Page 49

“Me, too, that’s all. I mean, I was fourteen, but still. Five years.”

“I don’t know if that’s a little or a lot.”

“Me either,” Eavus harumphed. He went back to the fish.

Was it a little, or a lot? Lucky, the Blue Men had said. You are lucky you are with the Aleterian. We would have killed you otherwise. Because the two of them had fought instead of surrendered. How big was this empire of his? That a group of thieves in the forest was scared enough to let one lost soldier go?

She almost wished Eavus would be ruder about the delays caused by her inconvenience. She would have a response to that, something cutting that would make her feel like herself. But he was only impatient. The stand of silvery birch had seemed more proof of providence yesterday—just what she needed, just when she needed it—but now she had a begrudging feeling that the gods were showing off.

“Will this be the only holdup?”

Eavus had been impressed at first, the way she’d peeled a long stretch of bark to make her quick-basket. He had even let her borrow his small knife to dig up spruce roots to use as stitching, but now that the sun had climbed beyond its highest point, he had begun to pace.

“We’ll have to make stops more often, but I can be quick.” Off his exasperation, she raised a judgmental brow. “The Isfolj have always managed just fine.”

“Well how often? We’re in a hurry.”

“I don’t know. As often as needed.” She’d never encountered anyone so clueless before. Isfolj all lived together, women and men and old and young. There were no secrets. “You have seen bleeding people before. How often would you stop to change the bandages, if someone had a wound?”

“If his wound wouldn’t stop bleeding,” Eavus growled, “we’d leave him behind.”

Revni’s head shot up. “Feel free.”

He groaned at that, but went to collect moss on her instructions. She took the chance to stuff the moss she’d already collected into her pants. Her body hadn’t even started yet, but she wasn’t eager to take chances. Please, she begged the gods, let there be baths in Colcium. She could feel the grime of travel sticking to every crevice, particles of dirt in her hair. She wanted to properly brush her teeth. She settled for washing her face and neck, then set to scouring her ring. Nervously, she picked at a speck of dirt caught in the design. The etching was worn, but she still knew its overlapping curves and knots, the sleek silver dog bodies leading to two open mouths, one on each side of the blood-red garnet. Love. That’s what it was supposed to represent. Was that the same as trust? The words blind faith wouldn’t let her go.

It’s too far south. It’s not safe to be that far south on Faen.

She saw everything so clearly now it was as if the gods had pried open a door. Sign after sign, and she had kept closing her eyes to them because she hadn’t liked the message. That wasn’t the gods’ fault. That was hers.

The deserter’s rope, looped where own knife had once hung, tapped her thigh as they walked. I hear you, she grumbled inwardly, but it kept vying for her attention. They moved into farmland—slap, slap—the emmer still green, then into more trees—slap, slap, slap—planted in purposeful lines. The weeds were knee-high and Revni didn’t recognize the hard, green fruits. Eavus didn’t either. He made a squinched face when he bit into one, but instead of laughing he angrily tossed it and barked at her to keep moving.

Something was bothering him, too.

Everyone had secrets.

All her life she’d been told that fear was a weakness. It meant you didn’t trust the fate the gods had in store. But there seemed to be another kind of fear, a good kind, one that boiled low behind your belly and caught at the back of your tongue. One that told you to open your eyes. Maybe that’s what her father had meant, teaching her to still her mind. The right kind of fear could save your life.

So which kind of fear was this?

Because when they reached the road the next day, Revni’s heart stuttered into her throat and she froze, unable to move forward. This road—this was nothing like the wide cart paths she’d envisioned. It was paved with massive stones, like the granite falls near Jurun that jutted over the cliffs. Except these weren’t laid out by the gods, with their ascending steps, these were laid out by men.

She dropped to one knee, caressing the smoothness. The long, stone snake twisted like a river towards the horizon.

“How?” she breathed.

“A lot of work.” Eavus almost sounded proud. “Everyone thinks soldiering is killing, but it’s mostly clearing paths and breaking rock.”

“Why?”

“An army’s strength is in its stomach. That means provisions.” Her confusion must have been displayed on her face, because he gave her a quizzical look. “Wagons, carts.”

“Carts of food?” It didn’t make sense.

“Food, weapons, support staff. The wagon train is often larger than the line of men.”

“How do they fight?”

“They don’t.”