“You’re not one of us.” She gave Vi a once-over. “You’re certainly not a Knight of Jadar… and you don’t look like a soldier.”
“I’m neither,” Vi affirmed.
“Fiera didn’t know you. Though she clearly trusted you.” The woman’s eyes were drawn back to the princess, now nothing more than a distant speck at the end of the drawbridge. “If you’re a civilian, you should try to get out now while you still have the chance. There’s no comfort to be had in Norin, but civilians will fare better than soldiers in the days to come.”
“Do you think they’ll believe I’m not a soldier?”
“Fiera could speak for you.”
“She has more important things to worry about.” Staying close to the remaining Knights of Jadar might be her best chance of getting back to the princess—and the sword.
“You’re a true Westerner, sacrificing your wellbeing for her. Trying to help lead us to victory.”
Vi snorted. “I’m not a Westerner.”
“But your features are Western—so Western, you could’ve convinced me you’re a lost sister to the princess.” Vi stopped a snort of laughter at that. “And you speak our tongue so well.”
“I don’t know my parentage,” Vi lied, staring at Fiera and the Emperor until they disappeared from sight into the castle. “And the language I picked up in my travels. I don’t really have a home.”
Especially not anymore. She was alone. The only person she had in this world was the man who had stolen her heart and betrayed her—right before she murdered him.
Yargen had an interesting sense of humor.
“Well, if you don’t have a home, do you have a name? I’m Zira.”
“Yullia.”
“While it was under unpleasant circumstances, it is an honor to meet you, Yullia. I believe the goddess sent you for our princess tonight, to fight for her and this land. Fiera is keen to the will of the Mother; that must’ve led her to trust you.”
“You have no idea…” Vi murmured.
“Listen up!” An Imperial major stood at the foot of the drawbridge, right where Vi had witnessed Fiera give her last speech hours ago, and boomed over the masses. His pronunciation of Western words was poor and Vi suspected it made his decree even more grating to the ears of those assembled. “You are to be split at random and will be taken to manor houses that have been converted to shelters where you will be held until further notice. Do not resist and the Emperor will see fit to let you live.”
“I wonder how long that kindness will last,” the long-haired Knight mused.
“I’d rather be dead than take kindness from that man,” the other Knight grumbled.
“Quiet, Luke. If you were determined to die, you should’ve stood at the docks,” Zira said.
Luke continued muttering to the long-haired woman, though it was too quiet for Vi to hear.
Not that she was paying much attention anyway. Her thoughts were back in time. According to the history she knew, the Emperor spared the majority of Mhashan’s forces…
But only after he’d made a display of killing off the generals, and quelled the resultant outrage.
The war had ended. But the fighting wouldn’t stop for weeks.
* * *
Martial law was enacted in the city—at least, that’s what they were told by whispering servants who were allowed in and out of the manor house once each day to feed the soldiers held inside.
“Here.” Zira startled Vi from her thoughts by thrusting a hunk of bread about the size of Vi’s palm in her face. “Eat it before someone kills you for it.”
“Is this… fresh?” Vi grabbed for the food eagerly, taking a bite so large she was forced to chew with her mouth open. The bread was soft, crust hard, free of mold or weevils, and still had that distinct aroma of fresh-baked deliciousness—a scent she hadn’t smelled in the two weeks since she was imprisoned with the rest of the soldiers. “How did you—”
“The girls say that provisions have arrived from the East. It seems the Emperor has starved us enough and now wishes to win us over by filling our bellies.”
Luke started a familiar litany of muttering. “If he thinks the West will bend before him for a few loaves of bread—”
