“You know,” said Odiana, voice bright and cheerful, “I think you’re lying. You don’t often run into literate slaves. Who ask questions about troop movements. And who are also politically learned enough to realize the wider implications of one little note. That’s the kind of thing you expect from, oh, I don’t know.” Her voice dropped, and she almost puffed, “One of the Cursori.”
Amara stiffened and turned just in time to catch Odiana’s bare heel in the chin. Pain flashed through her, dull and hot. The wasted-seeming girl had far more strength than Amara would have credited to her, and the blow stunned Amara and sent her tumbling back into the stream.
She stood up out of it, shaking water from her face and eyes and drawing in a breath to cry out to her furies—but water rushed down into her mouth and nose as she inhaled, and she began choking. Amara’s heart raced with sudden panic, and she reached up to her face — only to find it coated to above the nose with a thin layer of water. She scraped at it with her fingers, but it didn’t flow down, and she couldn’t clear it away. She struggled and choked, but only more water rushed in, coating her like a layer of oil. She couldn’t breathe. The world began to glaze over with darkness, and she grew dizzy.
The letter. She had to get the letter out, back to the First Lord. The proof he would need.
She made it to the bank before the water filling her lungs made her collapse. She writhed, smothering on dry land, and found herself staring at Odiana’s bare, clean feet.
Amara looked up as the wasted slave girl stared down at her, a gentle smile on her face. “You needn’t worry, love,” the girl said. And she began to change. Her sunken cheeks filled out. The gangling limbs gained rondure, beauty. Hips and breasts began to curve in enticing lines, filling out the clothes she wore. Her hair grew a bit longer, lustrous, darker, and she shook it out with a little laugh, before kneeling down next to Amara.
Odiana reached out and stroked fingers through Amara’s damp hair. “You needn’t worry,” she repeated. “We aren’t going to kill you. We need you.” Calmly, she removed a black sash from the basket, and tied it around her waist. “But you Cursori can be a slippery breed. We’ll take no chances. Just go to sleep, Amara. It will be so much easier. And then I can send all the water back and let you breathe again.”
Amara struggled and fought for simple breath, but none came. Darkness gathered, points of light appearing before her eyes. She clutched at Odiana, but her fingers had gone nerveless and weak.
The last thing she saw was the beautiful watercrafter leaning down to place a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “Sleep,” she whispered. “Sleep.”
And then Amara sank down, into the blackness.
CHAPTER 2
Amara woke, buried to her armpits in the earth. Loose dirt had been piled over her arms and into her hair. Her face felt thick, heavy, and after a moment, she realized that her entire head had been liberally smeared with mud.
She struggled to gather her wits through a pounding headache, piecing together fragments of memories and perceptions until, with a dizzying rush of clarity, she remembered where she was and what had happened to her.
Her heart started to thud hard in her chest, and fear made her buried limbs feel cold.
She opened her eyes, and bits of dirt fell into them, so that she had to blink quickly. Tears formed to wash the dirt out. After a few moments, she was able to see.
She was in a tent. The commander’s tent in the camp, she guessed. Light poured into it through a gap in the flap that served as a door, leaving the tent’s interior described in terms of dimness, shadow, and dark.
“You awake yet?” croaked a voice from behind her. She turned her head, trying to look. She could barely see Fidelias out of the corner of her eye, but he was there, hanging in a cage of iron bars by straps around his shoulders and outstretched arms, leaving his feet dangling a good ten inches off of the floor. He had a swelling bruise on his face, and his lip had been split and was crusted with dry blood.
“Are you all right?” Amara whispered.
“Fine. Apart from being beaten, captured, and scheduled for torture and interrogation. You’re the one who should be worried.”
Amara swallowed. “Why me?”
“I think this can safely be considered a failing mark in your graduation exercise.”
Amara felt her mouth curve into a smile, despite the circumstances. “We have to escape.”
Fidelias tried to smile. The effort split his lip some more, and fresh blood welled. “Extra credit — but I’m afraid you won’t get the chance to collect on it. These people know what they’re doing.”
Amara tried to move, but she couldn’t struggle up out of the earth. She barely succeeded in freeing her arms enough to move them — and even so, they were thickly encrusted with dirt. “Cirrus,” she whispered, sending her thoughts out, toward her fury. “Cirrus. Come pull me out.”
Nothing happened.
She tried again. And again. Her wind fury never responded.
“The dirt,” she said, finally, and closed her eyes. “Earth to counter air. Cirrus can’t hear me.”
“Yes,” Fidelias confirmed. “Nor can Etan or Vamma hear me.” He stretched his toes toward the ground, but could not reach. Then he banged his foot against the iron bars of his cage.
“Then we’ll have to think our way out.”
Fidelias closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he said, gently, “We’ve lost, Amara. Checkmate.”
The words hit Amara like hammers. Cold. Hard. Simple. She swallowed and felt more tears rising, but blinked them away with a flash of anger. No. She was a Cursor. Even if she was to die, she’d not give the enemies of the Crown the satisfaction of seeing her tears. She thought for a fleeting moment of her home, the small apartment back in the capital, of her family, not so far away, in Parcia by the sea. More tears threatened.
She took up her memories, one by one, and shut them away into a dark, quiet place in her mind. She put everything in there. Her dreams. Her hopes for the future. The friends she’d made at the Academy. Then she shut them away and opened her eyes again, clear of tears.
“What do they want?” she asked Fidelias.
Her teacher shook his head. “I’m not sure. This isn’t a smart move for them. Even with these precautions, if something went wrong, a Cursor could slip away and be gone as long as he was still alive.”
The flap of the tent flew open, and Odiana walked through it, smiling, her skirts swirling in the drifting dust the daylight revealed. “Well then,” she said. “We’ll just have to remedy that.”
Aldrik came in behind her, his huge form blocking out the light completely for a moment, and a pair of legionares followed him. Aldrick pointed at the cage, and the two went to it, slipped the hafts of their spears through rings at its base, and lifted it, between them, carrying it outside.
Fidelias shot Aldrick a hard look and then licked his lips, turning to Amara. “Don’t be proud, girl,” he told her, as the guards started carrying him out. “You haven’t lost as long as you’re alive.”
Then he was gone.
“Where are you taking him?” Amara demanded. She swept her eyes from Odiana to Aldrick and tried not to let her voice shake.