Page 22
Eavus paused. His eyes were blue again, in the gray light of morning. They traveled over her, and the plainness of his expression—as if he was really looking—calmed the clawing behind her ribs, if only for a moment.
“No.”
Revni bit back her sob of frustration. Blissful release as all that bronze and iron finally collapsed with a final clang, a deep unrestricted breath—only for Eavus to begin tying her wrists, again. The scratchy fibers dug into her raw skin, and she couldn’t bear it, not along with everything else.
“How are we to run if I am tied?”
“You’ll manage.”
He spoke quickly to Maetis, then swore.
“What?” Revni asked.
“My regiment. Dammit.” Eavus looked around, as if deciding. “If we take time to retrace steps—” Maetis said something else and Eavus barked a response, but it carried reluctant agreement. Maetis shuffled quickly away.
“What?”
“Maybe— You believe in gods, don’t you? Maybe they’ll plop the regiment in our path.” He sounded frustrated, like he knew it was a false hope. His shoulder was sticky, the bandage at his waist clearly bleeding through. Revni could feel her own desperation building—a choking cloud that threatened to sweep her under, drown her under all her helplessness.
“Your wounds have re-opened. You will need my help if they catch up to us.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Maetis returned, bobbling a haphazard pile: Eavus’ breastplate, the cape rolled into the cove of its chest, the padded skirt resting on top like a plate for the wobbling sword and Revni’s knife. Eavus plucked the items off and passed her rope to Maetis while he dressed. A dead snake.
“I won’t run. The Caerdeneii are after me. Why would I run from you, only for them to catch me?” She hadn’t thought how true it was until she said it. Two were better than one if it came to a fight. Eavus shrugged on his padded vest, eyeing her as his fingers tied the skirt to his thin inner belt.
“Why is it so important to you? Having a knife? I’d never let you use it.”
“I am soti.”
“I don’t speak Isfolj.” Eavus winced visibly as the breastplate rubbed against his wounds.
“It is a warrior, but…more.” She sounded pathetic, which was the opposite of what she wanted. But trying to express something so basic in a language that wasn’t her own felt like tying knots with her tongue. “It is like this monk. He lives a way. For his god. A soti lives a way.”
Eavus strapped on the outer belt—the one with all the loops and pouches—far too low on his hips, and Revni couldn’t take it.
“You can’t even tighten your belt around your waist!” He braced himself at her step closer. Maetis made a show of dropping her rope, and Revni flashed with momentary gratitude. “You have three blades, more than you have hands! Let me carry at least one.”
“So your knife is your god?”
“No! The gods are the gods. But a soti is their servant. No—Not servant.” She cursed at the poor translation. “I am sworn.”
“You’re sworn.”
“Yes.”
“To a knife.”
His flat words, the hint of a smirk—he still didn’t understand. Revni hardened her chin. “I am sworn to die. No soti risks doing it with empty hands.”
Eavus considered. Revni held that blaze of hope in her heart.
“You’re not dying under my watch. Let’s go.”
Eavus plucked up her rope, and they ran.
TEN
