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Eavus flexed his fists. “Of course it is. The market isn’t until tomorrow. I want her back.”

“We have a contract,” the trader remarked lazily. He shifted to the table, flicking through a pile of papers in a basket. “What was your name?”

“Ricaea Marceas.”

The trader raised an eyebrow at the patronym, then flicked a smile.

“A slave selling a slave. There’s no honor in this world, is there?” He clicked his tongue in mock chastisement.

“Well I’m not selling her,” Eavus insisted. His neck had gone hot, and he knew from past experience that the veins were pulsing. “I want her back.”

The trader plucked the proper contract from the pile and Eavus followed as he crossed the square. He could feel eyes following him. Too many, crammed into too-small cages, young and old, Caerdeneii and Dinaeii and he didn’t know who else. Like a good soldier, he kept his eyes forward, on the bald spot at the back of the trader’s head.

“This one?” The trader stopped before Revni’s cage. Eavus nodded tightly. He couldn’t help the quick flick to her eyes, and she stared back, numb. The length of her hair had been tied back roughly, but she hadn’t been washed.

“She’s fertile, this one,” the trader remarked. So that was why she was in a cage alone. High value. “I was going to sell her for two hundred, but now, I could easily get three.”

Three hundred! The thought of that much coin made even Eavus stutter a gasp. With that much coin, he could buy his freedom and then some. Not Acorn Lane, but somewhere small and quiet. Away from all this horror. He swallowed, avoiding her gaze. The trader grinned.

“Hard to pass up.”

Eavus licked his lips.

“Unlock her.”

The trader snuffed in surprise, but he didn’t move.

“We have a contract.”

Eavus’ blood felt hot. He tightened his fists, and the trader drew both hands up in half-surrender.

“Now don’t get huffy, young man. The law is the law.” He looked at Revni, and when he returned to Eavus his grin had a more lecherous slant. “I see.” He drew the words out in a way that made Eavus want to put his fist through his teeth. “I’ll tell you what. I’m something of a romantic myself.” He eyed the contract, then pointed to a line. “I’m owed thirty percent. I don’t care if it’s you who pays it or some fat riconoi, but I could get three hundred for her on a bad day. You give me a hundred, and I’ll hand her back to you.”

“You want me to pay you for my own property?” Calling her property felt like ash in his mouth, but there it was.

“We have a contract,” the trader repeated. He went back to his table, forcing Eavus to follow like a dog behind its master. “I’m being generous,” he insisted. “With a bidding war she could go to 350, 400 even. I’m losing money on this,” he complained, as if he were the injured party.

Eavus found it difficult to speak through his tight jaw. “Thirty percent of three hundred is ninety.”

“Oh ho ho, so not all soldiers are as dumb as their cocks. Fine. Ninety. Market opens at dawn if I don’t have it by then.” He put the contract back in the basket, put the rock back on top to weigh the whole stack down.

“I’ll be back,” Eavus said curtly. The trader waved him away.

Ninety gold coins. Eavus’ mouth was dry as old wool. He shook out his hands. Blood pulsed in the veins, worse than before a battle. Ninety gold coins. To take back what was already his.

Was there another option? He could plead his case to the tireni in charge, to the commander. His tent party would have his back if he wanted to pick a fight, but the buying and selling of spoils was like betting—something everyone knew everyone did, but if you brought it up to the prefect, they’d be forced to tell you that it was illegal. Possibilities flooded his brain to the march of his sandaled feet across the encampment, and were rejected just as quickly. If he claimed he owned her, she’d be taken as contraband. Then the guard commander would own her. Or worse, Aleteria itself. She wouldn’t be freed. She’d be shipped to some corner of the world. And he’d be flogged. He’d lose his coins either way, most likely, fined for stealing from the emperor. Or, even if somehow someone was willing to let him negotiate for her—Parlus maybe—then she’d cost three hundred. And in a bidding war? Maybe more. She was strong, healthy, uncowed. Fertile, he remembered savagely, the sight of Revni shivering adding fuel to his fury. Ninety gold coins it would have to be.

The paymaster was off duty for the night, but he was used to being stirred. A guard dragged him away from whatever fire he was enjoying and he strode up behind Eavus, the clanking of his massive key ring announcing his presence long before he stumbled into view.

“It’s a little late for withdrawals.” His speech was slurred. Not enough to get him into trouble, but still. If Eavus had wanted to report him, he could have.

“Sorry, sir, it can’t wait until morning.” Eavus shifted his weight, widening his stance and clasping his hands behind him.

The paymaster squinted at him. Torches were lit outside the pay tent, but the flickering light seemed to confuse the paymaster a moment longer than it should.

“Ricaea Marceas,” he finally remembered with a nod. “It was only a matter of time, huh?” he chuckled. He pushed past Eavus, waving away the other soldier guarding the locked chest, and plunked to a seat at his table. Eavus had never made a withdrawal. When they were paid, they were asked the same question every time: Should we hold it for you, or would you like the coin? Eavus was known for his consistent, “Hold!” Once every few months, Eavus shouted “Coin!” and he filled his small pouch, and that kept him in good stead while they were in a town, and if they were sent out, he gave the rest back to the paymaster for safe-keeping. He was the tightest legionary with his money that the paymaster had ever seen, because the paymaster had so rarely seen him.

The paymaster dug up the ledger from another locked chest and, gesturing the guard to bring the torch closer, found Eavus’ name on the roll.