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It wasn’t a coincidence. Revni had prayed since the moment she’d been taken. She’d prayed to Tuyra for warrior strength when the rope had caught around her ankle, smashing her to the ground. She had prayed to Tuyra’s lover to intercede on her behalf, called on Beld and Erki and even Rusa, the father of them all, to call his children to her aid. None of them had answered when Revni had been beaten and groped, shoved and stolen. But in the quiet fatalistic morning, her nose filled with other bodies’ odors, her own muscles sore from elbows and knees and shoulders that weren’t hers, for the first time, Revni had called on Kyrianos.

Kyrianos was not Isfolj by birth. Her story changed depending on the telling, but they all shared the truths of her being: taken in by the other gods by adoption or orphanage or kidnapping, raised like a pet among them, she had no powers of her own. So she turned to the wolves in the forest, and they took pity, and granted her teeth and claws, a wolf’s cunning, a wolf’s long endurance. Some storytellers made her feral; others, the hero—the loyal guardian of both gods and men. But either way, Kyrianos returned to the gods changed, a different thing entirely than what they thought they’d raised.

Revni had never prayed to Kyrianos before. Like Dall, Kyrianos was different—untamed and unpredictable. She scorned blood sacrifices, for one thing, which made her risky. How could you know if you’d been properly heard? But that was part of who Kyrianos was. She liked to do the work herself.

Kyrianos was the goddess of revenge.

And Revni had prayed to her, mumbled her name on fervent lips, asking for her help for nothing in return, wolf-mother, guardian, wild beast…and Eavus had appeared, his head bowed as if in prayer himself.

This was different than the bjerluk her father had cultivated in her. This was a buzzing in every limb, a quick pulsing of anticipation as the wagon rolled through heavily-fortified walls and lurched to a stop. Revni’s breath came shallow, but her body felt ready to spring. Put a knife in her hand.

People were arguing. The other captives had re-jostled for position, and Revni’s view was mostly blocked. Flashes of bronze armor, of red capes, the hint of a feathered helmet. She sucked in a breath. That was Eavus’ voice. She’d never caught on to Aleterian—it was too melodic, too foreign, the words all strung together with no break—but the voice of the driver, his fawning condescension, his squirrelly begging, sent a lightning bolt of rage so deep her cheekbones ached. How tough he’d been when it was just him and his crony, when he’d had his fists and his ropes and his knife. And now…he mewled like a pig. Put a knife in her hand. She’d make him squeal worse.

The wagon swayed as someone clambered down from the seat, and then another. Bronze and red circled, and then a spear cracked against the wooden frame, making everyone jump. The man shouted and rapped at the cage again, and flesh pressed more firmly into Revni as the bodies shrank back. She closed her eyes and held her breath, her nostrils filled with someone’s hair. Then the clanking of a key in a lock, and strong fingers unlashed the leather ties. The back of the cage lifted. Revni still could barely see beyond the ears and necks and heads of the people crammed in front of her, but it felt like she was suddenly bathed in light. One by one, the space began to clear as each person before her was lifted out. Some stumbled, their legs weak from being so cramped. A few stretched and squinted. Revni swallowed, preparing herself for whatever she would find, and shifted forward, reaching her arms out and allowing the two soldiers to pull her into the fresh air. Revni scanned the space, her eyes searching—and there he was.

A muscle flexed in Eavus’ cheek. He had seen her. A soldier shoved her into line with the others, and she bowed her head obediently, her heart thumping in her chest. Kyrianos was with her. Only a little more patience.

The man Eavus had been talking to walked to the end and grimaced, as if inspecting the worst cohort of troops he had ever witnessed. He motioned, spoke, but the old man on the end shook his head. Revni didn’t know anything about most of the other prisoners. Some of them had shouted and complained, and something sharp had poked through the bars as a result, which made the rest of them shift to moans and whispers. Revni didn’t recognize the languages, or maybe had been too lost in her own misery. She’d only been picked up yesterday morning, caught sleeping unaware, like the worst kind of halfwit, been shoved to the meaty center of the full wagon on account of her fighting back. The only thing she’d managed to do was quickly, deftly, unplait her hair when the catcher had made his one and only stop the night before. She had been afraid to speak from then on, afraid her accent would give her away, that her eyes would betray her.

The Aleterian yanked the old man forward and shoved up his sleeve. He checked the other arm, too, spun him and checked the back of his neck, and then with disgust, shoved him towards another soldier. He chastised the driver of the wagon—who stood between two guards and protested wildly—and then yanked forward the next prisoner in line. This one struggled, but his bare arm revealed a mark, and now he was the one protesting as the Aleterian pushed him the opposite direction. The ritual continued, but Revni’s heart quickened and she smoothed her face into stillness as she realized Eavus was coming up behind, looking over each prisoner as if inspecting them himself.

“Oditi?” she heard him quietly ask. “Dinaeii?”

“Varou,” the old man said. Eavus moved on to the young girl that had been pulled beside him.

“Varou,” she repeated, without waiting to be asked.

A young woman shuffled forward from the main buildings, checking over her shoulder as if someone was shooing her on. Her head was wrapped in cloth and she was dressed in a yellow, ill-fitting dress. She bowed her head and spoke. The older Aleterian looked pleased and gave her instructions.

“Ask these men to Dinaeii,” the woman said to the young girl. Revni blinked. The servant woman’s Dinaeii was as bad as hers. “Are looking war men for Dinaeii,” she tried again.

The words scratched at Revni’s throat, unable to come out. But Eavus kept his eyes so steadily not in her direction that Revni begged the gods she wasn’t mistaken and tried again. “I am Dinaeii.”

The older soldier looked over. Eavus’ neck took on a faint blush. Revni hoped no one else would notice. The servant pointed, and the first Aleterian, the one inspecting bodies, yanked Revni out of line. He shoved her sleeve up into her armpit, then the other, then spun her and jerked her hair upward, forcing her chin down.

“Step you.” The servant gestured to the space in front of the officer.

Eavus met her eyes. “Dinaeii?” he said softly, and she hoped she wasn’t imagining the pleading in his voice.

“I am Dinaeii.” Was that a hint of a smile on his face? Relief? She couldn’t be sure. Her blood thundered in her ears.

They spoke, and then the servant tried again. “Translate these men want for me. Ask they what slave.” She shook off her attempt. “Where is your brand?”

Revni wrinkled her brow. “What brand?”

“Your brand. Slave brand.”

Eavus took a step forward and pulled up his sleeve, pointing to his own tattoo. The servant looked relieved, and pointed also.

“Why no yours, these men would know.”

“I am not a slave,” Revni said firmly. She stood straighter, and looked directly into the officer’s eyes. They were gray, wrinkled around the edges. He didn’t seem kind. But his jaw moved in thought, and he looked like he believed her. Revni ached to express herself in a language she properly knew. She felt tied again, with an invisible rope this time, desperately hoping Eavus was holding tight to the other side. He could have spoken Gerstunt, asked for Brigfaen. For whatever reason, he wanted her to be Dinaeii. So Revni held still.

“Where your people?” the girl translated. The commander had a skeptical look.

“North,” Revni said. “Near the juture of three rivers.” Was that the word Berae had used? The servant narrowed her eyes. Revni racked her brain. “Afore that, a hellford, west of the Caerdeneii.”

The woman paused. “Hillfort?”