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“No. I was escaping.”

This time there was a laugh. “Honesty.” He sounded impressed.

She rammed her forehead, but he reared, avoiding contact—but not quickly enough. She grabbed for the knife, and he let go to wrestle for it. He flipped it into his hand just as she let the spoon fall out of her sleeve and brandished it. Eavus blinked, and then laughed, a surprisingly genuine sound that angered her worse than being pinned.

“You’re going to fight me with a spoon?”

Revni rammed the bowl of the spoon into the swollen stitches at his waist. Eavus yowled, and Revni leapt, the bell and cups clanging like a portwatch sighting boats. She slammed open the door, catching a single glimpse of the monk’s surprised face, the tall stranger he was talking to turning to look, before her waist yanked her back—the rigged system or Eavus, she couldn’t tell.

But the stranger had seen her, and his face blackened. Eavus ripped the spoon out of her hand just as the man gave an enraged yell and charged. Eavus’ gaze shifted.

“Get behind me,” he snarled, shoving her. The monk threw himself between the men.

Revni’s breath caught in her throat, the shouting vibrating in her ribs. The stranger had a look she recognized—it was one she’d used with Eavus, and seen him use with her. It struck a fear in her deeper than anything else she’d seen. She scrabbled for the knot still tying her to the door. All her pulling had tightened it.

Revni caught only glimpses—the stranger’s dark hair, swinging in front of his murderous eyes. Eavus’ hiss—pain maybe, when he squared off. His eating knife—that tiny little blade—giving a bounce as it was tossed aside. Too small to be of use, or some gesture of non-violence? Revni worked the knot faster, wincing as a fingernail bent back. The monk’s hem kicked up dust. The spitting man—Caerdeneii, she was beginning to recognize the sounds—ignored Eavus and lunged for her. Eavus grappled, sweeping the man’s arms behind and then locking his throat, one leg immobilizing his hip. It was ugly, inelegant, but Revni found her jaw dropping in surprise at how quickly Eavus had disabled him.

“A friend of yours?” Eavus panted.

Revni paused. The Caerdeneii man struggled, but he wasn’t a fighter. He spit words in her direction but couldn’t free himself.

Maetis sounded like he might start crying. He pleaded with Eavus, but the man writhed, responded with more anger. Maetis blanched, spoke. Eavus translated:

“He says his name is Heato. He’s Caerdeneii. He wants to know how many of his people you killed.”

“Personally?” She shouldn’t be defiant—not now, still tied up, still weaponless—but she found it roaring in her. “Only one.” And then, she couldn’t help it: “But the day’s still young.”

Eavus’ lip twitched. He spoke in Aleterian, and the monk answered, quick foreign words that rose and fell like oars on water, the rhythm smooth and unbreaking. The bell still attached to Revni’s rope had stopped clanging, but slim echoes clung, unwilling to let go. The monk spoke Caerdeneii, and the man in Eavus’ arms relaxed, just barely, his stare still filled with hate. Revni remembered the Caerdeneii boy’s dead eyes, remembered the copper taste of blood on her lips. No, that wasn’t right. Her father had only marked her cheeks. Somehow she could taste it anyway. Maetis came and stood in front of her—blocking her, she realized, in case the Caerdeneii went for her again. Eavus translated once more:

“I’ve promised him that you’re my prisoner, and will be held accountable for any crimes. Maetis begs neither of us to break the rules of hospitality. You and me, and Heato, are going to leave, in separate directions. We’re going to need to run, fast, if we want to put enough distance.” It took Revni a moment to realize this last sentence had been for her, not a translation.

“What if he follows?”

“He doesn’t have a weapon. He’ll need to go get friends first.”

Revni nodded, a cold lump in her throat. “Sa.”

Slowly, Eavus released his hold. The man whirled on him, spitting again, pointed a finger at the monk, who put up his hands in protest, and then turned to face them one last time, his back to the cliffs. He took a few blind steps, towards the path, before he spun and ran.

“Why was he here?”

Eavus repeated her questions, and Maetis answered.

“He came to share the news of your people’s arrival. To warn Maetis,” Eavus said wryly.

“Where is my knife?”

Eavus hobbled towards her—as quick as the encounter had been, clearly it had cost him—and took his eating knife from the monk.

“You think I’d put you, and me, and weapons, all in one room together and go to sleep? Haven’t you ever heard of the wolf, the swan, and the seeds?”

“I don’t know swan.”

“It’s a giant duck.”

He used the knife to pry open her knot. Her eyes hungrily watched it twist.

“Give me a knife and I’ll stop fighting you.”