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“Of course we do. The skies and the earth exist, don’t they?”
“But you don’t pray to them?” No wonder he had such bad luck.
“I mean, I call on them, I suppose.” He beat the clothes against a rock, plunged them back in the water. “Viduus is the god of the dead. Most soldiers invoke his name a few times. I’m sure the priests in the temples do more than that, but temples cost money. I’ve never paid for prayers.”
His words swept all the plotting from her brain.
“Aleteria charges money to talk to the gods?”
She hadn’t meant to offend him, but he looked huffy.
“Well, what about you? Don’t your sacrifices cost money?”
“No!” But after a moment of consideration, she amended: “I mean, maybe. If you don’t have a goat or a sheep on hand, you’d have to buy one. But that’s only if you don’t have one to spare. It’s not like you have to sacrifice. It’s different.” It seemed different. You didn’t have to pay just to talk. And besides, “Smart people, they raise their own.” She went in deeper, up to her calves, willing the numb cold to clear her mind so she could think. “Selti fatek su hyb. When someone is very poor, that’s what you say: so poor they sold the nubs. Because they couldn’t even keep a whole animal.”
“Nubs?”
She pinched the top of her head. “You know, the nubs? The little baby horns?” At his nod, she gave a small smile. “Someone who is a good planner, you call them vordika. Ewe-keeper. Thinks ahead, to next spring, to what you’ll need before you need it.” She thought of the rolling green of the hills, the soft baby lambs and kids following their mothers. This cold river reminded her too much of home.
“And then you sacrifice it?”
“Not the female. You plan ahead, see? For her children.”
Eavus poured liquid on his armor, began polishing out the black. “And then what do you do with this goat or this sheep?”
“You open its throat on the altar, for luck in battle or on the seas or with your crops. You give to the gods what gives life, so they will give you life in return.”
“Poor little sheep. Not his fault you needed luck.”
“Goats are more common. They usually have twins. Will you come in the water?”
But he ignored her question, shaking his head. “I don’t think I could ever get used to that. All that death. All that blood.”
Revni bristled. “What about for food? Didn’t you hunt?”
“Slaves aren’t allowed to touch weapons, except in battle.”
“What about back home? In your fancy House of Caea? Didn’t they make you help prepare meals? Snap chickens’ necks and skin rabbits and all the other dirty tasks they make slaves do because the rich don’t want to see what it entails?”
She surprised herself with her own bitterness, but he didn’t seem bothered.
“I wasn’t a kitchen slave.” His lip quirked, his tone rich with the irony. “I was raised to be the lamb.”
Revni’s heart twisted again, but she couldn’t dwell on it. He was too casual, too at ease. She needed that ring.
“You should come in the water.” She backed up farther, feeling for any change in the rocks. Where it got deeper, they were still slick, but she had more purchase. “It’s very nice.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s fine.” She braced herself, took a deep breath, and plunged under. The cold sent shock waves into her limbs that were welcome after all this scheming and tension. She popped back up, her long braids dripping down her shoulders. “Help me out, then.”
Eavus sighed, but pressed himself to standing.
Algae was slick under her feet. The river swept between her legs, pulling between her thighs. Eavus reached an arm out, and Revni stood to full height to grab his hand—callused fingers, strong grip.
Not the hand that wore the ring.
Revni yanked, hard, and Eavus’ full weight fell forward. Revni leaped out of the way as he crashed into the water, but her heart was hammering in her chest as she forced a laugh. Eavus came up sputtering.
