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“How did you learn Aleterian?”
“We had good oysters. Aleterian ships were always making port, on their way to conquer someone else. One day, I got on one. Is this really what you want to ask?”
It wasn’t. But Eavus couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing Eavus had truly ever believed in was freedom, but like a god it had always been murkily floating on the horizon: tangible, real, impossible to reach. But the logistics had kept him going one day to the next—until he had met Revni, and sold Revni, and abandoned his army to stay with her.
“I gave my word. To Caea, to Aleteria. It’s all I have. If I betray them—”
“Who are you betraying? In the end.” Maetis’ steady voice was a tether, holding Eavus from splintering. “What does your word mean? That you behave with honor?”
“Loyalty.”
“Ah.” Maetis scratched something on his neck. “Well if you want answers, that one I can tell you. Anyone that tells you loyalty is the same thing as honor only wants to use you for their gain.”
“That’s not—”
“Are you expected to be loyal when they murder children? Are you expected to be loyal when they rape, and pillage, and burn? Your loyalty protects them. What does that loyalty do for you?”
The truth of it constricted his ribs.
“Define your honor by better things. Be loyal towards rightness. Loyal towards the truth.”
“And how am I supposed to know the difference?”
Maetis gave a wry smile and pressed himself to standing. “My answer to that will bore you.”
Eavus furrowed his brow.
“Love, of course. It’s the only thing I believe in.”
“What about your god?”
Maetis turned back, his eyes wide. Eavus had never seen real shock on his face before.
“That is my god. Was that not clear?”
That didn’t make any sense at all. “That’s not a god. That’s a…a feeling.” The discrepancy began to anger him. “A god has to…has to live somewhere—like Hirene or Viduus, in the mountains or below them. A god bestows gifts. Fathers children.”
“You don’t think love has fathered children?” Maetis quipped, and his humor enraged Eavus more.
“No! It’s not the same. Stop trying to confuse things! A god has to be…solid. You should be able to…leave something on the altar and get something in return.”
“That’s a merchant.”
Gah! Why couldn’t the man understand? “A god has a face. A god has to exist. A god does things.”
“My god bends emperors to their knees. Changes the course of civilizations. Enables the impossible. My god brings reality into being.”
Eavus gave up. It was useless to argue, the way it was useless to argue with Revni. “So where does he live?” he said bitterly.
Maetis took a cautious step toward him, and then a bolder one, raising a finger.
“Right—here.” He poked Eavus’ chest, and the force of it—once, twice—reverberated in Eavus’ bones. “And you know it.”
The steadiness of his gaze seemed its own power. Eavus couldn’t tear his eyes away.
“You do nothing to deserve it, but you must keep earning it. That is all my god asks of you.”
You do nothing to deserve it. Eavus hadn’t, had he? He didn’t deserve love. He’d never earned it. He didn’t even know what it was. He’d had that thought before, but he suddenly had another—a horrible, perverse insight:
