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Revni tried, but she felt foolish. Sulvi had been right, however—the servant door was right there, its small hallway poking out of the side of the building, and whoever was meant to be manning it must have been one of the men gathered closer to the front. The whole group conversed wildly in Aleterian, punctuating their arguments with wide arm movements that made Revni think of Eavus and his friends in the quarry outside Lordinius. She chuckled, then soured. Drothr.

Sulvi slipped into the blind spot, then pointed up. The ghost of a balcony remained—a little ledge where some supporting beam had once stuck out. It was stepping distance from another thin jut of stone, a decorative outcropping that ran the length of the wall, including just underneath a window. Sulvi cupped her hands, the way they’d done when they were little to climb a tree.

“Are you sure?” Revni had a sudden foreboding. This plan was too rash. Down another side street, opposite where they were, there was a sudden crash and shouting. They both flattened themselves against the wall as a few soldiers perked, but the men grabbed spears and hurried away without seeing them.

Was that noise because of whatever Revni had stirred up, or something else? Or maybe it was Eavus. Maybe it was the other messenger he’d spoken of. Maybe Eavus was being captured, tied, prepared to be whipped. Why did that thought break something within her? He had betrayed her. But had he, really? Would killing the prefect gain revenge on him or save him?

If she killed the prefect, Eavus wouldn’t deliver his message. Eavus wouldn’t get his money and his paper. Eavus would stay a slave.

No, the god corrected, he will die.

Revni blanched. Maybe there was some other way…

Sulvi cupped her hands again.

“Revni!”

Revni swallowed.

You promised, my child.

“I may not be soti—” Sulvi almost sounded offended at the delay. “But I am still Isfolj. When the gods grant you opportunity, you take it.” She held out her hands.

Revni put a hand on her shoulder and heaved herself up. The ledge was thinner than it appeared, and Revni pressed herself against the wall to stop from falling off. She managed to twist around, then helped haul Sulvi up. They edged along a few inches to climb onto the other lip of stone—a gutter of some sort, a hole above it—and from there, Revni was able to reach the window. She passed the sword to Sulvi so she could clamber inside, then turned to help Sulvi—and instantly froze.

How long the Faenish man had been watching them, Revni couldn’t tell, but he crossed his arms and leaned against his doorframe with a sly grin when Revni caught him, as if to say, Sure, let’s get comfortable. He had short brown hair, cropped like someone had put a bowl over his head, and wore a sweater with long, tatty sleeves.

“Revni! Revni!” Sulvi’s harsh whisper accompanied the floating sword tip that almost took off Revni’s nose. Revni blinked, but took the sword and set it inside, keeping an eye on their observer. If he’d wanted to turn them in, he would have done so by now, wouldn’t he? Revni helped haul Sulvi up, and when Sulvi got inside, she laughed, breathless.

“That gets harder every time!”

“We’ve been spotted.”

“Have we?” Sulvi took a look. The man hadn’t moved. “Do we do something?”

“I don’t know.” Revni resisted the urge to chew her lip. “Do you know him?”

“No.”

“He hasn’t sounded an alarm.”

“Well, then, there’s only one thing to do.” Sulvi lifted her hand and waved.

“Sulvi!”

The man’s eyes twinkled. He pushed off the doorframe and walked away.

“He’s probably going to report us!” Revni was livid, really she was—or at least she should be. But she couldn’t seem to stem the bubble of laughter that kept trying to escape. She felt almost giddy, like the world had spun off and she was clutching to hang on. Madness, Ulf had said, all those weeks ago. He was right. The whole island was mad, and maybe surrendering to it was the only way to make it through.

She picked up the sword with one hand, dusting herself off with the other. “Where are we?”

The room was barely a room at all—just four walls and a small bench with a hole in it.

“The toilet,” Sulvi said confidently. “And these are the baths.” She yanked the door open, only to stop short.

An Aleterian soldier stood directly in front of them, his shocked face a mirror of Sulvi’s. A voice inside asked a question—an echoing, deep voice, full of authority.

“Silve,” Revni said. The soldier was young, clearly inexperienced, based on how easily he stepped aside when Revni pushed in. She thought she heard the click of a closing door. The guard in front of her was wearing a sleeveless tunic and had no sword, just a knife tied to his belt. She couldn’t read the Aleterian tattooed on his arm, but it was two lines—a slave.