, and reached behind her head to pull her barrette and pin away, shaking her blonde hair free, where it glinted and danced in the uneven light through the swaying branches.

“Your turn, Tyra. It’s all right. Mother will never know.”

“Ah, yes, Mother,” I sighed. Putting our hair down was considered improper. Although a freewoman could wear her hair any way she wanted, most pulled their hair up to separate themselves from slaves, who normally wore their hair free. I found the small catch after a brief search and pulled it away, and soon my hair fell to my back and sides, the thick mass of it still startling. I fluffed and separated it until it was loose then closed my eyes and let the cool breeze take the tension away.

“Does it feel good?”

“Like a cold siolat at the end of a hot day. Is this why you wanted to go to the garden?”

“I wanted to show you something nice. You weren’t enjoying yourself inside.”

I gave her a long burning look for the reminder. She had just spoken of the most humiliating experience of my life.

“Well! When you went to the bathroom, there were some things you had to know right away. And then it seemed a good time to show you how to manage your monthly flow. For all we know, you might start tomorrow and…”

“Enough!” I took a deep breath and forced my hands to unclench. “Thank you for teaching me what I needed to know.”

“Believe me, it was embarrassing for both of us. Tyra, I don’t want you to hate this.”

“Don’t ask me to like it. I have to accept that I’m physically a woman. If I ever forget, squatting over a hole will take care of that. I will learn, little sister. Mother is right. I do need to know how to behave in polite society; to cook, clean, make a dress, choose the perfect flowers for a party…”

“Goddess, you make it sound so horrible! A woman is not a list of things she does, no more than a warrior is -- well, sticking a sword through a man.”

“I’m not an idiot. Who knows? Perhaps someday I will enjoy sipping tea from a tiny cup and coo at a baby with a filthy behind.”

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Listen, I can’t do anything about the natural slave part of you -- that fight is yours -- but the woman inside you is different. Tyra, what woman would you like to be?”

“What woman would I like to be?” I looked up to the stars in the clear cold sky and laughed. The hollow sound of it fit my mood. “I just want to live a free life with honor!”

“And beyond that?”

“Isn’t that enough to ask of the Gods?”

Tisa shook her head sadly. “You’ve lost everything. I was there when your body shifted and shrank; your hair grew long and black; your face softened to become beautiful. Oh, Tyra! Despite what happened, I hoped that something could be salvaged from this; that you might become the sister I never had. We could do those things together that sisters do, and share in ways that Mother and I never could.”

“It may come to pass that I will feel that I am truly a woman someday,” I said, speaking the unimaginable, but knowing it was possible. “I will change -- some. Even now, my emotions are -- closer. In time…”

“No. You don’t understand. A woman grows from a girl by looking to her mother for guidance, mixing with other girls and boys, and coming to understand the world from her perspective. I enjoy being a woman. I imagine you learning women’s skills like memorizing lines for a play you despise. I know your warrior stubbornness. You would learn enough to make a feminine mask between you and the world. You mustn’t do this, or you may never find the joys of your sex!”

I shuddered at even the thought of it. In all my twenty-seven years, I had yet to see anything to recommend womanhood. “Tisa…”

She looked up, her eyes gleaming with tears. “There is a chance. But you might have to do the hardest thing you’ve ever done -- let go of your hatred and open your mind.”

“You ask too much. Ask me to let go after I see my blade in Met’s heart.”

“All right, all right,” she replied, holding up her hands in a calming gesture. “You deserve revenge for what Met did to you, but save your hatred until you can do something about it. Please, let me help you.”

“I’ve already told you that I’d learn whatever lessons you teach me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Mother could give you ‘lessons’. I will ask for more: I want you to see what I see, feel what I feel.”

Learning to act as a respectable woman and knowing that my mind would gradually change was bad enough, but to speak of deliberately trying to gain the womanish mindset … I shivered. It was no less than a betrayal of who I was. I would be who I must, but no more.

“No.”

“Tyra,” Tisa said, bringing her hand to my upper arm. “What are Herth Tarr’s first and second primary tenets?”

I snickered. “Since when did you become a follower of Herth Tarr?”

“A few seconds ago, when it suited my purpose. Herth Tarr said, ‘A man should be a man and a woman should be a woman.’ You are a woman. By extension, you should now seek pleasure in feminine things.” She beamed, expecting me, I supposed, to bow immediately to her interpretation of the sage’s wisdom.

“Herth Tarr also said that all serum girls should be slaves. I’ll think about what you said, but I won’t promise anything.”

Tisa quickly fell into a deep slumber that night, snoring softly. Watching me for three days had taken its toll. After lying in her guest bed for nearly an hour while my mind raced in a waking nightmare that was too easily confirmed with a touch to my chest and between my legs, I slid out from under the covers and walked to the window. The cool night breeze reached inside, molding my nightgown to feminine contours that my body insisted were correct. I took the solid iron bars in my hands and leaned forward, away from the yellow glow of the night candle, the better to see into the garden.

I must have presented an attractive sight to any man looking: a girl in soft billowing white, her hair unbound and loose, pressed against the confinements of her room like an advertisement to be taken. Gods! I felt so normal and healthy. It was a lie! The men I’d met in the hall earlier had seemed like giants, their shoulders and arms massive and powerful.

It was just the end of the first day. The last time I had fallen asleep it was as a man with Angel’s arm over my chest. I hadn’t been my best that night, but still I remembered the strength in my arms as I placed her the way I desired, and my slave’s rapture as I penetrated her beneath me. Angel was strong for a girl, yet she had had been dominated thoroughly, and had exulted in her helplessness. What would she think of me now?

I returned to bed and cried into my pillow like a girl, unable in the end to control myself. After a moment I stopped trying. Much later, worn out and numb, I fell asleep.

***

Someone was shaking my shoulder. “Tyra.”

I rolled over and looked up. Breasts shifted on my chest, reminding me who I was, but it barely fazed me; I knew already. “Tisa.” I squinted at the light and judged its angle through the window. Rubbing my eyes, I pushed myself into a sitting position and looked around blearily. Tisa was already dressed. “Am I late for breakfast?” I asked.

“You will be if you don’t hurry.” She took my arm, pulling me to my feet. “Come on. I heated up some water for you. You have barely enough time for a quick bath if you don’t wash your hair.”

“Right.” I rubbed my face on the way to the bathroom. The overnight stubble I’d had every day for a dozen years was gone forever. I finished what I needed to do that morning trying not to think too hard, squatting as if I’d always done it that way, stepping into one of Tisa’s dresses, trying to pretend that I had never worn pants.

It was easier this time. The black curtains were closed, sealing the high table from the men below. I heard their loud male voices, their rough laughter. Father met my eyes once or twice, but it was hard to read him. Ron made such an effort to avoid me it was painful.

“Tyra, your technique is improving.”

“Thank you, Mother. It’s amazing what can be done with will and discipline.”

She looked at me askance, unsure if I was being sarcastic, a bad trait in a daughter. “I think a necklace would look good around your neck. You and Tisa should go to the market today and select one. Ensure that it is suitable for a woman of Eagles, and wear it at dinner tonight.”

I burned under the veil, and only a bump under the table from Tisa saved me from reminding my mother how old I was, and that I had led men into battle, points that would have had the opposite intended effect on a woman determined to mold me into a lady. “Yes, Mother,” I said through my teeth, recalling my promise to be a well-behaved daughter.