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Like Eavus.

That rage that had sustained her ever since she left him roared back through her veins.

It wasn’t madness. It was the god at work.

“What are you two ladies doing in my bath?”

The Isfolj was accented but fluent, the tone honeyed and confident. In the moment Revni swung her eyes to him, she took it all in: the frescoed walls and mosaicked floors, the finely-woven clothes strewn on the bench along the wall, the fat bronze chain of office, the two other slave boys standing behind him—too thin to be soldiers, unarmed. One held a sponge that was dripping down his leg. And the man himself—old but not ancient, stately, good skin. His smile was cautious, but he hadn’t moved, lounging with his elbows on the sides of the tub that had been built into the floor. He wore a necklace with a pendant of two spiraled horns.

Revni reached him in four strides and slit his throat.

FORTY-ONE

Eavus was limping. He tried to hide it, but he couldn’t put his full weight on his right foot. He’d twisted his damn ankle jumping across that stream yesterday morning, and pushed on anyway, but now it was flaring so badly he worried he’d done something more damaging. The stupid ankle had, frustratingly and of course, also delayed him, and rivulets of sweat dripped in places he hadn’t imagined as he tried to turn his stumbling gait into something resembling a confident stride.

As he got closer to the Aleterian section of the city, he could feel himself tighten, like he was going into battle. The banner on the high tower was still red and gold—that was definitely a good sign. No one looked panicked, or particularly on their guard. In fact, there was a lightness in the air—a familiarity to the smells and sounds, the way carts were getting rolled into place and uncovered, shops shutting their doors. He’d arrived at shift change. Dipping Hour, they’d used to call it when he was stationed on the Northern Continent, supposedly because it was when the sun started to dip behind the mountains, but everyone knew it was because it was when the commanders started dipping into their cups. The slant of the sun was the same here, probably because Norbucum was roughly as far north, and the activity had the same feel—the sigh of inevitability from people polishing the last bumps in their armor, the bated tension of those waiting to be released. Everything seemed—delightfully, hopefully, potentially—normal.

There’d been no sign of Revni. Maetis had advised him to sleep, and so he had, but it had been a fitful, anxious sleep, and first light had broken on Eavus already up. He had gone the direction the monk had sent him, but five days alone in the wilderness had given him plenty of time to think. He hadn’t even known initially what his plan was, other than find Revni at the heart of it. But the closer he got to Norbucum, the more conflicted he got. He couldn’t simply walk in and not deliver his message, but what kind of person was he if he went ahead with it? Nothing had been resolved. He still had to clear his name before the other messenger arrived. He still had this tattoo on his arm for all the world to see. It seemed to him that following his original plan—deliver the message, get his commendation and his coin—still seemed to be the best way to ensure his own safety. And that his own safety was still at the forefront of his mind made him a terrible coward.

But how could he and Revni be together if he was dead?

After another horrible night—this one cold as a stone and eaten by midges—Eavus had started to wonder if maybe delivering his message after all was in fact the best thing he could do—not for the money and the freedom and all the rest, but because the message was going to get delivered by someone, with or without him, and if Eavus was the one to deliver it, maybe there was something he could do beyond simply handing it over.

The guards at the door eyed Eavus as he hobbled up the shallow stairs.

“Silve.” The dark-skinned guard half-heartedly returned Eavus’ salute, but the older soldier stared him down. Eavus swallowed, forcing normalcy into his throat. “I have direct orders from the prefect at Lordinius.” He dug out the battered leather note.

The guard eyed the instructions with the same casual scrutiny he’d given Eavus. He scratched his jaw, considering, and Eavus’ heart dropped. Had the other messenger arrived first? He was already parched, but all the moisture seemed sucked out of his mouth. His ankle suddenly throbbed, as if to remind him that there was no way to run. If the other man had already come—Had Eavus just handed over his own warrant for execution? What an idiot he was. He’d always been like this—just marching straight up and thinking honesty or explanation was the best course. Revni would have done it right, snuck in somehow, or at least assessed the area before just walking right up. The guard was still staring at the message. It wasn’t that complicated. Eavus was either condemned, or he wasn’t.

Finally, the guard held up the note.

“What’s it say?”

Eavus’ release of breath was so sharp it was almost a laugh. “I’m to be taken directly to the prefect.” He pointed to the black brand. “With all urgency.”

The guard looked for assistance, but the older man simply shrugged. “I’ve got my orders. I’m staying here. Hey!” His sudden shift made Eavus jump. “Break it up!”

Eavus glanced over his shoulder as he followed the first guard inside. Some squabble had broken out—a few soldiers and a few locals, or maybe one of each and friends had jumped in to help—and the two in the center were nose to nose, shouting in each other’s faces. The older guard yanked someone back.

“What’s going on there?”

Eavus’ escort waved it off. “Old arguments stored in their cheek until they’re off-duty, you know how it is.”

Eavus had a vague recollection, but he’d been stationed on Arnea for so long that he’d forgotten the comforts of a permanent post. Norbucum was unusual in more ways than one—no trekking back and forth to Lordinius like the rest. And that fact, Norbucum’s unique status among all the cities of the Aleterian empire, had given Eavus not just the idea, but the thing that accompanied it, the feeling he’d had and then lost so many times he wondered if its very existence was a prank.

Hope.

Was Maetis correct? Was his god the right one? Because Eavus, limping through enemy territory unharmed, had a sudden realization that perhaps not everyone was evil, or maybe at least that everyone had the capability to be good. Yes, Norbucum had been fought over at first, but for almost eight years the Isfolj and the Aleterians had worked together to run the city, and before and since, the Faenish had been here, their own tribal differences eroding under the banality of daily life, different gods and different languages fading in importance to the neighbor that watched your children while you worked, to the soldier that escorted you home when you were frightened. As far as Eavus saw it, maybe Norbucum was the jewel of Aleteria—the city that had proved the possibility for something different.

And then? It was an Isfolj city, after all. Revni had to be somewhere. And if she wasn’t in Norbucum, his serving as a liaison to the local tribes had been suggested. If his plan went well, Aleteria would need to make contact with the Isfolj settlements, and Eavus would be the first to volunteer. It was foolish, reckless to believe that after everything he’d done he could simply talk his way into a new position, but Eavus had a new faith beating in his chest, and ancestors forgive him, he believed.

He could fix this. He could find Revni. He could explain everything.

Love made anything possible, wasn’t that right? Even bending an Aleterian prefect towards the light.

The central courtyard they crossed through was just like the ones in Aleteria, but instead of bursting with citrus trees and figs, this one had only a few decorative ferns and scraggly flowers.

“You been here long?”