Boabdil
Copyright© 2026 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 8
FAMILIES RESIDENCE, BOABDIL
Becoming Corinn again was like putting on an old sandal. It was stiff and pinched in unexpected places, and you discovered how much smaller your foot had once been. Tybi was not quite certain how to start, but she decided to think of Corinn as another person, and see what happened after that.
That was difficult. Corinn and Tybi were all mixed together in her head like knotted snarls of thread. Somehow, she must find and study the strands that were only Corinn. Dr. Reboullet suggested something she called hypnosis. Neither Tybi nor Corinn seemed happy with the description that came with that word. Finally, Tybi decided to keep her preparations simple, as Corinn would. She spent a day being Corinn again, washing and darning Corinn’s clothes, cooking Corinn’s meals with Corinn’s herbs and spices over an open fire started with Corinn’s glass and remembering Corinn’s life.
How did I stand it? Tybi asked herself the same question over and over. How did I let them do that to me, to my children? There was no answer, until Corinn’s hard voice echoed in her mind. You did what you must to survive, to help your friends and children survive, because you had no other choice.
As the day passed, Corinn was less a separate person inside her and more the person she simply was. Washing Corinn’s patched and worn clothes, she was Corinn, the little lost girl, mind almost a complete blank, confused and stumbling through her first work in the Clan Lord’s holding. The glass concentrated the sun’s light to ignite the kindling gathered by her hands, and she was the angry, starkly pragmatic Corinn, the frighteningly capable woman who made the hardest choices of all, because she must, because the others depended on her. As they still depended on her.
You let the Clan Lord and his men do this to you because the only alternative was worse. Corinn’s hard voice echoed coldly in her mind. You did that to survive, and for your children to survive, and for the others. You were eldest. You are eldest. They need you to be strong.
She wrapped herself in a threadbare blanket that night and slept on the ground beside the ashes of her fire. When she woke to the gray stillness before dawn, it was Corinn who silently built a new fire and prepared a rough, quick meal. Then she carefully extinguished her fire, tearing it apart and burying the embers deep. Brushing the dirt from her skirt, she stood and walked away, going to the clinic where her next task waited.
“You’re sure about this?” Senior Corby Makarova was not at all sure, herself.
“No,” Corinn answered. She looked in the mirror, seeing Corinn as the men would see her, seeing her expression as the men would see it, the anger that was always there, and always held in check. “I will do what must be done,” she said, hearing the hard, barely suppressed anger in her voice. “Thank you for asking.”
“I will be right outside,” Corby replied. “If anything happens, I’ll be there.”
“If anything happens, you will not be there,” Corinn said simply. “If anything happens, it will be over before you open the door. Rules or no Rules, if something bad happens, I will gut and dress out the man who touches me.”
“Don’t let Dr. Reboullet hear you say that,” Corby said in a low voice, looking over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t like it at all.”
“If Dr. Reboullet had lived here, she would sharpen my knife.” Corinn gave her reflection one last, careful look. Satisfied that there was nothing of Tybi looking back at her, she nodded. “Let us do this now.”
They walked to a small building on the seaward end of the main compound. There were a dozen men, Second Officer Davenport said were the Families’ allies, men from a place called the PSK. These men took turns guarding Herzerr, Borromeo, and the other, and also seeing to their wounds. That was a decision made by Second Officer Davenport, a decision Corinn agreed with the moment she heard it. If Borromeo and Herzerr thought their captors were men, they would more easily accept being locked up. She did not much care what the other one thought.
Corinn paused outside the tan building and looked around once more. How odd, she thought, realizing why she felt so uneasy. There are no walls. Everywhere she had lived as Corinn, there had been defensive stone walls. Tybi knew the Marines maintained their own invisible walls that were far more effective defenses than any stone quarried on Boabdil. Tybi also knew there were armored warriors standing guard, Marines who were so much stronger and deadlier than any warrior a Clan boasted. Even Tybi was amazed at things these Marines could do, things that had changed in the long years since she had been one of them. Tybi knew they were safer in this place than they were anywhere else on the planet.
Inside the building, in a small, whitewashed courtyard half-covered by slanting shadows, a PSK doctor greeted her. She forced herself to look him in the eye. He was a man, and that meant he was trouble, but he was not a Boabdil man. She repeatedly told herself that that made a difference.
On the table were three baskets of food. She inspected them: bread, cooked meat, slices of cheese, a small skin of beer, a handful of tubers, and a sweet.
“They eat better than a Clan Lord,” she murmured, seeing the sweet. “How are they?”
“Restive,” the PSK doctor replied. “The one you call Herzerr has been singing to pass the time.” He grimaced. “I suppose it could be worse, but I do not know how.”
“Herzerr is famous for his lack of voice,” Corinn said. “When he sings, the goats go dry and birds fly away. How is Borromeo?”
“He sits leaning against the wall and stares.” The man shook his head. “He doesn’t eat enough.”
“He is trying to think his way out of here.” Corinn nodded slowly. Borromeo was responsible for her, the Clan Lord’s property, and for Herzerr, one of the Clan Lord’s men. Borromeo knew he must account for everything that had happened since they fled the besieged hold. He would go crazy being locked up, unable to fulfill his duty to the Clan Lord. “What of...?” She couldn’t remember the other man’s name.
“Jasrax? He is quiet this morning. He assaulted Lieutenant Nickland last night, and we had to restrain him.”
“I hope your Lieutenant Nickland is well,” Corinn said formally. Then the old fire flashed through her complaisant mask. “I hope you restrained Jasrax as he deserves.”
The PSK man understood. Like the others, he had heard her story. “He can still walk, if that is what you mean. I can’t say so much for his arm.” He chuckled, in a way she approved. “I am afraid it was bent rather badly when we restrained him.”
“Pity you did not take it all the way off.” The doctor shrugged, still smiling as if he approved her sentiments.
Corinn drew a deep breath and picked up a basket. Her heart was hammering in her ears, and her mouth had suddenly gone dry. The eldest in her who was Corinn said this was necessary. The star woman in her who was Tybi said this was foolish. You do what you have to do, Corinn reminded Tybi. She nodded to Senior Makarova. “Lead me to Herzerr.”
Herzerr’s room had a cot, a table, and a stool. Like the courtyard, the walls had been whitewashed. No, it was something more than whitewash; she could still smell it, whatever it was, a peculiar odor that was both sweet and strange. Paint, Tybi contributed from somewhere inside her head. She remembered helping her sibs paint their apartment on Home. A much younger version of her face had splotches of bright yellow on her nose and forehead. Corinn shook her head and looked more closely at Herzerr’s room. The cot was fastened to the floor and was better built than any she could recall seeing at the Clan Lord’s holding. There was a thick, brown blanket folded neatly on top of the cot. Herzerr was living in more luxury now than he ever had before, and he knew it.
Someone had provided him with a ukulele, the small stringed instrument most men learned to play to help pass the time of day while guarding herds of beasts. Fortunately for his arm, the strings on a ukulele were plucked, not strummed like the ukulele’s bigger cousin, the guitar. Herzerr sat on his cot, his bare feet on the stool. His boots were under the table, and the ukulele was in his lap.
“Ho, star woman,” he said as soon as he saw who entered. He carefully set aside the ukulele. Corinn noticed he did that with his left hand, and she wondered how much the right arm still troubled him.
“Ho, Herzerr, Singer-in-Training,” she replied dryly. “I hear you have been torturing the guards.” She eyed him critically, as his mother might. He was clean-shaven, washed, and his clothes cleaned. His tunic had been neatly patched on the shoulder where he had been shot. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”
“I can say the same about you,” he answered cheerfully. “Isn’t it wonderful what a little soap can do?” He shook his head, amazed. “They have hot water that comes out of a pipe in the ceiling, Corinn.” He grinned. “They almost had to force me out of there at knifepoint.”
“I have seen the same thing.” She nodded gravely, hiding a smile. Truly, he was so clean his mother would not recognize him. “It is called a shower.” She pointed at his ukulele with her chin. “Is this how you thank the guards for rescuing you?”
“I have little else to do.” He grinned again, studying her face. “I suppose they have you working in the kitchen. I thought some of the food tasted like your cooking.”
“Something like that,” she answered him evasively. “They decided I could feed you. You see the fine meal I bring. The guards said the only time you are quiet is when you are eating. They wish you to eat more.”
He laughed. “I have been composing the “Ballad of the Endless Ride.”” He moved to sit on the stool. She noted that he moved carefully, as if still weak from his wounds. “What did you bring me?” He tried to look into the basket.
“Bread, meat, cheese, beer, a few tubers to ward off the sickness,” she said, unloading it all onto the table. Corinn considered palming the sweet, but Tybi decided someone was probably watching everything that happened in the room. “I also brought you this,” she added, placing the sweet in front of him.
Herzerr tasted it, sniffed it, and put it to one side. “Teffy,” he said. “If I chew that, I won’t be able to sing because I will not be able to pry my jaws apart.”
“Perhaps that is why they are giving it to you.” They both laughed at that. She stood back and looked at him and the room again. “How are they treating you?” Both of them could hear her milder tone.
Herzerr smiled. “Our Hold Warder does not live this well,” he said, patting the cot and waving at the food. “There are only two things I lack. They won’t give me a horse to ride away from here, and, as for the other, something tells me you would not be agreeable.”
Since when is my agreement required, she thought sourly, but did not say. “No,” she replied instead, “I would not.”
Herzerr chuckled. “Besides, I have seen how you look after Borromeo.”
“He is the father to my children,” she said simply. She looked at the food. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“You have the freedom of this place? Of course, you do,” he added, correcting himself immediately. “Where could a woman go?”
“Yes,” she said blandly. “Where could a woman go? It is true. You could say that I have the freedom of this place.”
“The Lord of this place takes care of you?” He sounded worried. She was surprised. He actually seemed concerned.
“I have no complaints. My duties are light.”
He relaxed slightly. “They have not told me why I am being held,” he told her. “If you should happen to hear of it, I would be happy to know. Maybe a trade could be worked out, me for something the Clan here needs.”
She smiled in response. “Eat well,” she said. “I am sure the Clan Lord will trade them anything to return your fine singing voice to his holding.” They both smiled at the jibe. “Or, perhaps the people here will trade him anything to take you back. Perhaps they will let me in to see you tomorrow.”
Herzerr laughed. “If they do, I will speak to you the verses of the “Ballad of the Endless Ride”. You are prominent in the Ballad.”
“So long as you do not sing them, I would welcome that.” She turned to go, and then paused at the door. “They tell me you are recovering from your wounds,” she said in a low voice. “I am glad for that.” She ducked through the door before he could respond.
“How did it...?” Corby asked, but Corinn brushed right past her. She quickly walked to the door of the building and stepped through, out into the morning sunshine, breathing deeply of the free, fresh air. She felt unclean, jumpy, her skin all prickly and scratchy. She rubbed her arms, all the while calming herself, forcing the anger to the place where she could deal with it. Facing her past was more difficult than she had thought, but she must do it. She was eldest. The others counted on her, perhaps now more than ever before.
“Problems?” Corby asked quietly from the doorway.
“I can do this. I must do this,” Corinn answered shortly. She took another few breaths, and then smiled at Corby. “Now I will see Borromeo.”
Borromeo, as the PSK doctor had told her, sat on the floor of his room with his back to the wall. He did not seem surprised to see Corinn.
“Your dinner,” she said simply, placing the basket in the middle of the table.
“You eat it,” he said gruffly. “I am not hungry.”
“And neither am I,” she replied. “Pity. There is beer in here. Not much, but some.”
He did not move. Finally, Corinn squatted down in front of him. “You have been captured before, Borromeo,” she said quietly. “Is this so bad?” She waited, patiently.
“Who are these people?” Borromeo asked finally. “They are not Clan Lords. What do they want of us? Why are we here?”
“That is not easy to say,” Corinn said. She sat next to him, leaning against the wall, her shoulder almost touching his ... almost. “It is not something I can explain easily.”
“Another star woman mystery?” he asked. Before she could answer, he frowned and shook his head. “I have heard stories of those they call the Ship Lords. I have seen a few of them at a Spring Gathering. These are not Ship Lords. Am I wrong?”
“No,” she said with a slight shake of her head. “These are ... others. They have come here to build a better land.”
“The land is what it is,” Borromeo said. “This land is good enough already.”
“Not if you are a star woman. Perhaps not even good for others, either.” She watched him think about that.
The look he gave her was confused and worried. “I did not make the Rules, Corinn,” he said quietly. There was nothing she could say to that. They both knew he had ignored the Rules whenever he thought it wise to do so.
She got to her feet. “Anyway, there is bread, meat, cheese. Eat if you want, it is nothing to me.”
“You seem to like this holding,” he said without moving.
“There are things about this holding that I like,” she said simply.
He grunted noncommittally. “Will I see you again?”
“Perhaps.” She considered that. “It is possible.” She looked at him, huddled against the wall, uncertain and alone. Suddenly, he seemed old and helpless. “It is very likely, Borromeo, but ... but only if you eat.”
She slipped through the door, hearing the lock click behind her. Head down, she walked to the table in the middle of the courtyard. Her insides felt all twisted up. She didn’t like thinking that she had affection for any man of this world, but it hurt to see Borromeo so weak. She was angry with him, angry and more. She knew what the problem was. He felt useless. He was a prisoner, he had nothing to do, and he was helpless in the grip of someone he could not understand.
About like any star woman, she thought angrily. By almost anyone’s standards, Borromeo was a decent person. He deserved more than just sitting in a windowless room with nothing to do. I’ll have to talk to the Eldest, she thought. This can’t go on. He will do something honorable and stupid and be hurt.
She pushed her hair back and picked up the third basket. She drew a deep breath, and then smiled shakily at Corby and the PSK doctor. “I will be all right,” she repeated. At their worried looks of unbelief, she added, “This is harder than I thought. Show me to the other one.”
Jasrax was one of the raiders who had followed them across the wastes. He was the unknown, a man from a different clan, one who was not used to her, not like Herzerr and Borromeo were. She could relax a little with Herzerr. She could open herself, some, to Borromeo. This Jasrax might be dangerous. To him, she would only be a woman. Maybe he would recognize her as a star woman, maybe not.
When she entered, he was on his cot, sitting with elbows on knees and chin resting on his hands. A thin man with the scars of an experienced warrior on his face, she thought he might be young, but not quite as young as Herzerr. His left shoulder was stained and swollen with bruises, as if someone had wrenched his arm out of its socket then put it back again.
Nothing moved but his eyes as she set the basket on the table. “Bread, meat, cheese, beer,” she told him. He said nothing, and she turned to go.
As she put her hand on the lock, she heard the faint sound of his foot striking the floor. She turned slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blur of motion. He was off the bed and hurtling right at her. He made a sound when his injured left shoulder hit her, knocking her violently aside. Stunned, she slammed into the wall. He wrenched at the door, but the lock wouldn’t open.
Eyes burning, he spun to face her, one hand fisted to threaten her, the other reaching out to grab at her and pull her to him. “Open it,” he screamed.
He was completely open. It is strange, Corinn thought dazedly, watching this time. Tybi was there instantly, protecting Corinn as she had before. Only this time, Corinn knew and saw every move.
Tybi let him grab her left arm. He pulled, and a feral grin curved her lips. Her feet shifted ever so slightly, thus and so. Then she straightened, turning slightly, and her open right hand slapped his threatened blow aside. She turned again, just enough. Stiffened left hand and forearm drove forward through his grip. Fingertips punched deep into the soft, yielding flesh just under his ribs. His eyes bulged as he doubled over, gasping for air.
A red mist seemed to fog her vision. She shifted to hit him once more, harder. She hesitated. Do you want him dead? Another one like that will kill him. The voice in her thoughts was calm and quietly judgmental. She didn’t know if it was Corinn’s or Tybi’s, but it slashed through her fury and made her consider what she must do.
She spun him around and slammed his face into the wall, twisting his injured arm up behind him. He groaned with the hurt. He was helpless in her grip, and he knew it. Spinning him again, she pinned his shoulders to the wall with both hands and snarled in his face.
“There are no rules here!”
He could only gape at her, his lungs still screaming for air. Savagely, she kneed him in his manhood. The door to his room slammed open. Corinn heard voices behind her, voices yelling at her to stop as she took out all of her anger and frustration on this creature. She hit him again and again until he retched, until he spewed all over her tunic, until powerful hands tore her away from him and held her so that she could not break free. His legs collapsed under him, and he slumped to the floor.
“Do not ever touch a star woman again,” she said, coldly furious. She caught his stunned eyes with her own fierce gaze. “Remember: the rules do not apply in this place. If you touch me again,” she said, drawing a deep, calming breath, “if you touch me again, I will flay you alive and hang your skin over my door for everyone to see.”
“You’re a woman,” he gasped, “a star woman. You wouldn’t dare.”
Senior Makarova’s grip on her relaxed Corinn took a step forward, reached down, and grabbed Jasrax by the front of his tunic. Effortlessly, she lifted him free of the floor and held him against the wall with one hand, her fist against his throat. She could feel his pulse flutter and see the sudden terror in his eyes as he remembered every rumor he had ever heard about star women.
“Do you see any men in this room?” she asked very softly. “Do you really want to find out if I dare?” She stared him in the eye. Unbidden, her knife was in her hand, resting against the base of his throat.
Corinn held him a moment more, then dropped the man to the floor and without another word left the room. Free, fresh air drew her toward the building’s main entrance. She heard banging and cursing from Borromeo’s room. Sighing, she stopped. He would hurt himself or make somebody hurt him if she did not let him see she was well.
Her breath still came in short, angry gasps, and her nerves seemed knotted impossibly tight. She could easily imagine what Borromeo would think, would know, seeing her like this. Nevertheless, she motioned to the PSK man to open the door. Borromeo would not stop trying. She knew him that well.
He saw the doctor and stopped just before throwing himself out of the tiny room. He stood in the doorway, not quite crossing the threshold. He saw her flushed face. He saw the knife in her hand and the mess on her tunic. His own face reddened and his empty hands clenched into fists.
“Are you all right? Did that bastard try to hurt you?”
“He tried.” Corinn took another deep breath, forcing her fingers to relax.
“I will kill him.” Borromeo glared at the doctor, then at Corinn.
She shook her head slowly. “I want him alive. Dead, he can’t tell anybody what happened to him.” She thumbed her still-clean knife thoughtfully before sliding it back into her belt sheath. “I think he has learned better manners.”
Borromeo looked at her in silence for a long time, and then nodded, once, accepting her judgment. “Like you taught those three raiders at the Point of the Rocks?”
“Not quite,” she admitted. “They are dead, he isn’t.” She measured the look in his eyes. “When did you know?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Borromeo said. “I don’t know how you did it, but I knew by the fifth day you must have killed those three. Why else would those bastards chase us into the middle of the Danerak?”
“You knew and you didn’t say anything?”
“But I didn’t know, star woman.” He smiled grimly. “I did not see it. There was no proof. You are thinking we could have given you to them and gone free. I think not. They would kill us all just for tricking them as we did, as you did, Corinn. I told you before that my father warned me about star women: useful, and dangerous, just like gunpowder.”
She felt a little of her hard, angry edge soften. “I will take care of you, Borromeo. You and Herzerr will see the Clan Lord again.”
“You don’t have to.” He seemed to have accepted that she had the power here to do as she promised. Clever old man, she must remember to warn the Eldest about him.
“It is wrong to keep a warrior penned up like this.” Corinn smiled thinly at his shrug. He cared more than he would admit, just as she must admit that for Borromeo she had some affection. It was a strange feeling, one she would have to think more about later. She turned and walked away. Her heart felt curiously light.
A long, scalding hot shower and a change of clothes gave her time to consider what she had learned about herself and about the men. She dragged a comb through her hair and looked at the damp mass of curls in the mirror, wondering why she did not just cut it short like Tybi remembered it. A wicked smile curved Corinn’s lips. She could easily imagine what Borromeo would think of that.
It was a short walk across the compound from the shower room to the main building. Second Officer Davenport was busy talking to several officers when Corinn arrived. Corinn stepped back out into the sunlight to think. What could she find for Borromeo and Herzerr to do that would make them feel useful and would keep them out of trouble? The voices from inside intruded upon her thoughts. She glanced into the office, curious.
“All right,” Second Officer Davenport pointed at a map on the wall, “we will send the first coyotes in here tonight. As soon as the repeater is in place, we will send in the two leopards as well.”
“Will your team be ready?” A woman in dark blue stepped closer to study the map. Second Officer Davenport nodded.
“We’re ready. I’ll be happier when we have more troops available, but we’re ready for this one. Keep me posted on how the insertion goes.”
The officers saluted and left. Second Officer Davenport followed them out and joined Corinn. They stood quietly enjoying the sun for a moment. The Marine Eldest cocked an eye at Corinn and smiled encouragingly.
“How did it go, Tybi?” The smile vanished long before Corinn finished describing her morning visit to the men.
“So you want to find something for those men to do.” From her tone, it was clear that she would cheerfully set them to scrubbing pots and sweeping floors. That would be worse than leaving them to rot in their rooms.
“I thought Borromeo might take care of the horses,” Corinn said. “The horses need taking care of, and he’s the best person for the job.”
“What’s to stop him from just taking one of them and riding away?”
Corinn smiled. Officer Davenport had much to learn about the Danerak. One horse would only take a man far enough to die. Three horses might carry him out of this desolation, if he was lucky and careful.
“At first glance, very little,” Corinn said, trying to see the situation as the older woman would, as Tybi would. They both thought of men as precious treasures, not as deadly enemies. Neither point of view was much use to her now. She sighed. This was a question only Corinn could answer. “If Borromeo gives his oath, he will stay.”
Officer Davenport frowned, considering that. “His oath, to a woman, Tybi? Is that binding? Will he believe it is binding?”
Corinn thought about that for a long time. She knew Borromeo well enough to be sure. The others? She shrugged.
“Jasrax would ride off without another thought. Herzerr? Herzerr might ride, he might not.” She nodded at her own conclusion. Herzerr had grown during their escape. He might play at his ballad crafting, but there was something more solid about him now. She could not be certain, but Borromeo would know, and she could trust his judgment.
“Borromeo will honor his word.” There was no doubt of that. She smiled, meeting the Marine Eldest’s questioning gaze. “It is virtually the only thing he has left, and in the end, it is the thing he holds dearest. He holds his honor above life itself.”
Second Officer Davenport looked at her in silence. Finally, she nodded, once. “All right. It makes sense. We’ll do it that way, on your responsibility.”
“Very well.” Corinn bowed formally, as was proper. “I accept the responsibility. It would help,” she added, “if you put Herzerr and Borromeo together in the same room. They are of the same holding and responsible to the Clan Lord for each other’s fate. One will help control the other, and it will give them someone to talk to. Together, they will not be a problem.”
The Marine Eldest eyed her suspiciously. “What would happen if I put Herzerr or Borromeo with Jasrax?”
“Jasrax would be dead before the sun sets,” Corinn said with absolute certainty. “Of course, he has already been very lucky. If he attacks me again, I will kill him.”
“I want to caution you about that, Tybi,” Second Officer Davenport began. “I agree you had to try it this morning, but why tempt him again? I don’t want to risk you like that anymore, and--”
“And what?” Corinn interrupted. “He attacked me. I showed him that was a bad idea. He is still breathing, and I did not scar him, at least on the surface.” She tapped her head. “I left a more permanent scar, here in his head where I want it. He fears me now.”
“Tybi! I have my orders. These are men! We’re not supposed to--”
Corinn felt the tattered shadow of authority tug at her. Tybi wanted to obey the Eldest, but Corinn knew she could not. Too much was at stake. Her children and all the others needed her to be strong. Her cold stare froze the words in Second Officer Davenport’s mouth.
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