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Eavus didn’t bother to answer, just yanked her forward to splash through yet another small stream.

“You’re lost,” she taunted.

“Shut up.”

“The coast is east. You could follow the coast.”

Eavus barely heard her. There was something else, another noise, one he was more familiar with than her heavily-accented Northern.

“Shut up,” he said more urgently. He ducked into a squat, drawing her down with him, and this time she didn’t resist. The stream was only a few inches deep, a runoff that would probably evaporate if there was ever a drought, but it soaked into his hobnailed shoes, freezing his toes. The sensation was too familiar to warrant even a flinch, though the girl shifted her weight uncomfortably.

Shadows shifted, moving through trees, and Eavus’ eyes followed, looking for telltale flashes of skin, clothing, weapons. If it was Dinaeii, they might let Eavus pass. If it was Caerdeneii, they might want a bribe. If it was Sculpae—Please gods, not Sculpae. Not when Eavus was injured and alone, virtually unarmed.

The snap of branches and crush of leaves under bare feet made the girl crouch lower, but Eavus stayed exactly where he was. They were like predators, these local tribes. You had a better chance of going undetected if you stayed perfectly still.

It was impossible to tell how many they were. They spread out, moving as silently as deer, and almost as well camouflaged on account of how filthy they all were. Eavus risked raising his eyes a little higher over the small ridge that concealed him. He wasn’t a scout, or a tracker. He couldn’t be sure. But he breathed a small sigh of relief at their leather clothing, their muddy skin, and mostly, that there weren’t warriors in the group. Dinaeii, he would guess. Women with babies, old people, a scattering of children. They moved with urgency, shushing the infants and hustling the small ones over logs. Eavus’ skin prickled—something was wrong—before he put together exactly what it was.

These were the remainder of the Dinaeii clan his regiment had buried yesterday. His shoulders fell in a brief moment of humanity. This was all of them that was left.

But then his eyes narrowed and he swore. “That little shit has my sword.”

SIX

Revni dared a peek to see what had snagged the warrior’s focus. A boy carrying a small, heavy sword, an irrepressible look of determination on his face, marching with almost exaggerated movements.

Revni’s muscles twitched in a moment of indecision. Her head was pounding. Should she leap out, take her chances with these women and children? Or were these the people that had set fire to the Isfolj ships, and she’d be going from captive of one to captive of many? She strained to listen to their low conversations, to get an idea of who they might be⁠—

And then her throat squeezed shut with a new, different kind of fear. She had been learning Brigfaen, in anticipation of her family’s arrival on this island. The language these people were speaking—was that the word for boy? It shared the cadence. But the words were a jumble—different endings, different sounds.

Revni forced a swallow. This wasn’t the right language. How far from the settlement was she? If the boats left her behind—how would she find her way to her people in the north?

The rope tugged at her wrists. The warrior was crouching forward, keeping his eyes on the departing figures. Revni held still, forcing him to turn back to her with a scowl on his face.

“We have to follow them,” he mouthed.

Revni shook her head, but the motion made her vision swim. She readjusted her squat, feeling the stretch in her hip. The water had sunk into her boots and her toes were freezing.

The fighter drew suddenly close, their noses almost touching. Revni flinched. His heat filled her whole space.

“There are two things I need to bring back to my commander to avoid being executed.” His voice rumbled. Revni suddenly had a glimpse in her mind of upsetting a slope, small rocks tumbling fast while she struggled to keep her footing. “You, and that sword. You are more dispensable. So you will follow, quietly,” he insisted through gritted teeth, “or I snap your neck and use your body as a shield.”

Her heartbeat thudded so loudly against her chest she was sure he could hear it. She forced a small nod, her throat too dry to swallow.

“What’s your name?”

The man blinked, taken aback, and Revni’s thundering pulse steadied.

“Eavus,” he blurted. “Why?”

“I’m Revni. My favorite color is blue. A purple blue, like wildflowers in spring.”

Eavus blinked again, as she knew he would. It was one of the first lessons her father taught her when she insisted she was old enough to raid.

They’ll trade you, he had said. But only if they see you as human.

If they see you as nothing but an enemy, you’re easier to kill.

“I came here with my parents. They—” The thought of them wrenched at her heart too erratically to control. “I have a sister, too, back in Isfjold.” Another ripping at her insides. Was there no subject she could bring up without it crippling her? “You don’t have to yank at me,” she went on, swallowing everything else. “I can help you. I’m a fighter.” She held his gaze, forcing him to see her, then raised her hands. “You can cut me loose.”