There was a commotion somewhere up the line, and it seemed they were moving out once more. Sev expected they were diverting around the clearing in case anybody was inside the cabin. It looked empty, but not abandoned. Firewood was stacked against the back wall, the pathway was cleared of overgrown grass and weeds, and ghostly wisps of smoke slipped from its chimney.
“Boy!” came a sharp voice, drawing Sev back to his immediate surroundings. Up ahead, Ott was making his way down the convoy. Short and round and puffing from exertion, he reminded Sev of the Fool from one of the Arborian Comedies. Even his patchwork tunic added to the effect; all he needed was a pointed hat and bells on his shoes. Ott’s usually sallow skin was ruddy with splotchy sunburns, and sweat trickled down his temples from his thinning hair.
“Sir,” Sev said, straightening his spine when Ott reached him and standing at attention. He made sure he moved slowly—never too quick of mind or foot. That kind of thing will get you noticed, after all, and that was the last thing Sev wanted. Most of the other soldiers thought Sev was as dull as an unsharpened blade, and Sev did his best to encourage that assessment. He was just good enough at his work to go unnoticed and just bad enough that they didn’t ask too much of him.
“Stay here,” Ott said, actually pointing to the ground, as if Sev could possibly misunderstand the instructions. “The animals will move on, but you’re gonna be our eyes,” he added, pointing to his own with two fat fingers. “Make sure no one sneaks up on us. Me and Jotham are checkin’ things out.”
Ott hitched up his trousers, as if preparing for the real work to begin. Jotham was his usual partner in crime—in this case, literally—and stood just behind Ott as the line of llamas started to move past them.
Sev knew what “checkin’ things out” meant. The empire might have forgiven their felonies so they could serve in the military, but Jotham and Ott were career criminals. They didn’t break the law to survive. They did it because they enjoyed it—and because it allowed them to fill their purses above and beyond a soldier’s meager salary. They were “innocent” men now, their criminal records expunged and their previous misdeeds forgotten. There were dozens like them in the military, and as long as they didn’t steal from their commanding officers and fellow soldiers, no one seemed to care what they did. Jotham and Ott often chose a green soldier like Sev to act as a lookout or an accomplice because they thought young, untried soldiers were too stupid to understand what they were doing.
Sev enjoyed a good theft as much as any poor street rat, but it was one thing to cut a rich merchant’s purse and quite another to steal from a run-down cottage with broken shutters. These weren’t the kind of people who had excess anything.
And what if the cabin wasn’t empty, as they expected?
Sev knew what.
Violence.
“You, mageslave,” Ott barked, directing his words at the nearest bondservant—the one who’d seen Sev’s heel skid through llama dung. The term “mageslave” was a disrespectful slur, and the sound of it made Sev cringe. He glanced at the bondservant, but the boy didn’t react to the insult—save for a tightening in his shoulders. “Bring up the rear. I don’t want any stragglers.”
Jotham joined Ott, and the two men disappeared through the trees.
Sev hesitated, looking at the bondservant again. “Sorry about him,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” the bondservant said. Sev had never heard him speak before; his voice was a low rumble, as if it came from deep inside his chest.
“It’s just . . . They shouldn’t use that word.”
The bondservant stared at Sev for several silent heartbeats, as if trying to determine the tone of Sev’s apology—if it was mocking or genuine. Most soldiers didn’t bother speaking to bondservants, and certainly none of them would dream of saying sorry.
At last the bondservant snorted, almost in disbelief, chin falling to his chest as he shook his head. “The word’s not the problem, soldier. It doesn’t matter if he called me ‘slave’ or ‘sir.’ What I am is the problem.”
He was right, of course. The only difference between Sev and this bondservant was that he had been caught using his magic and Sev had not. Magic had always been a part of the empire—for some people it was like breathing. How was it okay to make existing illegal? It wasn’t, and as a soldier, Sev was complicit in the injustice.
Sev didn’t know what to say, and remembering Ott’s order, he stifled his guilt and stepped through the line of trees, leaving the bondservant behind. He took up a position at the edge of the clearing, around the side of the house and away from the front door. He didn’t want to see what happened inside.
The full heat of the sun pounded down on him, and the faint smell of woodsmoke—tainted with something bitter and unsettling—flavored the air. A bead of sweat trickled down Sev’s forehead, and his leather-padded tunic stuck to his dampened back.
As Jotham and Ott walked closer and closer to the cottage, the silence pressed in, like the forest held its breath while it marked their passing. It was unnatural. Ever since they’d crossed the border of the empire a week back, Sev had been overwhelmed by the sound of the wilderness. He was used to the noise of Aura Nova, where his senses were overloaded with shouts and cries and rolling wagon wheels. But here in Pyra—the Freelands, the Pyraeans liked to call it—the noise wasn’t noise at all. It was music, lyrical and lilting and somehow falling into a rhythm that set his mind at ease and soothed his weary soul. The sounds reminded him of his childhood on the farm, when life was small and simple and safe.
How he longed for it.
Something brushed against Sev’s fingers, and he whirled around to find one of the llamas next to him, butting its head against his hand in a comforting sort of way. There were two others lingering nearby, along with the bondservant, who had apparently chosen to follow Sev into the clearing rather than keep up with the convoy, as he was supposed to.
Sev pushed the llama aside, more gruffly than he wanted to, but he had to keep up the appearance that he was disinterested in animals. Even regular human affection might be mistaken as magic these days, and Sev couldn’t afford to give himself away.
The bondservant’s eyes narrowed. Had he sensed Sev’s magic just then? Sometimes it got away from him, when he was distracted or upset, and the next thing he knew, a bird or cat would sidle up to him, called there by accident.
“What are you doing here?” Sev asked.
The bondservant’s nostrils flared. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his dark eyes fixing at a point over Sev’s shoulder, where Ott and Jotham approached the cabin door on quiet feet. “Don’t apologize to me for a soldier’s harsh words and then stand aside while that same soldier robs innocent people, leaving nothing behind but their corpses.”