14. Eleven

I waited for the slave to go before stepping out of the bath. "Enter," I called to Katyr, though I wasn't sure I wanted him there. If he had come in unannounced, if he'd caught the slave touching my braids…

Perhaps Katyr would not have said anything. But if it had been anyone else, honor would demand I have the slave's hands removed, and that would be unfortunate. He had very nice hands.

The elf that slid into my tent, arms crossed and back hunched, was not the same one that had left the night before. His eyes were dark from a lack of sleep and probably too much drink.

I pulled on fresh pants and laced them closed. "Did you sleep?"

Katyr shook his head. "A little."

"The company wasn't enough of a distraction?"

Keen, sky-blue eyes lifted from the floor to meet mine and he sighed. "It wasn't the company that was the problem." He paced into the tent, running a delicate finger over one of the poles, lost in his own thoughts. "Have you given any thought to what will happen if we fail?"

"No," I answered quickly and stood. "And you shouldn't either."

"But I must."

There was a sharpness to my brother's words that I didn't like. Katyr easily made up for his lack of skill with the blade by having a knack for putting barbs in his words. It was a talent that came naturally to anyone born of the Runecleaver clan, a survival skill.

"You see," he pressed, "if this bid fails, you'll all be executed for treason. You, publicly, Ieduin privately, and Aryn… He will simply disappear and be forgotten, but he'll be dead. Not me. Not while I am still prime breeding stock to be bought and sold at Vinolia Runecleaver's will."

"We will not lose," I said firmly.

Worry sparkled in the depths of his eyes. "So much is riding on the shoulders of men who hate us."

"Enemies make the best allies when the cause is just. You can always expect them to betray you, but not until the work is done. In lieu of trust, being able to predict their moves before they make them is useful. You see, shared goals can make even the most grievous wounds mend temporarily."

"Some wounds never close." He folded his arms again and looked at the floor.

For the first time in a long time, I wished it were not such a taboo to embrace family. Katyr had always flourished best when given affection, but there were few words I could offer him in the shadow of the terrible memories he lived with.

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Bad dreams again?"

He closed his eyes and hugged himself tightly. "I dreamt it all burned down. The great quad pagodas, the blood oak, the training yards…all of it. I should have been horrified. That's my ancestral home. So why did I wake up so relieved?" Before I could answer, he turned to me. "I don't want them all to die, Ruith, but so many will. They're training children right now that I might have to kill someday. It's a terrible thing to kill your own kin, Ruith. I…I don't know if I'm made for it. I don't know if I'm as strong as you."

"You are strong." I squeezed his shoulder. "And it is a terrible thing, Kat, but they will be given a choice, just like all the others."

Pale blue eyes searched mine, suddenly watery. "It's not a choice if the choice is between death and dishonor. Not when you're a Runecleaver. Nobody says no to Vinolia."

"I did," I reminded him, though I tried not to think of the price I had paid for my arrogance. I'd been young. Foolish. In love. Or so I thought.

Katyr swallowed audibly. "What if Niro—"

"He will choose the right side," I assured him, patting his shoulder, and I hoped I was right. I certainly did not want to face Niro Runecleaver and his Broken Blades in a battle. That was why I had sent letters weeks ago, while they were still on campaign in the north. By the time we made it back, I hoped Niro would have a response waiting for us.

"Will you be all right?" I asked him, already knowing his answer.

"No, but I will survive, if only out of spite."

The tent opened, and the slave returned, balancing two steaming bowls of gravy over gruel, a camp staple. One of the perks of being an officer was that our gruel came with dried apples and a pickled egg when we had them. Apparently, the hens weren't laying enough again, or else the cook was saving them for something else.

I passed a bowl to Katyr without acknowledging the slave or Senna, who came with him. "You'll come with me to see Asgrim?"

"Of course," Katyr replied. "Do you think it's serious?"

"I hope it isn't. We can't afford a delay as it is."

We inhaled our breakfasts as quick as we dared, adding to them some of the dried fruit from the night before, and then went on our way while Senna instructed the slave on how to pack up the tent.

"How pissed was Aryn?" Katyr asked as we weaved through busy pathways of soldiers readying for the day's long march.

I grunted, narrowly avoiding a wagon as it trundled by. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"I suppose that should speak for itself," he agreed. "Give him some time."

"Or something to kill," I said. "If only he were as easy to placate as Ieduin."

"A nice cock will buy you loyalty for a time, but you will soon run out of them if you intend to use them to continue to buy good will."

I frowned. "This camp is nothing but cocks, Katyr."

"I said a nice cock, preferably on someone who knows how to use it. Half of these fools could stick theirs in a goat and wouldn't know the difference. Besides, it will take more than that for me. Ieduin might not care, but I am the jewel of the Runecleaver clan, the result of a hundred generations of careful breeding. A place in my bed is a prize. I can't let just any man have me. He must have some talent or standing. A good name, at least. And gods above, grant him a strong back."

I snorted and waved him off. "I hope it takes more than good dick to ensure your loyalty."

"It does help, though." He smirked and tilted his head, his golden taps gleaming in the morning sun. "Speaking of conquests, your new pet was looking uncharacteristically tame this morning."

My answer was a grunt, and no more. It suited me to let him believe what he liked. If I denied having slept with the human, he would only believe it truer. Silence was sometimes the best option when it came to gossips like Kat and Ieduin.

We found our way to the infirmary tent, which had yet to be packed. Asgrim would wait until I saw what he wanted me to see. The stern-faced medic greeted us at the entrance to the tent, a slate in hand. Slaves hurried all around him, packing what they could without disturbing his work.

He greeted me with an impatient, "Ruith."

"Asgrim." I returned the respectful nod. "I read your notice, but I'm not sure I understand the concern about a rash."

"It is more than a rash." He gestured for us to follow him.

We fell in step behind him, taking the cloths he offered us to put over our mouth and nose so we wouldn't breathe in the tainted air. The patient in question was one of the newly acquired human slaves, a woman that had been sorted out to go to one of the banner households. She lay in a quarantine bed with heavy, wet bandages over her forehead. The room stank of fever and sickness, even through the protective cloths.

Without fanfare, Asgrim pulled back the blanket covering the woman and rolled up the simple slave tunic she wore, revealing a torso covered in black spots ringed in white, like rot on a vegetable.

"A leper?" Katyr guessed.

Asgrim shook his head. "Leprosy is rare, and the rash doesn't look like this. This is something else. It's also the second case I've seen. The first died in the night. We didn't find the pustules until after."

"What is it?" Katyr leaned in.

"Don't know. Never seen anything like it. Not in all my years."

"You're checking the others?" I asked.

"I will with time, but the quick march will hamper my efforts. If it's contagious, it could spread through the ranks quickly."

I winced and asked the question I didn't want to ask. "How long do you need?"

"To check every man, woman, and child in the camp?" Asgrim shook his head. "Three days? Four? More time than we have."

"What about just checking the slaves?" I pressed.

"No point." He cleaned his hands in a bowl of water, dumping out the water after. "Most slaves have already been assigned. If it's highly contagious, they've likely already exposed their masters, if not dozens of others."

Katyr looked at me. "A gift from Ostovan?"

I didn't doubt it. It was possible their king had given us slaves without knowing some of them were sick. Common, even, for that to happen, which was why they were often watched closely for signs.

Or it could be deliberate. He might have sent sick slaves, hoping to wipe us out. He wouldn't be the first king to try.

Our quick pace, however, meant that we hadn't paid the normal amount of attention to the situation. It could already be well out of hand and there was nothing we could do to stop it but try to limit exposure.

The best course of action would be to hold camp, give Asgrim and his staff as much time as I could to weed out the sick, and monitor the situation. Three days at minimum. With the frost threatening, and the weather turning, that was three days we could not afford. Nor could we afford to lose half our army to some mysterious disease because I didn't make the right call.

"Give the order that we will hold camp," I said to Katyr, who nodded once and left to go deliver the order. I looked at Asgrim. "I can give you two days. Make the most of it."