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The rough movement had wakened Eavus. He blinked and began to push them away, but the women held him fast and the old healer held the bowl to his lips. “Tell him to drink.” It took Revni a moment to realize she was still talking to her.
“Drink it,” she said in Gerstunt. Eavus refocused his glassy eyes on her. “It’s medicine.” Obediently, he drank, still blinking in Revni’s direction. Her stomach twisted awkwardly. That streak of mud was stark on his cheek.
The healer handed the empty bowl back without turning, and began to splotch the poultice to the backside of the shoulder wound. Eavus’ posture immediately dropped with relief. He mumbled something in his own language that sounded like gratitude. The spear Revni had stabbed him with hadn’t gone all the way through, but it had penetrated deeply enough that there was a splintering of blood vessels around a large, angry scab. Eavus must have been in more pain than he’d let on. She felt a flush of pride for herself, and some respect for him.
“None of our group speak Aleterian. There are Dinaeii leaders at our home that do, but the Caerdeneii have split us off.”
“This isn’t your home?”
The woman scoffed, insulted. “This is a hunting camp. When we came east, the Caerdeneii attacked. We lost many in the fighting. This soldier would bring you to his chiefs. We would have him bring our message.”
“And you need me to translate it.”
The woman nodded. “You speak a language he understands.” She lay Eavus carefully back down. “Tell him he will sleep now.”
Revni did, but it was unnecessary. His eyes were already drooping. The other women spoke to the healer and left. That might have been the word bread.
Now was the moment. Revni set her chin. “I cannot help you.”
The woman sat back on her heels and turned to face Revni.
“I came to trade, not to stay.”
“And what do you think a person is worth?” The old woman sounded disappointed.
“Food. Water. Directions to the Snake River.” She translated snake to Brigfaen, but maybe they called it something else?
The woman shook her head. “I do not have this for you.”
Desperation gnawed, and Revni shoved the feeling down. “Directions to the Isfolj then. They are north.”
“North is Sculpae.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“We have no use for a soldier we cannot speak with.”
“But what about revenge? That boy that took his sword— Or something to bargain with,” she tried desperately, “for your treaty.”
The woman looked even more insulted. “We are not beggars. We are a sovereign people. The treaty we offer Aleteria is a gift to them.”
Revni didn’t know what to make of this information. All she’d seen was poverty. The words slipped out before she thought better:
“But you’re all so primitive.”
The woman’s eyes glittered—not with offense, Revni realized, but an odd pleasure. “You Iasacht are all alike.” She made a vague gesture connecting Revni and Eavus. “You see what is in front of you, and no more. You see the power in pride, but never in being underestimated.” She smoothed her skirts and nodded. “The Dinaeii, we will be of use to you. This is our trade.”
“How?”
“Food. Supplies. The words to say when you meet a Selgi child.”
“How will that help me find my people?” Revni pressed.
“Faen is a large island, with many peoples. Who to trust is not always obvious.” The woman picked at something on her skirt, and Revni suddenly put together her good skin, her fine-woven clothing, her jewelry. The language of chiefs, the woman had said. She was wealthy, or had been. Powerful. And here she was in a dirty hut, bargaining with a prisoner.
Tides shifted, so suddenly.
“Your people taught you the language of treaties,” she went on. “That means they have made them. This man would travel to a place where those in charge meet. You would travel with him, and find your people there.”
