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The man’s gaze skimmed Eavus’ arm, his lack of breastplate or other armor, then the sword lying in the dirt, before settling again on the fire. “You on patrol?”

Eavus resisted the urge to adjust the blanket tighter around his tattoo, sending a silent prayer of thanks he’d put it on at all.

“Got separated from my regiment. I’m heading to Colcium to report in.”

The man nodded sagely, then smiled, a leering grin that made Eavus’ toes go cold.

“I got separated, too.”

He flipped the spear to point down—a better angle for quick release—and held his free hand to the warmth. He wore loose pants underneath his worn army tunic, a woven sash around his waist instead of a regulation belt. He clearly hadn’t washed in ages. Eavus could smell him even through the thick of smoke.

“You can tell your girl to come sit. I won’t bite.”

Eavus paused, weighing what language to use. Who knew which local clan the deserter had hooked himself up with? Because he was definitely a deserter, ragged and shoddy. He’d made some attempts at shaving his head and face, but whatever knife he’d used had been dull and the sloppy growth was weeks old.

“She’s a captive.”

“Of course.”

Eavus didn’t like the way he said it, like he and Eavus were in on the same secret.

“Come,” Eavus said in Northern, without turning around. The deserter didn’t react. Was that because he understood the language, or because he didn’t?

The corner of Eavus’ eye caught Revni setting down the wood. He gave the barest shake of his head, hoping she understood not to go for her weapon. They both knew far too well that they had no idea how many more people might be hiding among the trees.

“Did you serve in the North?” Eavus asked.

The man sucked his teeth. “You going to put that fish on the fire?”

Eavus’ stomach snarled, as if in anticipatory protest at being denied a proper share. He took up the stick he’d been working on and finished shaving it to a point, then speared the fish and set it above the flames. The man appeared to keep his eyes on his own fingers, tickling the warm air, but Eavus knew from experience that he was taking them both in—one eye on Eavus, in particular the small knife he was holding, and the other on Revni, wondering what she would do.

“You trust your girl with a weapon?” he finally asked.

Eavus resisted the urge to look at her. “Only for firewood.” The lie felt wrong on his tongue, like it would fall to earth with a flop, naked and exposed. “She wouldn’t know what to do with it beyond that.”

The deserter stood as if to stretch, but he brought the spear up with him, the other hand casually draping the hilt of the dagger at his hip. His eyes stayed on Revni. “Tell your girl to come get comfortable. A man can’t eat when he’s nervous.”

Eavus’ fingers itched towards his sword, but he held it in check. What if the man understood Northern? “Come sit. Take off the ax.”

He could feel her anger at his back. He hoped she wasn’t glaring that scowl of hers, getting them both in worse trouble. She stepped into the light at Eavus’ side, momentarily blocking the heat, before she came to a squat and gingerly laid the ax down.

“Taerus.” The fish spit when the man rotated it, and a blister formed on the skin. Eavus’ stomach grumbled again. It took him a moment to realize that was the man’s name.

“Marceas,” he offered, but immediately regretted it. The less information the man had on him, the better.

“May I?” Taerus reached for the ax without waiting for an answer. “It’s got a good blade.” He turned it as if to examine it better, then set it down next to his own spear.

Eavus held his jaw tight. He’d be damned before he’d lose another weapon, and certainly not to this⁠—

“Us outcasts, we have to stick together, eh?” The man gave that skin-crawling grin again, interrupting Eavus’ thoughts. “Come on now, we’re worth a lot of money, you and I, aren’t we?”

Eavus blinked. Taerus’ gesture had been vague, almost towards Revni, throwing him into confusion, but no, the man meant him. “Money?”

“Turning in a deserter? What are they up to these days? Five?”

Eavus swallowed. That sounded about right.

“Now you look like a man that could use five, and I know I could use it. But,” he said philosophically, plucking the fish off the fire, “you also look like a man that might put up a fight. And I know I’m definitely that man.” He picked at the fish, alternating between pinching skin from the flesh and shaking out the burning tips of his fingers. “So. Maybe we just enjoy a meal together instead.”