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You’re people, Kena had said to them. As if that mattered.

Eavus scraped the knife across his jaw, feeling it rip at his skin.

The problem that plagued him wasn’t his to solve. His problem was Costae’s sword; his tattoo displaying his betrayal for all the world to see if he didn’t get it made right; possibly informing his superiors about the sack of Colcium. They probably knew already, but what if they didn’t? He had always rejected it, when others had called him lucky. He had survived the battles at Three Mountains, at Pinay, at Farea, when so few others had. He had rescued Hectaes Orineas when he’d been held ransom without his father having to pay a single octavi. In the Northern mountains, he’d pushed the ballista uphill in the blazing sun, with only one other brother to help him, and then fired it with a single, lucky shot, right through the window of the tower and into the body of the navigational scout, wreaking havoc on the enemy’s communication lines. And with each of these commendations, he’d carved away at his indenture, bit by bit, every time arguing that it had been because of his own strength and worthiness.

But deep down, he knew he had been lucky. He could have ended up a field slave, in the salt mines, in a house where they beat him in a regular rotation. But no, he had ended up in the House of Caea, a house with a son just his own age, in a family whose patriarch knew how to plan ahead. Vordika, Revni would have called them. They didn’t have to give him heavy chores, hire sword masters and fighters to train him. All they needed to provide to the empire was a body, and he would have been that whether they’d made him strong or not. He didn’t know Caea’s politics—maybe they disagreed with conscription, maybe they wanted to see Aleteria succeed—but it had been a kindness. They’d given him a chance. Because you weren’t just offered a half-term of service out of the goodness of the emperor’s heart. You had to earn it, over and over again, chipping away at your twelve years battle by battle, cutting that time with every commendation—a month here, a season there—until you reached the best the empire had to offer: a legionary in a cohort, nothing between you and freedom but the six short years you’d almost already served and half a lifetime’s worth of gold.

And if Nenea had beaten him with a stick or boxed him about the ears, if she had refused to hug him or show him gentleness, that was proof of his worthiness. Everyone knows that you don’t fall in love with the big boys, the ones who show strength and honor and ability, because they’re not going to stay. They’re not going to come back. And if he was raised like a cow for its meat, if it meant that his days had been longer than the other slaves—because he still had his chores to attend to, the carrying of jugs, the construction of the courtyard, accompanying Caeas Septemius to parties to make sure he didn’t get killed—but if it meant that his days had been longer because he spent hours in the practice field after the others had earned their rest, then that was a kindness. That was lucky. Because it meant they’d given him years.

This was what he owed the House of Caea. Revni could mock it and deride it, but he was still alive because of them. And now…what? What was he considering? He had to go back, that was for sure. But Revni…

There would be no Isfolj Council. There would be no jurl.

Eavus finished his task and patted his clear skin dry.

The Aleterians may not have conquered Colcium, but they had conquered Lordinius, besieged the valuable trading port over many horrible months, taken it from the Arnean tribes that had ruled it, killed their chief and sent his body parts to be skewered atop the bronze, spiral horns of Aleteria as they marched into the next battle. Eavus didn’t even know what tribe it had been—it was before his time here. But it had been a hard-won city, a bloody victory over the entire south of the island, and Aleteria had turned Lordinius into their Letrea of the west: their capital city, their pride and joy. Lordinius was the shiny spoke from which Aleteria extended the wheels of progress.

There were no Isfolj left in Lordinius.

And he needed her. He knew all the arguments as to why producing a real live Isfolj would help make his case. And the ring on his finger, her family history—Revni would bring him in money, maybe a lot. His freedom was dancing just on the edge of reach, like a perpetual sunset he kept chasing. It was right there, golden on the horizon, and Revni might be the weight on the scale that tipped him over.

But what would become of her after?

She returned from her cold swim, dripping and smiling with discomfort, wearing that ridiculous tunic and carrying her rescued pants. She gave a visible shiver.

“I want to hear more about these heated rooms you have in Lordinius.” She looked around the space. “No fire? Give me the blanket then.”

Eavus swallowed and handed it over. She pulled her knees to her chin to wrap herself into a little woolen ball. She looked young again, the way she had when he first saw her sleeping.

“People have started to arrive. There might be food.” He tilted his chin to the far side of the river. A few covered carts had gathered there, their own fires crackling.

It was a well-known spot for travelers. People too poor to pay for lodgings in town, or the fees to use the public wells, came here, to this last small river before Lordinius. It was free fresh water, safety in numbers, and in the morning they’d all gather their supplies and head for the hour or so journey to Lordinius, to see the magistrate or sell their wares. A sudden panic ran through him.

“We shouldn’t stay,” he declared, standing up and strapping his breastplate back on. “We should sleep somewhere closer in.”

Revni eyed him.

“It’ll be chaos in the morning,” he argued, though she hadn’t protested. The words just kept coming out of him, the way they’d had when they turned off the road in the first place. “Everyone will be heading in together, and we’ll be seen before we can explain ourselves. It’ll look like we’re sneaking in, when it’s just the opposite. It’ll be better if we stay somewhere closer, then get there first thing when the gates open, before the market sellers and everyone else.” As soon as he got the breastplate strapped on, he cursed. He couldn’t walk around wearing it at night. You didn’t wear your armor unless you were on patrol, and you didn’t patrol by yourself after dark. You didn’t patrol by yourself at all. What had he been thinking, marching down the road like that? With his Silve and his salutes and his accepting food. There’d be talk. Word could have gotten back already, about the lone soldier wandering the Lordus Road with half his uniform on. They might take him for a petty thief.

“Come on, get dressed. We should go.”

Revni kept eyeing him, but she pulled her damp pants up under the tunic, and then swapped out the shirt. He turned away again, blushing. She didn’t seem to care if he saw her naked—she’d never asked him to turn away—and he wasn’t sure if her lack of modesty should have been chided or admired. It wouldn’t be his business much longer anyway.

They were close enough now that he knew the terrain. They didn’t stay on the road this time, but weaved over it, cutting through the wheat, behind work houses where field slaves probably lay sleeping. There was a quarry, northeast of the city walls, and near the quarry, the porous natural stone had carved out depressions in the rock. Stone workers took their rest there during the day, lunching in the shade, and Eavus, once or twice on a cold night patrol, had admittedly tucked himself into one of the deeper caves to get protection from the wind. In summer, they’d be empty. It wasn’t worth the twenty minute walk outside the patrol route—or the risk of punishment—not when the nights weren’t cold enough to need it. He and Revni could sleep safely there tonight, undetected, and be at the city gates at first light. He only had to make it through the next few hours, and then he’d be done.

Eavus almost wished Revni had questioned him. Where was her fight now? The girl that had run from him, over and over, that had slammed her shield into him, that had swam a river to escape him? This girl was following behind him like a dog, not even barking back. She deserved to get sold in the market square. She spoke three languages—practically four if you counted the Dinaeii she had picked up—and she hadn’t bothered to learn about Aleteria? About the way they ruled? It wasn’t his fault she was so naive.

They reached the caves, and Eavus carefully picked the deepest one. He examined the walls, walking the space as if they were shopping for a home. It was good. It would block the wind, and if they kept to the back, no one would be able to see them, even from the closest ledge. They’d be the first at the gates, practically before the shift even changed. Could they risk a fire? Probably not. They’d have to go back out for wood, and he didn’t want to do that.

“We can sleep here. We’ll be safe.”

But he couldn’t sit still. He jumped back up to his feet, paced again. Revni watched him, that lioness stare.

“You’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m…anxious. It’s different. I just want this to be done.”

“Will they punish you?”