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Eavus had barely slipped into the lukewarm water when the door snicked open at his back. He had been lost in his own thoughts, made worse by the army-habit of making a neat stack of his clothes and armor, hanging his inner belt and skirt from the available hooks. That only carried his eye to the message that dangled from his supply belt, that thin cylinder that was the key to his salvation.

A price on his head, that irginor had said. Only if he didn’t deliver it. If he could just beat the other man to Norbucum—if there even was another man—they’d believe him, because he’d be there. They’d see, when they cracked it open and asked him for the code that would enable them to decipher it, that he’d done his duty, that it had all been a misunderstanding. He knew the message’s import. Double-sealed, one wax within and one without, hand-delivered. He knew its worth, to him personally—the money for his freedom, perhaps a change of rank. After the business near Triconum, on the river, perhaps a pardon was the most he could hope for, but, still…The alternative was⁠—

What? What was the alternative? He was a common soldier. He had no power, no authority. He couldn’t save the world. He could barely even save Revni, and she was more nobody than he was. But the moment that message left his hand and went into the prefect’s, it would be like a flint was struck. Norbucum would explode. And she’d be there. And he’d be there, back to fighting, back to shield walls and spears in people’s throats and midnight watch while the camp stank of fires and sweat and bowels. There’d be no more wind and birds and rivers. Only the crash of trees being felled and centurions screaming over the sound of axes and mallets breaking rock.

Eavus sank into the half-fouled water, not caring that Revni had used it first. Public baths were changed once a season, at best. This was real luxury, and he rested the back of his head against the lip of stone, wrestling to still thoughts that had no place in a mind that belonged to Aleteria.

The truth of it was, no system worked without exploitation. He was lucky enough to have actually received a sparse education—the benefits of being Caeas Septemius’ shadow his entire life, standing in the corner while Sept had his lessons—but Eavus didn’t really know history, or politics. What he did know was how things worked. You couldn’t get anything for cheap unless you got the person for cheap, too. Slave labor, overworked wives, underpaid soldiers hefting stones. It didn’t matter, it was all the same. So, sure, the Caerdeneii kid and the Sculpae girl and Revni’s story hurt his heart, but that’s because they were the ones he’d heard. But there were thousands of them out there, far worse, and he was doing the best he could, and that was the truth. Other soldiers raped, looted, took advantage. The commanders even encouraged it. Spoils of war. That didn’t sit right with Eavus. If Aleteria was as glorious as they were told, it seemed spoiling things wasn’t the way to go about winning loyalties. But it was too much to ask to open his eyes to all of it. That wasn’t him being lazy, or deliberately obtuse. Or maybe it was, but it was a means of survival, as sure as following orders, or not drinking bad water, or any of the other small choices he made every day in order to stay alive. He was one man, in a sprawling empire whose thready roots slithered into every crack of the world. What good would it do if he started noticing all of it? None. That was the truth. Absolutely no one cared if Ricaea Marceas Eavus had a sudden change of heart. That’s what was so debilitating. He could tear his hair out wishing, but the only thing that would happen if he followed through on any of the petty rebellions that might come to mind is…absolutely nothing. They’d swat him away without even a thought. Like one of those damn midges in the marsh. If he made them choke, all they’d do is spit him out. His choices weren’t spread out like marbles in a game, all the shiny options. He had two: obey and live. Resist and die. There was no one else he could be. Not in his world. Not in the world he’d been born into.

Then the door snicked open, and he jolted up. He snatched at the sacking Revni had discarded and threw it over his exposed parts.

“Sorry to frighten you.” Revni closed the door and leaned against it, her hands at her back.

“You, you didn’t.” Why had he grabbed the cloth? Now it was soaking wet. On the other hand, the alternative seemed even more awkward.

There it was again. Alternatives. As if he had any.

“I—” Revni had a look he couldn’t interpret. “Do you mind if I come in? It’s cold.”

Eavus gestured to the side room, the one where he’d found the trough. There was no door, only the partial wall with the hooks on it to separate the space, but he imagined it had likely been used to house animals in winter. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll clean up.”

“You don’t need to rush.” She went through, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks, and Eavus’ nakedness—though still covered by the sopping cloth—suddenly seemed to take up the whole room. She’d said she wasn’t shy, but maybe he was, he reasoned. He’d never been naked in a room with a girl before. Was he just supposed to…stand up and walk around, when he needed to get dressed? It seemed…well, the only thing he could think was rude.

Revni righted a small stool and sat, finger-combing her hair and beginning to section pieces out. Of course, she’d want to braid it before they arrived in Norbucum. Before the Isfolj saw her. Before he condemned them.

“How does it work?”

Eavus’ question made her start. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“The Isfolj, I mean. When we get to Norbucum. Do you still find a Council, or…?”

Why was he even asking? Did it matter, when it would all become war so quickly?

Gods, did they really burn runes into them? Was that something new, or something outdated that hadn’t yet gone away?

Revni swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t…I don’t know. Back home, they used to speak of Eaborik⁠—”

“Eaborik?”

“Norbucum. They spoke of it like a tale to scare children. The Isfolj there had lived in Faen too long. The gods had abandoned them. They sacrificed their children to demons and gutted Gonsson and Gondyttr on sight.”

“Gondyttr?”

“My clan.” She finished one plait and started on the next, her eyes on the floor in front of her. “I am no longer sure that is true. I have not seen a demon here yet,” she joked.

Eavus dunked under and came up, scrubbing the dirt off his face. Hadn’t she? He felt like maybe that’s all he’d seen since he arrived.

“And you?” She flicked a glance towards him and then away. Her face was hard to see in the shadows. “When you find your regiment, then what?”

Eavus scrubbed his head with both hands, taking a moment to scratch. That was the real question, wasn’t it?

“I have to report to the prefect first, deliver my message, get my payment. If there’s any luck at all, they’ll assign me somewhere new, and by the time any word comes down of all the crimes I’ve committed, everything else will be in such chaos that no one will care.”

“I thought you were against lying.” There was a smirk to her tone, but he huffed agreement.

“Maybe I’ve come around to your way of thinking.”

“What’s that?”