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Berae gestured, and Revni translated—Berae wanted to check on his wounds, wanted to ask about troop movements, offered supplies and information if Eavus would be her messenger. There were a few moments that Revni stumbled over, but overall, it was Eavus that was struggling.

A treaty with the Dinaeii? Who had patched him up? Who didn’t actually scramble around in poverty, but had some fancy home somewhere he didn’t know existed? And wanted him to deliver their missives? He was on slim footing as it was—Colcium wasn’t a terrible idea, actually, but it was a weird little outpost, and if he got to Colcium intact and if whoever was in charge would listen to him and if producing Revni would earn him coin or commendations or at least a way out of being punished…he would still have to make sure she didn’t get to the Isfolj first. He needed her in his possession if she was going to be of any use to him.

He glanced at Revni as she spoke. She was calm, determined. Worked her way through words she didn’t know in a way that was impressive, frankly. She’d dragged him through enemy territory. Saved his life. And for what? So he could better turn her in? Her antler-handled dagger dangled at her waist. When she had taken that from him, he had no idea, but he had no idea how any of this had happened, did he? Getting separated, getting lost, getting wounded. Revni had talked about her own gods more than once, but Eavus wondered now if the monk’s god had cursed him.

“My god has a mission for you,” the monk had said, chatting amiably while he handed over the items Eavus had asked for, pretending to assist but all the while pouring poisons in his ear. The particulars floated in and out of Eavus’ memory, but the effect of it had all settled into the nooks, festering.

“What do you intend to do with the girl after you reach your superiors?” the monk had asked.

“Sell her, most likely. Whatever my commander orders.”

It had been his last moments of clarity before the effects of the herbs took hold, the relief of warm liquid and the numbing of his wounds sweetening everything. He had felt alert, and yet malleable. Like after spending too long in an oracle’s tent, the florid smoke pulling his mind outside his body, somehow making it all the sharper.

"What if they decide to kill her? What would you think of that?”

“It’s not my business to think. It’s my business to follow orders.”

But it had got him thinking as he’d tied her to the smokehouse walls, like another slab of meat. They probably wouldn’t kill her, but mistreat? Absolutely. His whole face had flushed. She certainly wasn’t going to be set free.

He had never thought of himself as naive before, but he’d never thought about what happened to the prisoners they collected—just followed orders, rounded them up and presented them, like they were the marbles in a game of Jelat. How many can you catch in one hand as they roll off the table? Open your fist. Trade them for your winnings.

Only there were no winnings, just weeping children and grim-faced parents, bleeding warriors spitting on him, that defiant, murderous glare in their eye as the wooden cage slammed shut, penning them in.

But how else did you expect an empire to succeed? This was war. He wasn’t paid to think. He was paid to obey.

“I have my orders,” he had repeated, but the words had flexed in his throat with a new bitterness.

He’d had orders every day of his life since he was four years old. The monk probably thought he was a coward. Revni probably thought he was deliberately cruel. She probably thought he got off on the power of it, of watching people squirm. Of killing them. She thought he was dim-witted, unable to think for himself.

It was never that complicated. Following orders was how you survived.

A mission, Eavus thought angrily now, the old Dinaeii woman still jabbering. Maybe Eastern gods sent people on missions, but not Aleterian. Aleterian gods sent people on errant quests, on long-winded pranks. If any god was involved in this fracas, it was an Aleterian one, for sure.

But Eavus nodded, as if he’d taken in anything she had said, until Revni said another native phrase he didn’t know:

“What is that? Tanistinne cnor?” The odd sounds clung to the back of his throat like he was choking on melon.

Revni asked, and Berae answered.

“It’s the fort of the chief’s man. I think maybe a warrior?” Revni asked a follow-up, clarified. “We don’t have this word in Isfolj, and so I do not know it in Gerstunt. We might say prince, because he will inherit, but he also leads armies.”

“Like a general?”

Revni shrugged.

“I don’t know that word either.”

Eavus’ head was definitely swimming. The Dinaeii had forts? And generals? He had thought there were only a few hundred Dinaeii on the whole island.

“Alright, so what are the terms?”

Eavus had addressed Berae’s serene face, waiting for Revni to translate, but when she said nothing, he turned his eyes back to her.

Revni worked her jaw. “The rest,” she finally said, “I will tell you when we get to Colcium.”

“What?”

“You bring me to Colcium—and only then will I give you the Dinaeii message. If you do not let me speak to someone important, Dinaeii will think Aleteria has rejected their offer, and are now enemies. And that will be your fault.”