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Revni entered, holding a moment to blink against the darkness. It was more spacious inside than she’d assumed. Massive posts held up the roof, with crossbeams overhead holding stretched-out skins. The smoke stayed trapped in the high cone, leaking out through the thatching, so the living space was airy despite the central fire. Interlaced with the scent of burning oak was the heavy scent of herbs, both smoking and boiling. Eavus’ litter occupied a large section on the far side. Two people were working to remove his tunic, and Eavus stirred and protested in what must have been Aleterian. He was clearly delirious. His padded vest with its attached skirt had already been discarded.

If he was going to die, she hoped he’d wait until she was gone.

“Who is he?” The old woman didn’t waste time. She squatted back into her place at the fire and resumed grinding what smelled like yarrow.

“Aleteria,” Revni said. “A warrior. I’ve come to⁠—”

“Soldier,” the old woman corrected her. Revni didn’t know that word. “You’re his slave?”

Revni shook her head before realizing the woman wasn’t looking. “No.”

“Tied up and marched all day and night, no knife, no food or water. Sounds like a slave.”

“I wasn’t tied up when you found me,” Revni shot back, but the whole thing unnerved her. She suspected they’d been watching them, of course, but she’d been so wrapped in her own concerns she hadn’t considered they might have had their own reasons. The two women dipped scraps of fur in the cooling pots and began to bathe Eavus’ wounds.

Revni squatted low, and one of them flinched. Sa. Fear was an advantage. Eavus had gone quiet, whether because he’d finally passed out or been given something, Revni didn’t know. His torso was unnaturally grayish, even in the dim light of the hut. The wound in his shoulder, the one she had given him, didn’t look as bad as the swollen, pus-leaking mess at his waist, though both were crusty with dried fluids.

“He has a fever.”

Revni didn’t know that word.

“Hot,” the woman explained, “from his injuries.”

Sykhiti, Revni nodded, like she’d said. Sometimes it killed more men than a battle.

“How do you come to speak Brigfaen?” the old woman asked.

“I practiced.”

The healer met her eyes with something like amusement before turning to the fire. Hot fat melted in a pitcher—not bear, but it smelled similar. She poured it into her bowl and mixed.

Revni dared the question she’d been fearing: “Why doesn’t anyone else speak it?”

“Many do. High status, like myself. It is the language of chiefs.”

Revni didn’t know that word either. She shook her head again.

“The ones in charge. Brigfaen is for laws and treaties. Most people have no need of it. Many chiefs forbid lower people learning it, to keep them in their place.” She raised an eyebrow in Revni’s direction. “You have surprised the others.”

Revni straightened. “I am high status. My mother was Hyld Gondyttr, my grandfather Gon of the Golden Scar⁠—”

“Those names mean nothing here,” the woman interrupted. “You are Iasacht.” Foreign. But she said it like a title. Like a curse. “What does the soldier want with you?”

“I don’t know. To take me to his regiment.” She used the Aleterian word, the word he had used. “I’m his evidence, he said, but I don’t know of what.”

The old woman nodded, satisfied. She shooed the other women away from Eavus’ body and began slathering the poultice on his wounds. The brush made a slapping, squelching noise against his skin, and Revni shuddered.

“The Aleterians call us Dinaeii,” the woman said to Revni while she worked. “The ones they call Caerdeneii have made war on us.”

“Why?”

“Old feuds. Land. Lots of reasons. But they have won too many times, and we are starving.” She said everything matter-of-factly, like she was explaining something essential to a child. Revni felt small and important all at once. “The Aleterians buried our dead. We would make a treaty with them, if we still can.”

“Is that why you are healing him?”

“Yes.” The woman pressed leaves into the wound at his side, leaving them there to hold the poultice, and said something to the waiting women. They wrangled his torso up, and the woman gestured at Revni. “The tea.”

Instruments surrounded the fire—pots and bowls and spoons. One low bowl steamed with green water, and Revni handed it over.