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Reluctantly, Eavus released her arm. Blood tingled back through it, but then Eyebrows had hold of her as Eavus took the lead. Revni leveled him with a look.

“I am not yours to touch.”

Eyebrows put up his hand in surrender, but the other held her ax and his face held a smirk. Her stomach twisted. He was only a common soldier—a slave, like Eavus. She was a warrior, the granddaughter of a conqueror. So why did she feel so small?

Eavus spoke to the man at the gate. She strained her ears, but the city beyond the door was full of overlapping voices, clanking wheels on uneven stones, the whinny of horses. Someone far away was singing. The drumbeat that had kept her going thrummed: Isfolj, Isfolj, Isfolj. She could feel her people calling to her, like the gods themselves were beckoning from the gates. Isfolj. She was waiting for Eavus to say the word.

The guard at the gate wore a uniform like the one she’d first seen Eavus in, only his was bright—bright white tunic, bright brass breastplate, bright golden helmet. His red cape was almost garish. Revni felt like she needed to shield her eyes. He laughed, and Eavus laughed with him, a nervous sound, but still…

Light glinted off the silver on his pinkie. The stone at its center seemed dark as blood.

This was the moment. Revni felt herself at another threshold, like when she’d delivered Eavus to the Dinaeii—only this one was literal, an actual archway, and she had to make the choice:

Trust Eavus? Or have him hauled away?

He was her captor, her enemy—and that ring meant more than a simple question of trust. It was a hard silver line that separated two halves of a life: one as someone who would always have a home, influence, status; the other a life unattached. There would be no freedom in that independence, no community. Laws were laws, even in Isfolj lands, and Revni had no wealth in her own name, only what she would have inherited. Without wealth, without a name? Nothing but toil, no options but a servant in an Isfolj home, or loaning yourself out to ships—but did they even have such systems here? Panic clawed again at her throat. She had no inkling, none, of how anything here worked at all. All she had was her gods, and her infinitesimal knowledge of the world.

If only he’d said more than simply run. If he only he’d explained. Or looked at her. He still hadn’t turned to meet her eyes.

That knife twisted in her belly.

So many oaths she’d sworn—to the gods, to her parents, to Eavus. Were any of them even listening? Maybe she was shouting into nothing, swearing her soul away to an empty void.

I can take a whipping, he had said on the road.

Gods forgive her, he would have to.

“I need to see the prefect.”

The guard might not know Gerstunt, but Revni knew she had pronounced the Aleterian word perfectly. The guard turned his head. Revni kept her eyes on him, not on Eavus. He spoke to the three men, and Eyebrows answered. Eavus…what? Corrected him? Stammered something that led to more conversation. Revni squared her shoulders and stepped closer.

“I am Revni Hyldyt⁠—”

The smack radiated pain up her face before she even realized it had happened. Revni’s hand flew to her cheek. It was instantly hot.

“Why—”

His backhand sent her head snapping to the other side. He barked at her, but she didn’t know the words. Skinny’s face suddenly loomed in front of her. He said something taunting, waggling his tongue at her and bugging out his eyes. Then Eyebrows was yanking her hands behind her, his breath hot in her ear as he translated:

“Slaves don’t speak.”

The guard pointed, but Revni’s heart was pounding so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear what he said.

“I am Hyldyttr. My grandfather was Gon of the Golden Sc⁠—”

“Bar bar bar bar bar.” Skinny left spit on her when he laughed. He and Eyebrows each took an arm and pulled. Revni twisted to call to Eavus—she hadn’t said anything yet, he could fix this—but a sharp ache stabbed up her neck from the hits.

“We take care of you,” Eyebrows told her, as if he was doing her a favor. “We take you.”

Revni caught a glimpse of Eavus for only a moment. He stared at her, unmoved, and then Eyebrows yanked her around a thin corner. Everything smelled of urine, manure, rotting meat. The singing grew louder.

“Take me where?”

“You belong to Marceas.” Ahead, torchlight flickered high on the walls. An open square, or maybe a wide street. Revni had a sudden image of sheep in a corral, led through a maze. At the other end was always the priest, the knife. The slaughter. Panic reared through her. Revni dug her feet, tried to wrench away, but suddenly her temple exploded in pain and her vision sparkled. She tasted iron. She’d bit her cheek. Skinny left spit again when he snarled at her. He had punched her with the butt end of his spear.

“We sell you for him,” Eyebrows explained, but he sounded so happy and her ears were ringing so badly she didn’t understand at first. Something dripped into the curves of her ear and everything was even more muffled.

“What?” Revni blinked, swallowed the copper on her tongue.