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Lymok translates. “King Harok wishes to take you as his kushir.”

Tobi looks at Lymok, “What’s that?” he says, fixing him with a guileless expression as if he cannot imagine what the word could mean. Although he can guess, what else could it be?

Lymok looks back a little blankly. “I am not sure there is a word in Artemian that means the exact same thing. It means you would be his. Bound to him as companion.”

Tobi raises an eyebrow. This, he tells himself, is simply a performance like any other. “I would be for his bed? Your king commits sins of the body?”

Lymok frowns.

Tobi tries again. “Your king would take a male consort?”

Lymok says, “Irgo Harok desires you as his kushir.”

The people all around are deathly silent. Tobi does not believe in Zai, the great God of Azuria, but he is sure many of these people do. Surely some of them must expect Zai to strike down the Ambolk for such a lawless suggestion.

But nothing happens.

“A moment then,” Tobi says. He has everyone’s attention. He walks over to where Cyrus kneels. He takes hold of the wrist of the man who holds a knife to his throat and gently pushes it away, saying to Cyrus, “What is it? Kushir?”

Cyrus looks at Tobi with a sneer and says, “Obviously it means a pillow slut. A hole for a cock. One who is fucked.”

“And they are declaring before all that their king is sly?”

“They are not Azurian. They are the Ambolk. They do not obey the will of Zai.” Cyrus looks Tobi up and down. He sniffs. “Truly, Beast Tamer, you’ll do well as an Ambolk kushir.”

“This is surely an act of war against the empire. To take me in this way.”

Cyrus raises an eyebrow. “Is it? They are not snatching Prince Atticul from the Rose Palace to make a concubine.”

Tobi crosses his arms over his thin chest. “It is close enough. You must inform my father what has happened. He will send the Azurian army to retrieve me from such depravity.”

“Do you think so?” says Cyrus in a faintly sneering tone. Cyrus knows well that it has been a long time since Tobi’s father showed any interest in him. “Much good that did the Duke of the North.”

“He will come for me. Of course he will,” says Tobi tightly. “I have Darek blood. I cannot simply be taken into the forest to be an Ambolk kush.”

“The kush of their king,” says Cyrus. “Perhaps it will be sweet.”

Tobi looks over and sees Harok is staring at him with a distinctly hungry expression.

Could it?

“He cannot be worse than you,” Tobi snaps back at Cyrus.

A cool night breeze blows through the grassland. It licks up under Tobi’s small waistcoat, he feels his nipples pebble as he walks back over to Lymok and Harok. “Very well,” he declares. “If I am your price for these people’s freedom, I am yours, Your Majesty.” He gives another bow with a flourish as if he has just performed a great feat. He almost expects the crowd to applaud. This is like something from a mummers’ show.

Lymok translates for Tobi and then for Harok when he responds. “Tobi Darekul has agreed. We will be taking him with us.”

Cyrus stands up. Now the knife is gone from his throat, he easily slides into taking charge again. “I’m glad we could resolve this equitably.”

“No,” Tobi says, “No wait. I have a request.”

From his horse, Harok says something else. A rumbled growl of Ambolk.

Lymok translates, saying, “No more talk. You must come with us now.”

“Yes,” Tobi says. “But I will need to take my beast with me.” He points towards Baby who is in her cage, just outside the circle, ready for the performance, eager for her mutton leg.

Harok glances at Baby. He speaks in Ambolk.