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“How much?” he asked casually, dipping his quill and poising it above the paper.
“Ninety,” Eavus said. A drop of ink plopped recklessly down. “…five,” he amended. “Ninety-five.” She would need extra to get home. To get north. To find her people.
The paymaster blinked, unable to write the sum.
“Ninety-five? At this hour? What…” He laughed then, suddenly and guilelessly, and, shaking his head, went ahead and crossed out Eavus’ savings.
With a stroke, Eavus was back to being a slave.
“That’s some bet you lost, soldier.”
“It wasn’t a bet.” Eavus’ cheeks heated. He was glad the darkness hid him.
The paymaster raised a knowing brow. “It’s always either a bet or a girl.”
Eavus said nothing, but that almost made it worse. The paymaster shook his head and laughed again.
“Ninety-five. That must be some piece of cunny.”
Eavus had an overwhelming desire to shove the guard aside, steal his sword, and drive it upwards beneath the paymaster’s chin. But if he punched a guard, or the paymaster, he’d be arrested, flogged. Likely executed. He settled for clenching his fists and jaw as tightly as he could while the paymaster unlocked the large chest at his side and weighed out coins in the scale.
“I’m gonna go ahead and give you the lot,” the paymaster proclaimed. Their subtle clink was overwhelmed by the raucous noise of the camp behind them, the blood pounding in Eavus’ ears. “You only have ninety-eight, and you’re the last one on this sheet. I’ll start you fresh next payday.”
Eavus didn’t want all ninety-eight. He wanted to know that there was something waiting for him, something in that chest that was working towards his freedom. But the paymaster poured the ninety-eight into a leather pouch and handed it over.
The blood continued to pound in Eavus’ ears as he made his way back through the camp, the pouch clutched weakly in his hand. He didn’t see the fires or the tents, he didn’t hear the calls of his friends, or the shouts of revelers from the direction of the river. He made his way back to the trader without thinking through his steps, stepped up to his table, and upended all he had in the world, the coins ringing like bells.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Revni didn’t notice the leering man with the keys until they were in the lock—and then she scuttled backwards. But the door swung open and Eavus stood behind him, hands fisted at his sides. The man gave her a one-handed clap. At the expression in Eavus’ eyes, Revni found her hand extending. The man cupped her behind as he lowered her to the dirt, and Eavus slapped him so quickly and so hard that his head recoiled. The man complained to the slave trader, who responded lazily and waved them off, and Eavus unbuckled the cape from his shoulders. Warmth enveloped her. She couldn’t get her legs underneath her. She felt like when they’d first landed off the ship—her body unable to find balance if the ground wasn’t roiling. Eavus walked, and she shakily followed, ignoring the other faces pressing forward, reaching hands for a piece of the rich soldier’s coin.
When they had cleared the square, when they were back in the shadows, Revni stopped. Eavus’ eyes pled forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” Eavus rumbled, in a language she understood.
She adjusted the cape. She might fall to pieces if she let the fabric drop an inch.
“How?”
“How what?”
“How did you free me?”
“I—” She could hear the blush in his voice more than see it. “I paid for you.”
“How? You are a slave, you said.”
“We get wages. Reward money. I—” He swallowed. “I was saving it for myself.”
“To buy your own freedom?”
His silent assent bled some of the rage from her—not completely, but she could feel it soaking into the dirt.
“So what now? You own me?”
“No. No.” Eavus ran a hand over his head. His hair was greasy. He hadn’t bathed, like he said he would. “I don’t know. I just couldn’t let you…let them…” His sigh was heavy with thought. He scratched at his chin. “Let’s get you dressed.”
“I’d like to clean up,” Revni said, for the first time feeling a flush of shame at her bloody thighs, her dirt-smeared face.
