The Silvered

Chapter Nine

THE SUN HAD SLIPPED behind them so that they drove over the edges of their shadow. Reiter had a vague memory, a child’s memory, of his gran pulling him aside, fingers pinching the inside flesh of his arm, and telling him to mind his shadow. To not walk in his own darkness. He hadn’t thought of his gran or her superstitions in years.

“Pull over to the side, Chard.”

Behind them in the wagon box the boy was starting to shake off the drug, tongue flicking out trying to lick his lips, his nostrils flaring. Did he have the senses of a dog even when he looked like a person? Next to him, the mage’s eyes moved under her lids. Both their pulses were strong although hers was definitely quicker. The pin was still in place, pushed into the flesh of the boy’s shoulder, just past the edge of the recent scarring. With the surgeon’s warning in mind, he decided to wait a little longer before giving them another dose.

“Back on the road.”

“Yes, sir. Say, Cap? You ever get her name?”

“The enemy doesn’t have names. It makes them easier to kill.”

Chard flinched and muttered, “Ouch.” He spent a few minutes staring at the swing of Thunder’s tail, then he turned. “Is she going to be killed?”

Reiter kept his gaze on a field beside the road, a field plowed and planted, the marks of two armies—infantry, cavalry, artillery, and whatever dangerous shit the engineers had been up to—already erased by the need to feed Abyek’s factory workers so they’d keep making the bricks and whatever else those smoking monstrosities turned out.

“Captain Reiter?”

“Just drive, Private.”

Mirian knew her hands and feet were tied. She knew her head ached and her jaw throbbed, but she didn’t hurt as badly as her last memory of the market insisted she should. Her mouth tasted much as it had after she’d been sent by the family doctor to a surgeon for a toothache, so it seemed they’d been drugged. She knew she was in the back of a wagon, tied to a ring bolted into the side of the box and that Tomas was beside her although too far away to touch, also tied.

Had the Imperials been smart enough to leave the silver pin in his body? She tried to reach out and identify the metal, but her head felt as though it had been stuffed with ash. Too light to move aside, it merely moved around. And ash would explain why her eyes stung, tears welling up with every blink.

She was conscious; Tomas wasn’t. They knew what he was, so they might have given him more of the drug. Or, possibly, body equilibrium, first level healing, had helped clear the drug from her system faster.

Common sense told her they were on the Aydori Road traveling east toward Karis. The shadows told her it was afternoon.

She hadn’t been surprised to hear Captain Reiter tell Chard to pull over. It seemed the whole empire was allowed to kill Tomas, but who else would want her? The shouting in the market must have brought the soldiers, and the soldiers had brought her to the captain. Brought them to the captain because Tomas wasn’t dead and he hadn’t been skinned.

However bad it was, it could be worse.

The wagon stopped.

She’d barely gotten her eyes closed and her breathing steadied when the captain turned to examine them.

She thought he must really want to believe she was still unconscious to not have noticed she was awake.

She knew they had to escape.

She just didn’t know how.

“Pull over, Chard.”

“Here, Cap?”

“Here.” Reiter twisted around on the seat and dropped down into the wagon box, ignoring Chard’s efforts to get Thunder to move to the side of the road. They were nearly to the Duke’s Seat, a good-sized city built around an ancient fortress on a hill. The fortress, at least, could have held out indefinitely in an earlier time. As it was, the artillery had brought up the big twelve pounders and bombed the shit out it. One of the officers at Abyek who’d been at the Seat during the bombardment had said he’d had to keep his mouth open in order to stabilize the pressure in his ears from the firing of the guns. Reiter’d been staring at the approaching ruins and thinking about the rebuilding when he’d realized that the soft sounds the boy’d been making for some time had become words.

Words in Aydori. Not words Reiter could understand but definitely words.

What’s more, the boy’s eyes were open. Whites bloodshot, pupils blown, he flicked them from side to side, gaze not quite focused. His nostrils were widely flared, although he had to struggle to get air in through his nose. His lips were pulled back off his teeth. He wasn’t fighting the rope yet, but he would.

Reaching for a canteen, Reiter turned to check the g…mage.

Her eyes were also open, an even paler gray than he remembered. Almost silver. She closed them immediately and opened them again an instant later, aware she’d been too late. He hated that she looked afraid, but, realistically, how else would she look? If he hated it that much, he knew what to do about it. Mixed in with her fear was a quiet assessment that reminded him a little of Major Halyss.

He slid a hand behind her shoulders and held the open canteen to her mouth. Although he’d been afraid he might have to force the issue, she drank so willingly, he had to pull back and slow her down. When she’d finished half the water, he laid her flat and did the same for the boy. Still barely aware, he growled and muttered but drank.

Having tossed the empty canteen aside, Reiter pulled the glass bottle and one of the cloth pads from the satchel. Carefully pulling the cork from the bottle, he damped the cloth, stopping before the liquid spread past the marks Major Raynold had drawn.

The boy’s growls had grown wilder and he’d begun to fight the rope, but unlike the poor flaming bastard in the market, Reiter knew which of his two prisoners was the more dangerous. When he turned back to the mage, her pale eyes were fixed on the cloth in his hand.

“Don’t.”

It was as much an exhale as a word, but he heard it. Ignored it. He didn’t fault her for trying to escape, but if she hadn’t broken the tangle…

When he pressed the cloth over her mouth and nose, her eyes narrowed in a silent challenge, and it soon became clear she was holding her breath. From the little he knew of her, she’d pass out before she inhaled. He moved his thumb just far enough to touch the bruise on her jaw, pressed, dimpled the green-yellow swelling, and she gasped. Her eyes watered, her eyelids fluttered. When she could no longer keep her eyes open, he lifted the cloth away and used a dry edge to wipe the snot from her upper lip.

“Uh, Cap?”

“I know.”

He had to brace himself as the boy fought the rope hard enough to rock the wagon. Chard muttered nonsense at the suddenly restive horse, trying to keep it still as Reiter prepared a fresh cloth. The major had insisted: one cloth, one dose. He clamped a hand down on the silver pin, and pressed the cloth down on the boy’s face. When it was over, he wiped the snot from his lip, too.

Chard watched him climb back into his seat and, at a nod, got Thunder moving again. “So, Cap, I was thinking about the water.”

Not what he’d expected. “The water?”

“You’re getting them to drink, right? What happens to it?”

“The same thing that always happens to it.”

“Well, yeah, Cap, but they’re tied in the back of a wagon. What happens if they need to piss?”

“Then they piss.” The tone shut Chard up. Reiter knew that if he lost the mage again, he’d better desert. The best he could hope for from the emperor would be years under the whip on a work detail.

They were nearly clear of the Duke’s Seat before Chard said, eyes on the road, “We’re not stopping at the garrison, Captain?”

“No.”

“It’s just sun’s going down, and Thunder…”

“Find a field with some forage for him. We’ll spend the night there.”

“It’s just I heard the 2nd Swords are with the governor, and I got a cousin…”

“Find a field, Chard.”

“Yes, sir.” He chirped at Thunder, then added, “Duke’s Seat is a dumbass name for a city, ain’t it, Cap. Figure the emperor will rename it?”

Abomination.

The emperor liked renaming things.

“I expect so.”

The pond was shallow but declared suitable; the forage a sufficient supplement to the nosebag. The farm buildings were ruins, the farmers killed or driven off, and the land not yet awarded to Imperial soldiers for services rendered. Lack of shelter didn’t bother either man, both had campaigned long enough they only cared their beds be dry and not under fire. The prisoners would remain where they were.

Chard dumped an armload of dead wood by the small fire pit, and frowned across it at the wagon. “We could tie them to that tree, Cap.”

“She was tied to a tree the last time,” Reiter muttered, shoving his fire-starter in among the kindling. Flame smothered by the force he’d used, he had to pull it out and try again.

“Yes, sir, but this time she’s on the drugs.”

“Then she won’t care where she is.”

“But…”

Reiter raised his head and locked eyes with Chard. “They stay where they are.”

Chard proved to be smarter than he looked. “Yes, sir. I’ll get more wood.”

You won’t fight for it, will you? Reiter thought watching him walk away. You know what you believe, but you’re a good soldier, for all your mouth, and you follow orders.

“Tomas? Tomas, can you hear me?” Hair catching against the floor of the wagon, Mirian struggled to get as close to Tomas as she could. Tied as they were, she couldn’t touch him. The drug still controlled him, locked him in his head with his dead, left him muttering about Ryder and Harry and the taste of blood in his mouth. “Tomas, please be quiet!”

She thought she’d regained enough control of her mind that she could get herself free, risk burns by setting fire to the rope, but then what? She couldn’t escape without Tomas, and he never quite managed to shake off the delirium before Captain Reiter used the drug again.

The only thing that kept her from sinking into despair was that her rudimentary healer-craft overcame the drug more quickly every time. Soon or later, she’d be aware with time enough to free them both from the ropes and remove the silver before Tomas’ mutterings alerted the captain. If she could force Tomas to change, hopefully the change itself would expel the drug as it had healed his shoulder.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t start until she could finish. If the captain caught her during the attempt, she had no doubt he’d ensure that it would be the last attempt.

Here and now, discomfort had her so distracted, she was afraid she couldn’t concentrate long enough to light even an actual candle.

“Ryder!” Tomas rolled his head toward her, eyes focused on the past. “No!”

Reiter was feeding sticks into the small blaze when he heard the boy’s raving turn to words. “I’m starting to think I should’ve had a longer breakfast and minded my own flaming business,” he muttered as he used a taper to light a small lantern.

It had been easy to tell Chard that their prisoners would remain in the wagon but less easy to live with that decision when he dropped down off the seat into the box and found the young wo…found the mage staring up at him. As the boy’s eyes focused only intermittently, Reiter tended to her first.

When he raised the canteen to her mouth, she shook her head. “You have to drink.”

She shook her head again. The lantern didn’t throw light enough to be sure, but he thought she blushed.

Oh.

He knew what he’d told Chard, and if she’d just pissed herself…well, he’d seen people survive much worse. It was a different thing entirely to specifically refuse her.

“Your word you won’t try to escape, and I’ll take you far enough out of the firelight for a little privacy.”

To his surprise, she frowned thoughtfully up at him and, after a long moment’s consideration, said, “You have my word.”

“Chard!”

“Sir!”

“Get up here and get the boy in your sights. You hear me yell, you shoot him. You hear her yell, you shoot him. She comes back without me, you shoot him. You smell anything burning, you shoot him.”

Her frown had changed from thoughtful to annoyed. “I gave you my word.”

“You did. It strikes me you’re the type to lie if it was practical.”

To his greater surprise, she laughed, winced as it pulled the bruise on her jaw, and said, “Sensible.”

He found himself wanting to know what her laugh sounded like when it wasn’t so bitter.

They didn’t speak again and, when she was done, he took the boy as well although he forgot to check the silver pin until both prisoners were once again tied and drugged.

The skin around it was red and a little puffy. When Reiter touched the pin, the boy moaned, sounding even younger than he looked.

At the fire, Reiter sat with his back once again to the wagon and grunted his thanks as Chard handed him a mug of tea.

“I heard a rumor once, Cap, that we took Derbia because Emperor Leopald’s da, that being Emperor Armoud…”

“I know who the last emperor was, Chard.”

“Yeah, ’course you do, Cap.”

“You heard a rumor,” Reiter prodded after a moment. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t encourage Chard, but he needed the distraction.

“Right. So this rumor says Emperor Armoud really likes tea and that’s why we took Derbia.”

“It’s possible.”

“But you were in Derbia, right, Cap? I mean not then, but the Spears got sent to put down the revolution, and when I got pulled to this…” The shadow of his gesture flapped around the fire like a crow over a corpse. “…mission back in Karis, I heard you saved the emperor’s nephew’s life from a mage when you were a sergeant and that’s why you got made an officer. And then that’s why you got sent on this, because you fought that mage.”

He hadn’t so much fought the mage as shot him in the back before he got a chance to do much of anything. Very few soldiers in the Imperial army had any experience with mages, and those who did knew only the village healers or gardeners or blacksmiths and didn’t believe they were dangerous. It had been dumb luck that the emperor’s idiot nephew had been directly in the mage’s line of fire and had overreacted to Reiter’s shot.

Reiter remembered the man-shaped torch in the market. It seemed there was a chance it hadn’t been an overreaction.

“Cap? Is it true?”

“It’s true enough.”

The army had set up a checkpoint at what had been the border between the Duchies of Pyrahn and Traiton and was now the new provincial border. Reiter doubted there was an actual reason for it as both duchies had been effectively conquered at the same time, but someone in a position to make decisions had thought it was a good idea.

Reiter returned the salute of the fresh-faced lieutenant on the gate, noted two of the three rankers under him were anything but fresh—both too broken to return to the front—and handed over his orders. The lieutenant’s eyes widened at the Imperial seal, and his hand shook when he handed the papers back.

“Your prisoners…”

“His Imperial Majesty’s prisoners.”

The boy, and he couldn’t have been older than the boy tied in the back, paled under his freckles. “Yes, sir. But she’s…I mean, she’s…”

A young woman tied, drugged, bruised clearly made him uncomfortable. Good.

“She’s His Imperial Majesty’s prisoner,” Reiter repeated.

“Yes, sir. What did she…?” His voice trailed off under Reiter’s stare. He backed away from the wagon and saluted again. “Very good, sir.”

Fraris, the only city of any size in Traiton, was visible from the border. They wouldn’t make it across the new province to the old Imperial border by dark, but they’d be there tomorrow.

“You know, Cap, he was a good dog.”

It took Reiter a moment to understand what Chard was talking about. “He wasn’t a dog.”

“Yeah, I know, but…I don’t see why he’s an abomination, either. Best, he said the beastmen are abominations because the church says so, but Best is like crazy religious. I even heard him pray when we weren’t under fire. How does the church know?”

The church obeyed the emperor. Or at least the new Prelate did and the church obeyed him. Reiter didn’t think he’d tell Chard that. It’d be just like Chard to complain about it in front of the wrong people and make Reiter responsible for him going under the lash.

“Abomination means they’re less than animals,” Chard muttered, frowning unhappily. “But he was a good dog…”

She was startled enough when he climbed down into the wagon, that she said his name.

“Captain Reiter.”

“You have the advantage of me.” He’d heard Lieutenant Lord Geurin say that once. It seemed more likely to get a response than, And you are?

She shook her head, turned it toward the boy who was whining low in his throat. “Tomas?”

He still didn’t have her name, but he had the boy’s name. The boy had a name. The beastman had a name. Abominations didn’t have names.

“It was Soothsayers, wasn’t it, Cap?”

“Wasn’t what?”

“What sent us into Aydori to get the women. I mean they told us that we were there because if you take their mages they do what you say and not fight, and we were all about not fighting beastmen, and then their mages were all women and that wasn’t good, but this…” He jerked his head toward the back “…this is more than that. It’s enough more and it’s enough crazy, it’s gotta be Soothsayers. ’Cause we got five. Why would we need six so bad?”

“Stop asking, Private. That’s an order.”

“It’s Soothsayers,” Chard sighed.

Reiter let it go because he’d just remembered…

The baby.

He’d forgotten the prophecy said she was pregnant.

The unborn child begins it all.

Or would be pregnant.

Or was back when they stopped the coaches in Aydori, when and where the Soothsayers had instructed them to.

He should’ve asked the surgeon to check.

Reiter watched the shadows stretching out in front of them on the road. It looked as though the darkness his gran had warned him not to walk in was in a hurry to get to the empire.

“Long as the weather’s holding, we could make a push, Cap.”

It took him a moment to understand what Chard meant by a push. Reiter stared at the horse. Thunder, as though aware of the scrutiny, farted twice before pulling the wagon through the cloud. “I don’t think he’s got a push in him.”

“We’ve barely had him at more than a walk all day, Cap. He’s got…” Chard’s voice trailed off as Reiter turned. “Still,” he added slowly as though checking each word for Reiter’s reaction, “we bring him in overheated and it’ll be my ass the stable-master puts in a sling.” He flashed a sudden grin in Reiter’s direction. “Thanks for thinking of my ass, Cap.”

“Shut up, Chard.”

“Yes, sir.”

The growing Imperial presence on the road indicated the checkpoint they’d have to pass at the old Imperial border would actually mean something. The first day out of Abyek there’d been only a couple of couriers, and although the road past the Seat had been busy enough—given the building of the governor’s complex and its half garrison—the lateness of the hour had meant the road beyond had been nearly empty. Today, after passing Fraris, there’d seldom been a moment when they’d been without Imperial company. Couriers. Soldiers. Wagonloads of goods. A ragged work detail, chivied along by a bored sergeant who saluted with his whip handle. A trio of cavalry officers, one with a bloody pelt tied on behind his saddle. Reiter returned salutes, saluted when it mattered, and was just as glad when the cavalry officers ignored him as they cantered past.

Chard had made a noise, but for a change said nothing. Reiter had seen a muscle jumping in his jaw and from the depths of his frown, obvious even in profile, the younger man seemed to have been thinking deeply. Thinking was fine. He could think all he wanted.

There wouldn’t be a green lieutenant asking the questions at the old Imperial border, but someone whose balls had actually dropped. A report detailing the wagon, the prisoners, and the orders being followed would be on its way to the Lyonne garrison before the smell of Thunder’s passage had faded. By the time they arrived, the garrison’s duty officer would know exactly what to expect. Given the prisoners, odds were high a courier would be sent to the emperor before Reiter had time to load them on a mail coach.

“Start looking for a place to camp, Private.”

Chard glanced around at the forest on both sides of the road. “Yes, sir.” The expected protest about time or location never came.

Major Halyss had been right. On a trip this long, anything could happen. But it would have to happen on this side of the border.

Chard found a place by a creek far enough off the road and under thick enough cover that they wouldn’t be seen even before the sun fully set. Wheel ruts and a fire pit made it clear the area had been used as a campsite in the recent past.

By the time Chard had returned from the creek with the horse, Reiter had decided that a small, smokeless fire would be best. He didn’t want the attention a larger fire might attract, but neither did he want the attention that might arise from having had no fire at all.

“Hey, Cap!”

He looked up from his small blaze to see Chard emerge into the clearing holding a twelve-pound shell.

“Busted a bunch of trees back there all to ratshit. What do you think they were firing at in here?”

“Given the artillery had to pass by on the road, I’d say a sniper.” The crews on the guns could set up and fire surprisingly fast when they had to.

“Just one?”

“If there’d been more than a single sniper, they’d have reduced these woods to kindling before they advanced.” The Duke of Traiton, taken by surprise, had rabbited the moment it had become clear that the troops gathering at the Lyonne garrison were not the traditional bi-yearly show of strength but intended to cross the border, diplomatic protests be flamed. He then turned and dug in along the border with Pyrahn, where his much smaller force could count on the Duke of Pyrahn’s backing. Reiter acknowledged it was the best the duke could’ve done. It hadn’t changed the ending.

When dusk had settled almost into night, Reiter lit the lantern and climbed up into the wagon. Chard was so emphatically not watching him, he might as well have been staring. The mage’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow, but Reiter could tell she was conscious. Her body practically vibrated with the need for him to go away.

He knelt by her feet, pushed the bottom of her skirt, heavy with dirt, out of the way and untied the rope manacles. Her feet were filthy and cold, so he wrapped his hands around them until they warmed. They weren’t tiny, delicate feet. They were sturdy, like the mage herself, strong enough to do what was necessary. When he set them carefully down and looked up, she was staring at him, frowning slightly. He felt his face grow hot as he untied the rope from the metal ring. “Come on.”

She glanced at the boy, Tomas—Reiter made himself say the boy’s name. The hair—fur—had been pushed up on one side of his head exposing the point on his ear. It wasn’t an extreme point. Reiter had known an artillery captain back in the Shields whose ears looked much the same. The artillery captain didn’t walk on all fours covered with fur, though. At least, not as far as Reiter knew.

The boy’d begun to shift slightly, small movements against the hold of the ropes, but he hadn’t even begun to mutter. They had time.

“Chard.”

She flinched although he hadn’t raised his voice.

“Get the boy in your sights. Same orders as last night.”

“Yes, sir.”

He took his musket with him tonight.

He led her away until the fire was a barely visible flicker through the underbrush and turned his back. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he expected the cool slide of the tangle across his fingers, but felt instead the strand of her hair he’d taken from the artifact the night she’d escaped from him. He pulled it out, drew it one last time between thumb and forefinger, settling the memory, then scattered it on the leaf litter. When he heard the rustle of her skirt falling back into place, he asked, “Are you…” How did the quality say it? “…increasing?”

“What?”

“With child?”

“No!”

Of course she wasn’t. She’d never attempted to protect a child. Women did that, didn’t they? And if she wasn’t with child then she wasn’t the sixth mage of the prophecy. She couldn’t be. Unless she’d been with child and wasn’t now…

“Were you?”

“With child? I’ve never…” The lantern, hung on a convenient branch stub, threw shadows over her face, but he got the impression she’d have slapped him had her hands been free.

So she couldn’t have been and not known. And the boy…Tomas wasn’t the father. Reiter tossed his musket aside. Let the evidence show he had it with him, but didn’t have time to get a shot off. Heart pounding as though he were going into battle, he stepped closer and began to untie her hands. Eyes wide, she tried to back away. He tugged her close again. After a moment, she stopped struggling and he returned to fighting with the knots.

She asked a question. Remembered. Asked it again in Imperial. “What are you doing?”

“Being overwhelmed by an escaping mage.”

“I can’t go without…”

“I don’t expect you to.”

He could almost hear her trying to choose her next question. No surprise she cut straight to the point. “Why?”

“I’m a soldier.” The light was bad and the coarse fibers of the rope made it difficult to feel how the pattern had twisted. “I have been since I was fifteen. I’ve fought in pitched battles and skirmishes. I’ve waited in ambush; been caught in one. Although I’ve done what I could to adjust the consequences of bad orders, I’ve still followed them. I honestly don’t know how many people I’ve killed.” Threading the dangling length of rope back through a loop unraveled the knot. “But there’s a difference between killing and murdering.” He unwound the rope, stroked a thumb over the unmarked skin on her inner wrist just once, then backed away. “If you cross the border with me, you don’t have a chance. Tomas has less of one.” Major Halyss had called him “the boy,” and when he’d flatly said the emperor might be making rugs, he’d meant the emperor might be making rugs. Not a metaphor. Tomas couldn’t be left at the Abyek garrison, and Reiter’d been warned what would happen to him if he was taken to Karis. When the mage stared at him, confused, he sighed. “Look, it’s never just one thing that changes a man’s mind. It’s a hundred small things adding up. I know you have no reason to think good of me, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill me when you take me out.”

“When I what?”

“If I just let you go, I’m a dead man. Too many people know I have you. Too many people know what my orders were. You have to escape.”

She glanced down at her hands, then up. “I have to make it look like I…we escaped. How?”

Was he going to have to knock himself out, Reiter wondered. “You’re the mage.”

“Not much of one.”

“Not much…The scene in the market says different.” He frowned as she frowned, clearly not understanding what he referred to. “You don’t know about what happened in the market?” He’d wondered at the time if she’d known what she was doing; it hadn’t occurred to him she had no memory of it.

“That farm worker was going to skin Tomas. I took hold of a man in a leather vest, and he threw me back. He kicked me. I think…” She pressed a hand against her side. “I thought he broke my ribs. And then I woke up in the garrison next to Tomas, and that woman drugged us. I thought the solders had come because of all the shouting.” Her pale eyes widened. “You came. That’s why Tomas isn’t dead. Isn’t skinned.”

“You think I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen?”

She spread her hands and looked at him like he was a little slow. “You didn’t.”

No, he didn’t. Hadn’t.

Chard would wonder soon what was taking them so long, so Reiter told her quickly what he’d seen when he entered the market. Her face showed horror when he briefly described the burning man, but not regret. As he sketched out the rest, she looked confused, listened without asking questions, then twisted her foot into the light and stared down at the back of her heel. “He had a knife. I wasn’t thinking…”

“You have to start.”

“Funny.” Her smile held no humor. “Usually people tell me I think too much.”

Reiter wanted to see her smile, her actual smile. He knew he never would, but he wanted it so much it sat like a rock in his chest. “Chard doesn’t know about this…escape. He can’t lie for shit. Try not to hurt him. He runs on at the mouth, but he’s a good kid.” Chard still hadn’t called out to ask if there was a problem. What the fuck did he think they were doing out here? “A fire of any size,” he added, “will draw attention from the border. And you want as much of a head start as you can get.”

“We’ll be…”

“Don’t tell me! I’m a very good liar,” he explained. “But they won’t ask nicely.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. In spite of shadows, he could actually see her thinking of what she was going to do. There was still a chance she could kill both him and Chard. He’d gambled she didn’t have it in her. If he got in her way, yes, but not coldly and deliberately after he’d released her and armed her with what she was capable of. She’d slept Armin and walked away when she had less reason to think kindly of him.

He could tell the moment she came to a decision. It hadn’t taken her long and there’d only be one way to find out if that worked in his favor.

She squared her shoulders, paused as though something had just occurred to her, and said, “You asked earlier; my name is Mirian.”

“Sleep.” The captain’s forehead felt warm and dry under her fingers and Mirian watched him crumple to the ground, feeling confused as much as anything. Her ribs were whole, her heels unbloodied, and, when it came down to it, Captain Reiter had no reason to lie about what he’d seen in the market. She had tested very high, multiple times, so perhaps that meant low levels at very high power. But in every craft? She’d never heard of that happening.

Still, whatever it meant, it didn’t matter now. What mattered now was making the most of this opportunity. Somehow. Perhaps she should have used the captain’s experience in strategy and tactics rather than put him to sleep, but she couldn’t think while he was watching her.

First, she had to deal with Chard.

Leaving the lantern where the captain had hung it, she picked her way carefully through the underbrush. The firelight showed Chard sitting on the side of the wagon box. From the angle of the musket, he had it pointed up under Tomas’ chin. He was staring at Tomas, not watching for them to come out of the woods, and he didn’t look happy.

If she emerged alone, he’d shoot Tomas. If she called to him, he’d shoot Tomas. He might not want to and he’d likely feel guilty about it, but he’d do it. Bottom line, that was all that mattered.

Captain Reiter was right. She had to start thinking like a mage.

Raising a hand into the breeze, she sent a puff of it toward the wagon, into the wagon box, over Tomas, and out to where the horse grazed on the end of a rope tied to a wagon wheel. In the end, it was nothing more than blowing out a long, curving line of candles….

Military horses might be the most phlegmatic known—and given that this horse had been transporting one of the Pack for two days suggested might wasn’t entirely accurate—but Mirian suspected that the fresh, immediate scent of predator had to be entirely different than a faint scent woven into the other scents of the road.

The horse half reared and tried to run, dragging the wagon forward and throwing Chard off the side into the box. He popped up again almost immediately and leaped to the ground, stumbled, grabbed for the rope, and murmured a long string of calming nonsense as the horse reared and plunged around him. He was brave, Mirian would give him that. She couldn’t have stood so close to those hooves.

Whether it was because the scent wasn’t repeated or because the horse found Chard reassuring, he calmed fairly quickly. Snorting and blowing, he allowed Chard to get one hand on his bridle and the other up under his mane.

“There now, you stupid git. What were you all up in yourself for, huh? You catch scent of…”

When he turned, Mirian put him to sleep.

Chard dropped and rolled between the horse’s legs.

The horse looked down, looked at Mirian, and shook his head hard enough the wagon creaked.

Tomas moaned.

If the horse got another less deliberate nose full of Pack…Mirian untied the end of his lead rope from the wagon and started around to the other side of the fire. The horse watched her go, stretched out his neck as the rope came up taut, and refused to move. Pulling didn’t help. Coaxing didn’t help.

Tomas moaned again.

“Fine. Have it your way.” As she sidled in close, he rolled his eyes but continued to stand right where he was. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” The clip attaching the rope to the bridle was too stiff for her too open. What difference did it make if he dragged the rope with him? So what if it got caught; he was huge. Someone would find him. Except…

She couldn’t leave him tied. Not having been tied.

The clip was brass. Brass felt bright. Sharp. The taste of vinegar across her tongue and she held a cooling sphere in her hand. The rope dropped to the ground. Another moment to drag Chard away, then she was up in the wagon, murmuring much the same calming nonsense as Tomas began to thrash.

One hand gripping his hip, Mirian burned the rope securing Tomas to the side of the wagon. He lay panting but still, so she jumped down to get the lantern and Chard’s knife. It would be safer to cut the ropes around his wrists and ankles. The knife was sharp, but the ropes were thick…

“I’m sorry! Oh, Tomas, I’m so sorry.” Blood dripped onto the wagon as she pulled the pieces of rope away from skin rubbed raw and red. His ankles were no better than his wrists except that she’d managed not to cut him while freeing them. Although she’d been tied the same way, her own skin—wrists and ankles—had been completely unmarked. She stared at her wrist and pushed the memory of Reiter’s touch to the back of her mind. Evidently, she could heal herself. That didn’t mean she should experiment on Tomas. The hole in his shoulder had closed when he changed, and these injuries were nothing in comparison.

When he changed…

The skin around the silver pin felt red and puffy. He keened as she hooked her fingernails under the head and yanked it out.

“Tomas? Tomas, can you hear me?”

No. Though his eyes moved back and forth under closed lids, the muttering hadn’t yet become words.

Thrusting the pin through a fold in her skirt, she wondered if he’d change as he began to shake off the drug. Would his body recognize what it needed? Mirian had no idea. She stripped him out of his shirt and stopped, hands on the waistband of his trousers. Tomas wouldn’t care. Would, in fact, prefer to be out of all clothing when he changed. Depending on how much or how little of his mind had returned, he might even be panicked by the feeling of being trapped in the cloth.

Mirian managed to get both sides of the flap unbuttoned without touching anything but the buttons. Leaving it lying closed, she took the lantern down to his feet, grabbed his trousers and pulled only to find Tomas’ weight held them in place.

“Fine.”

She’d been nearly drowned, captured by the Imperial army—twice—tied, drugged, and she’d killed two men. She wasn’t going to be recaptured because she was too missish to take off a man’s trousers, particularly when she’d seen that man naked on more than one occasion. Tugging the rough wool over damp skin, she clenched her teeth and kept her eyes locked on her hands. There was, after all, a difference between seeing and looking.

Like between killing and murdering.

Hysteria began bubbling up through the cracks. Mirian shoved it back down.

Untied and unclothed, Tomas began to thrash in earnest, arms and legs flung wide. Mirian rescued the lantern and slid back to the very end of the wagon. Mouth open, Tomas panted, every exhale a small cry that sounded equal parts pain and anger. He rocked up until he was half sitting, his eyes so wide they showed white all around—Mirian doubted he saw her—then he fell onto his side and changed.

He continued to pant in fur form, whining, still under the control of the drug.

Leaving the lantern where it was, Mirian crawled up beside him and lifted his head onto her lap. “Change again, Tomas. Please. One more time.” Curling forward, she pressed her face to his, breathing with him then slowing the rhythm. He slowed with her. They were breathing the same air. From her mouth into his. “Change, Tomas.”

A paw pushed at her leg, then a hand grabbed her skirt. “Mirian?”

Forehead to forehead, she kept breathing with him. “I’m here.”

“Head hurts.”

“I know.”

“Hungry.”

Her stomach growled and she straightened. “Me, too.” How long since they’d eaten? “Stay here. I’ll go get food.”

He started a protest but didn’t manage to finish it. While no longer under the control of the drug, he hadn’t managed to quite make it back to himself. By the time Mirian returned with a hunk of salt pork and half a loaf of dark bread, he’d changed again and gone to sleep. His tail twitched, but he didn’t wake when she stroked his shoulder.

She brought the lantern closer.

His fur now had a silver streak over the place the pin had been for the last two and a half days. The silver that had shattered his shoulder hadn’t left a mark, so this must have been the result of time.

“Tomas?”

His nose twitched when she waved the pork in front of it, but he didn’t wake. He’d slept after the last time he’d healed himself, so she stroked his head and backed away.

She was a little worried about the food. If she could purify water, could she purify pork? Would it be like water because it was being purified, or would it be healing because it was meat?

“Maybe they teach something useful in second year,” she muttered, leaving most of the meat and half the bread for Tomas. She emptied a canteen, set the last full one by the meat, and gathered up the rest.

The horse snorted, tail sweeping great arcs, as she moved upwind of him. He danced sideways until he was as far from the creek as he could get and remain in the clearing. Fine. They didn’t need to be friends. She filled the canteens, purifying the water, and left them by the wagon. The packs turned up two bedrolls, another fire-starter, and more money. A lot more money. As she slipped the worn leather purse into her jacket pocket, she touched the edge of something hard and had to bite her lip to keep from giggling. She’d tucked the telescope into her jacket that night in the shelter. The Imperials took everything else, took their clogs, tied her up and drugged her, and had carefully tucked the telescope she’d taken from a dead Imperial soldier back where they found it. And they had found it. She’d been half aware as a frowning woman had pressed careful hands against her ribs.

The world was strange and getting stranger.

She found the oil in time to refill the lantern, then almost couldn’t find Captain Reiter out in the woods. He was lying where and how she left him; legs bent, one arm by his side, the other thrown wide. She thought about taking his watch, but that seemed unnecessarily rude when she’d been left her stolen telescope. His chest rose and fell. She prodded him with her foot. He didn’t wake. I woke and they were gone wasn’t much of an excuse. She knew the feel of silver, so she pulled the shot from his ammo pouch and sent it down into the ground.

Still not enough.

Standing so close she could slide her toes under the edge of his thigh, she reached into herself the way they’d taught her and thought of blowing out a thousand candles burning in a circle around them.

Trees shattered.

Dirt under his paws. Hackles up. Heart pounding. Lips drawn back off his teeth. His nose said power. Familiar power. Tomas ran toward it.

Past a narrow band of woods, he found Mirian standing in a circle of downed trees, everything from oaks to underbrush flattened to the ground, the man he’d helped her escape from once before, lying at her feet.

And it all came back. The market, the garrison, the wagon, trapped in his head by the drugs, held to two legs by silver, Mirian waking him…

He staggered a bit as he changed. Would have stayed on four legs except he needed his voice. “What did you do?”

Her fingers went white around the handle of the lantern and he thought for a moment she might drop it. “I blew out a candle.”

“A candle?”

“Maybe a few.” Stepping over the captain’s body, she picked her way carefully toward him, wincing as she stepped on shards of branches. As she reached him, he ducked his face into the curve where her neck met her shoulder and took a deep breath. Her hand felt like ice against his chest as she pushed him away. “The food, money, and bedrolls go with us. Everything else we leave.”

He tipped his head to the side, caught sight of the Imperial on the ground, and, reminded, growled.

Mirian grabbed his arm before he could change. “Leave the captain alone. He released me.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a difference between killing and murdering. Come on.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn’t decide if that was because of the drugs or her scent or because it didn’t make any sense. He followed her anyway. When she stumbled as she stepped out into the clearing, he got his arm around her waist before she fell. “Are you hurt?”

“Tired.” As she sagged back against him, he twisted a little to keep his reaction from rubbing against the wool of her skirt. “The horse is gone.”

Tomas inhaled and coughed. “Smells like you scared the crap out of him.”

Mirian half giggled, the noise not quite escaping although he felt her body shake. Stepping out of his hold, she hurried toward the embers of a small fire, her movements a combination of fragile and frantic he didn’t much like. She looked as though she might break herself into pieces at any moment. “We have to hurry. If the horse has bolted along the road, the Imperials will look for where he came from.” She threw a wool blanket to the ground and began tossing things onto it. “There’s not much food, but we’ll take what there is. Did you eat the pork I left in the wagon?”

His stomach growled and his nose twitched and the pork smelled good enough that he went over the sleeping body of another Imperial without pausing on his way into the wagon. Mirian’s scent was on the meat, so he had to assume she’d eaten. He barely stopped himself from swallowing it whole. By the time he jumped back to the ground, she had the bedroll tied and hanging from her shoulder. He could smell the clothes he’d been wearing, biscuits and dried meat and…

“Stop it.” She pushed his head away. “The captain said we’re close to the old Imperial border.”

Tomas rose up on two legs. “And you trust him?”

“Yes. No. But he wasn’t lying.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Probably not. We don’t need all six…” She stared at the canteens hanging from her hand and dropped four. “…I don’t know why I filled them all. Why would I…No, never mind.”

“Mirian?”

“We need to head east. There’s no point in taking the lantern, they could track the light. You’ll have to get us across the border and find us somewhere safe. As soon as you can.”

If they were that close to the old Imperial border, the enemy would know the ground. “We should keep moving.”

“We should.” Her eyes were enormous, her cheeks pale. Nearly overwhelmed by her scent, he hadn’t really looked at her face. Her lips trembled slightly as she spoke. “But we won’t be able to. One thing I learned as a banker’s daughter; bills always come due.”

Most of Mirian’s weight hung off his back by the time he found the overhang. With one side open to the elements, it wasn’t a proper cave, but it was deep enough that it was dry in spite of the rain. Slabs of rock thrown up by artillery practice made it nearly impossible to see from any distance. The surrounding scars from repeated shelling made it obvious why no animal had chosen to den here. He’d have preferred to be farther from the border, but he no longer had a choice.

He felt her slip, changed as she fell, and went down with her, managing to keep her head from hitting the rock—although collapsing beside her seemed like a better idea. “You still with me?”

Her fingers moved against his arm.

“All right. We’re almost there. I’ll just carry you for the last bit, okay?”

Except she wasn’t small or delicate like the beauties Harry and the other men of the 1st had exclaimed over and the rain had slicked his skin and weighted down her clothes. He settled for half carrying, half dragging her in under the overhang, then leaving her just out of the rain while he opened the bedrolls and spread the blankets in the back. They were thick enough wool that the parts folded to the inside were still dry. He ate two of the biscuits that spilled out before he realized he’d done it.

He changed on the way back. It was easier to move on four legs, although his shoulders scraped the roof, and when he figured he was far enough away from both Mirian and the blankets he tried to shake some of the water out of his fur without knocking himself over.

When he got back to Mirian, her teeth were chattering.

“I thought you could keep yourself warm!”

She didn’t answer. Apparently, that was one of the bills coming due.

“Think of her like she’s Harry,” he muttered, breathing shallowly through his mouth as he unbuttoned her jacket. He set the telescope aside, a little surprised she was still carrying it. The tiny pearl buttons on the shirtwaist were rounded, so they slipped free with no trouble. The tie inside confused him for a moment before he realized it was part of the extra fabric holding her breasts in place. Once he worked that out, he could slide the jacket and shirtwaist off together. The skirt and the petticoat were held on by a buckle, a button, and a tie and were easy to remove. He paused, one hand resting on the curve of her waist and tried to decide the best way to hold her. He could think of her like she was Harry all he wanted, but his nose and his body knew better.

He scraped his knees carrying her back to the blankets—nothing another change couldn’t heal—and narrowly missed cracking his head when he bent forward to lay her down. Breathing heavily, resting his forehead against hers, he wrapped her in the blankets and changed as he collapsed beside her far enough away he wouldn’t get the blankets damp.

She whimpered, freed a hand, and grabbed a handful of fur. Her grip was barely strong enough to hold on, but when she tugged him toward her, he went. Later, he told himself, jaws cracking as he yawned, when she was able to keep herself warm again, he’d go hunting for something to…

Danika’s first sight of Karis was as a blaze of light though the small window in the mail coach door as they rounded a curve approaching the Vone River Valley. At first she thought it was a fire on the horizon and then, as the angle changed, she realized the lights were too regular to be anything but gaslights along the major avenues and shining out the windows of the homes of the wealthy. As they drew closer and the angle changed again, she saw there was so much light it couldn’t just be from the homes of the wealthy unless Karis forced its shopkeepers and skilled workers to live elsewhere. Ryder had planned for gaslights on the streets of Bercarit—and later Trouge once the more conservative population saw how useful they were—but she’d never heard him speak of running the lines into private homes.

It was beautiful, in an extravagant way, and she found herself sharing it with Tagget who shifted forward nearly onto her lap to see what she was looking at, and grinned. “I gotta say, I’m glad to be home.”

Carlsan, propped in the far corner, didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

Kirstin’s eyes were closed as well although Danika knew she wasn’t asleep.

“You’re from Karis?”

He scratched at his stubble and grinned. “Born and bred. We were all stationed there though. Shields never leave the…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Carlsan repeated, this time with an emphasis Tagget couldn’t ignore.

He settled back in his seat, glared across at her as if his indiscretion had been her fault, and closed his eyes looking more petulant than repentant.

Danika sighed. I want to go home. She saw Tagget shift uncomfortably, reached over to touch Kirstin’s knee although she knew the other woman wouldn’t acknowledge the contact, and watched the lights of the city grow closer.

The drivers, or the soldiers up with them, Danika didn’t know who, sounded the horns as they approached and clattered through the outskirts of the capital without slowing significantly. Finally, as buildings closed in on every side, the horses slowed to a trot. And then a walk.

The lieutenant banged on the roof. “Shades down!”

Although it might have been because she could no longer see, the city seemed larger than Danika imagined possible. She heard people cursing the coaches. Once she heard people laughing. She heard music four or five times. The lights grew brighter again, turning the paper shade from brown to amber. Then darker. Then so dark she wondered how the horses, let alone the driver, could see.

The coach stopped.

She heard the lieutenant climb down. Knew it was him because he was the only one who kicked the wagon edge as he searched for the last step. She heard him challenged, but couldn’t hear his answer although she strained hard enough the net sent a pulse of pain for the first time in hours.

Metal creaked and dragged across stone as gates opened. The coach moved forward, slowly.

Stopped again.

More voices.

Carlsan, his eyes open now, straightened but stayed where he was. Tagget lifted the edge of the shade and peered out.

Someone shouted orders. She didn’t catch what was said because the door was thrown open and they were ordered out.

Kirstin opened her eyes as Tagget reached for her arm. Just for a moment, she looked to be in such pain that he froze and Danika reached for her instead. Then she blinked, and the blank expression she’d worn since leaving Aydori returned.

“Come on, move.” Down on the pavement, Carlsan stretched an arm into the coach and grabbed Danika’s sleeve. Once he had her attention, he let go and stepped back. When she stumbled a little on the small step, Tagget caught her elbow from behind until she steadied.

“Thank you.”

He mumbled something that might have been no problem.

When only Kirstin remained, Danika leaned back inside and took her hands, tugging her gently to her feet and out the door.

They looked to be in a courtyard behind the palace. Dark and small, it had room for only one coach at a time and, unlike at the posting houses when they were allowed to mingle, Lieutenant Geurin gave orders to keep them separate. Tagget and Carlsan moved them over by the wall. Danika watched from between their shoulders as a few minutes later Jesine and Annalyse emerged from their coach. Annalyse looked as though she were barely holding it together, but Jesine, although she wasn’t much older, held her back straight and her head high, sweeping the assembled company with aristocratic disdain, the net glinting within auburn curls like a crown. Before her marriage, her family had been as high in Aydori society as it was possible to get and not be Pack, and she intended everyone in this courtyard to know it. When she glanced her way, Danika smiled.

To her surprise, Murphy helped Stina down from the third coach, the two of them laughing like they shared a joke. Which would be impressive as Stina spoke next to no Imperial.

Now they were all on the ground, Danika ducked her head, found a breeze, and murmured, “Calm. Stay calm.”

Lieutenant Geurin pinched her chin and lifted her head. “What are you doing?”

“Praying.”

He smiled. “Good.”

There were suddenly a great many more men in the courtyard. Orders were shouted and the soldiers who’d taken them from Aydori were replaced by clean-shaven, unsmiling men in spotless charcoal-gray uniforms, with low brimmed caps instead of the familiar bicorns. Lieutenant Geurin was assured General Loreau would see him in the morning, and then their soldiers—the soldiers who’d been with them since Aydori—were gone.

Eleven strangers watched them with cold eyes as though they were lesser beings. No curiosity. No sympathy. Two soldiers—no, two guards for each of them.

Although they wore no visible rank insignia, she assumed the man standing apart had to be their officer.

He gestured and the heavier of her two guards shoved Danika toward the open door.

She stumbled, caught herself, and turned to glare. “There is no need to be…”

“Silence.” The officer held up what looked like balls on leather cord. “Or be silenced.”

Another time she might have argued, accepted the consequences, but she was tired and sore and hungry and her bladder was full and there were a hundred excuses available if she needed them.

The building looked new. Something about the hard edges made her think it had been built purposefully for them.

When she saw the six doors opening into the windowless hall, she knew it had been.

But the guards kept them moving past those doors too fast for their exhaustion to be able to command their legs, stumbling, half-dragged at times, the lamps set high along the long wall flickering with their passing. At the end of the hall, a seventh door opened into a vestibule. Danika had almost no time to see it as one of the soldiers tightened his grip on her arm and dragged her through another door and down a flight of stairs. Heart pounding so loudly it was all she could hear, she started to struggle.

It wasn’t the stairs that terrified, they were as new and sterile as the hall they’d just left, but the smells that coiled up them spoke of an older, darker part of the palace. Ryder used to tease her because her nose was so limited, but she’d have given anything right now to be able to smell even less.

Blood. Offal. Rot. A dark patina layered onto the stone by centuries of pain and fear.

Stone all around them now, huge ancient blocks. Almost no light. The shadows told stories of desperation and the death of hope.

Danika’s shoes barely touched the ground as her guards half carried, half dragged her forward. She begged, pleaded, fought…

Then Jesine, who’d been so strong, so sure since they were taken, keened. The sound rose up and spread, the closest she could come to a howl. It was cut off short by an open-handed blow, too hard to be named a mere slap, and Danika remembered she was Alpha.

Her feet found the floor and she walked, head up, past six low iron doors, dark and stained and a cruel parody of the doors they’d first seen. Those doors had said shelter; these said prison. Her lips drew back. She twisted as far as she could and through bared teeth breathed, Calm. Stay calm. Be water. Be earth. Be air. Be life. Be strong. She was Alpha. They’d find their strength in her.

When the thinner of the two guards moved around in front of her and pulled a knife, she didn’t flinch. When he cut the cord holding her hands together, she managed a heartfelt, “Thank you.” Close enough the words brushed his face, she saw his eyes widen in confusion. He barely managed to step aside in time as the guard still behind her shoved her into the cell.

She landed on her knees, her hands sliding along the damp floor. She saw rusty steel rings on the wall in front of her, dark rot softening the corners.

The door slammed shut and Danika froze.

The darkness was complete. No window. No light around the edges of the door.

She sat back on her knees and wiped her hands against her skirt. She wasn’t afraid of the dark.

But she hadn’t seen the whole cell.

Was she alone?

Had they thrown her in with someone…something…?

Breath held back behind her teeth she listened. Heard nothing. Nothing at all. They could have taken the rest of the Mage-pack away and she wouldn’t know. They could leave her. Forget her. Alone…

No.

Her hand dropped to the curve of her belly.

Not alone.

Her child. Ryder’s child.

A reason to survive.