He gave her a withering look. “My point stands.”

“So does my question.”

“I was a kid when I was kidnapped. Before that, my father’s only child. I was never encouraged to dream.”

“You envy me. You think I’m luckier than you.”

The last of the cavalry went past, although not the last of the party: at the tail of the throng came rank upon rank of mule-drawn carts that must be carrying equipment and victuals. There were people riding amidst the sacks and crates on those carts, glazed eyes fixed on the distance. They must be support staff, healers and hostlers and cooks.

Havec stacked his fists one atop the other and rested his chin on them, eyes lingering on the soldiers now dwindling. “I don’t know that ‘envy’ is the word. But I think, in your quest to prove yourself, you shouldn’t lose sight of the many things you have to be grateful for. The closeness you have with the rest of your family, your relationship with your father. You’re a sorceress, you have a degree at the age of eighteen. I suppose there’s no reason anyone has to want a family or care deeply about the family they have, but it makes me think your mother is a person of limited scope. Maybe she’s a decent politician, but it seems to be the only thing she knows. Why let her strip you of your extra dimensions?”

Qanath turned to stare at him, eyes wide. It took her a very long time to respond. “I see what you mean, but it’s hard not to be angry.”

The soldiers and their supplies had vanished over the crest of the closest rise, the overwhelming din of their party dimming. Havec hefted himself to his feet, then turned to the girl and held down his hands. “I bet. But you know, I hated Xar with the passion of a thousand suns. It was only when he died that I realized I spent more time dreaming about being free of him than actually making plans for it. Take it from someone who learned the hard way: shitty people will twist you into something defined by them if you give them half a chance.”

The girl let him pull her to her feet and they set off walking north again through the slowly-settling miasma of dust left by the army. After a few minutes, the sound of hooves and clattering armor and creaking wagon wheels had been replaced by a shushing wind and birds chirping. Seeming to pick her words, his companion said, “I sent her a letter when I graduated.”

“Yeah?”

“She sent me a frame. For my diploma.”

“A token gesture, probably carried out by an aide. You thought she would care.”

She nodded, waiting to find out how he would respond.

Havec snorted. “You thought you knew how much of a bitch she was and still you felt betrayed. Am I right?”

Qanath nodded again but didn’t speak.

He hesitated, wondering whether he wanted to say this. “When Xar died, he told me he never meant to make good on our bargain and let me go. For days afterward, I was like…” He made a face, trying to convey the outrage he had felt, not toward Xar, but toward himself.

“How did I not see that coming?” she suggested.

“Right?” he agreed. Then he grimaced and said more quietly, “At the end of the day, though, don’t we want to be a little more complex and beautiful than the scars they make us?”

“I don’t know. Do I still get to rub her face in the dirt?”

Havec snorted, but he felt his lips curling.

They didn’t speak again over the next hour as the day drew to a close. They had begun to look for a likely campsite when they came upon a fork in the road. Both roads continued north, one trending east, the other west. There was no sign gracing the intersection to point travelers along the proper path, but the roads themselves said a lot: the one on the left was barely wide enough for a single cart, the well-tended highway bearing off to the right. Both of them were well-made and mostly smooth, but the eastern route was obviously the better one leading through bigger towns.

Either of them would take them to Moritia, which lay immediately across the border from the mountains to the sea. The western route had something else to recommend it: even in the waning light, they could see that the gravel of the other road had recently been disturbed, its verges lined by cornhusks and fruit rinds still colorful because they had only just been discarded. That cavalry unit had gone that way, and Havec didn’t want to follow them.

As he stood there, he became aware of a raven in a spindly, half-dead tree growing between the forks. It seemed late in the day for a bird still to be out and about: the sun was falling into the horizon, the sky to the east already purple. Qanath was oblivious to it, but it set his teeth on edge. It was looking right at him, eyes fixed on his face. Its huge beak gaped open, and it let out a raucous caw that made him jump.

He stared at the bird for another minute before putting his shoulder to it. “I want to go left. Either way should get us there, and I don’t want to get too close to those soldiers.”

“Or whatever it was they were riding toward,” Qanath agreed, sounding relieved.

He was startled by the thought. “That too.”

Together they turned west and set off along the less-used way. They had only gone maybe five steps when the raven launched itself into the air, letting out another ear-splitting caw. Havec flinched. “Girl?”

She had always snapped at him when he called her that before, but today she said simply, “Yeah?”

“Are there any monsters hereabouts that sometimes look like birds?”

“The Great Birds…?”

“Just a normal-sized raven.”

She cast him one swift look. “Was it doing anything unusual?”

“Just creeping me out.”

She squinted into the growing darkness. “Not that I can think of.”

He nodded, feeling somewhat reassured.

“How much longer before I start asking those questions of you?”

It was his turn to frown. “Two, three days?”

Qanath drew a deep breath, nodding slowly as she considered the prospect of leaving the Empire. Stepping beyond the bounds of what to her was the world. Havec patted her shoulder, wondering which of them most needed comforting.

***

Two days after they quit Dareh, they had reached the margin of a different world. They were still within Tabbaqera, but it barely felt like it. The terrain was more rugged, every incline steeper, the forward horizon drawing close. Trees were suddenly everywhere, growing right down to the road. The color palette changed from ochre to sage to a green as dark as the stormy sea, and wildflowers were replaced by briars and ivy growing under the evergreens.

Around sunset, they came over another steep hill to find the trees giving way to pastures. A small town straddled the highway, chimneys giving off welcome, food-scented smoke. She had expected to have a fight about whether they would enter the town, but Havec didn’t falter. She suspected it was the smell of supper.

The town was a collection of maybe thirty homes toward the lowest point of the slope, a handful of outbuildings scattered among the fields. It had no wall, but Qanath saw a boxlike structure off to the west flying the imperial flag, big enough it might house a small garrison, not just an office for the local clerk. On the far slope, she could make out the seething cloud of a flock of sheep being chased into town by a boy and a pair of dogs.

The first local they came across directed them to the inn, and if he gave them any funny looks, he did it behind their backs. The inn itself fronted a village green bright with new grass, a two-story building with vibrant yellow tiles on the roof. It was considerably larger than she had expected, run by a plump couple and their cheerful horde of kids. Havec requested a single room and pretended not to notice her studying him; she couldn’t figure out if he was being cheap or paranoid.

Their room was small and tidy, unremarkable so far as Qanath could tell; she had never patronized an inn before and could only say it wasn’t overtly strange in any way. She fingered the quilt on the bed as she set down her bag, noting its thickness and wondering how cold it got here. The heartland remained temperate pretty far north thanks to ocean currents sweeping hot waters up from the tropics, but at some point, they were going to begin to feel the latitude. An unfortunate fact, since neither of them had a coat.

They did have money, though, she reminded herself as they made their way back down the stairs, and from money came clothes. The matron directed them to a pair of doors at the back of the hall behind the common room. They parted ways, each with a change of slightly less disreputable clothing tucked under an arm. Qanath entered a tiled chamber thick with heat, a large tub occupying much of the space in the room’s center beside a pump. The rear of the room bore a low hearth covered completely by a big metal pot giving off steam. There was a wooden bench along one wall, and she set her clothes down, then looked around.

While she was still wondering if she was supposed to serve herself, the door opened to admit a girl her age. She made for the rear of the room, flashing Qanath a friendly smile and rolling her sleeves up in a workmanlike manner. She dumped a few buckets into the tub, boiling hot, then set down her bucket in order to tackle the pump. Qanath stood in one corner, feeling awkward; she had never been waited on and had no idea how it was done. She thought of the prince next door: he was probably getting a massage.

The other girl’s mind must have strayed in the same direction because she said out of nowhere, “Fa’s taking care of your man.”

This innocuous statement managed to convey a question that was anything but. “He’s not my man.”

“Oh?” A definite note of optimism in her voice.

“Don’t get excited,” Qanath told her bluntly, not bothering to beat around the bush. “That might be good news for your brothers, but you’re out of luck.”