“Come on! Come on!” He whipped her again, and again, smiling as she cowered. “Put your hands down. Put your hands down.”

So she did, and let him strike her across the torso and shoulders, shuddering under the lash, until he grew tired of the sport of seeing her cower submissively before him.

“We’re late. Stupid demon. Why do you always make me late?”

She walked behind, her gaze fixed on the ground, as he hurried onto a side street and through town to the market. Now, seeing acquaintances, he was all gracious smiles, smooth greetings, heartfelt inquiries after aged relatives and promising children, and unctuous agreement with whispered diatribes against their Qin overlords. Women in the marketplace flirted with him as he browsed their wares, because he was a good-looking young man from a respectable clan. But there was still a speck of blood on the palm of his right hand. There was always blood on his hands; she just pretended there wasn’t. The smokes Ramda gave her hid her aches, but they couldn’t hide the blood. They couldn’t hide the screams.

“Eh, there is the lovely Mai. How are you faring, Niece?” He fetched up before a fruit stand. “Have you sold your quota today? Ensnared a wealthy husband, eh?”

Father Mei’s eldest daughter sold fruit in the market, and she stared placidly at Girish from under the shade of a parasol. “Uncle Girish. Here you are. Sales are good today, although the peaches are a little underripe. Of course Father Mei will choose a suitable husband for me. Maybe next year.”

“You are such a stupid stupid girl, Mai,” he said with a grin. “Here, give me a peach.”

He grabbed, but the girl snatched up a peach and pressed it into his hand before he could topple her neatly stacked pile. He sulked, then spotted a pair of young men strutting down another lane. “Hei! Hei!” he called.

As he turned to go after them, Mai slipped a peach into her hand. “Here, Cornflower. Something for you.”

Horrified, she tried to hand it back, but he was already trotting toward his friends, and the leash, tugged taut, forced her to stumble along after lest he whip her for slowing him down.

His friends greeted him with lively expressions of joy—obviously drunk—and they fell to talking about some race meant to be held out beyond the walls in a few days’ time, not that any of the locals were allowed to ride horses on penalty of death, but they could bet on the Qin soldiers who would be racing for the honor of their individual companies. Glancing back, his smile twisted and a flare of anger widened his eyes.

“Did you steal that, demon?” He snatched the peach out of her hand. “Whew! A nice ripe one. Here.” He offered it to his friends.

“Not after the demon touched it!”

He shrugged. “Eh, you’re right. Tainted now. Probably make any of us sick.” He squeezed it until juices began to run, then gave it a heave up over the rooftops. They walked on, chattering, as she trailed behind, grateful she had not been beaten. At length the friends left him, and he made many twists and turns through back alleys and arrived at a tavern’s back entrance. Slipping inside, he was stopped by two Qin soldiers lurking in the corridor.