Would they say that if they knew they might be dead before winter struck?
“I’ve a better idea.” Turning their trio so their backs were to the gate, he started back toward followers’ camp. “Let’s get our laundry done.”
3
Silvara
The bucket handles rattled in her grip as Silvara forced herself to maintain the slow plod of a downtrodden follower rather than sprinting to safety like every one of her instincts demanded.
Some warrior you’d make, she silently berated herself. Just them looking at you has you shaking like a leaf—imagine how well you’d fare in a fight!
Then a hand caught hold of her arm, jerking her sideways into one of the tents.
“Well? Did he notice you?” Carina demanded. The rebel leader was a full head and shoulders taller than her, and as always, she loomed over Silvara with intent to intimidate. And as always, Silvara was tempted to tell her that given she was shorter than everyone it would take more than superior stature to make her nervous.
Sucking in a deep breath, because Silvara would be damned if she’d allow Carina to hear a shake in her voice, she said, “I ran into him. Spilled the water, just as we planned it.”
That she’d been so terrified she’d nearly vomited, Silvara kept to herself. Everyone knew the Empire’s legionnaires were quick to blows when they were angered, but this was war. Blows were to be expected.
“And?”
“And…” Her eyes skipped from Carina to Hecktor, another leader in Bardeen’s rebellion. She hated the anticipation she saw on their faces, because they’d been waiting weeks for this opportunity. And she was going to disappoint them. “And nothing. He was courteous and forgave me for soaking his feet. Then he told me to go about my business and they carried on. He saw me but he didn’t see me.”
Carina’s brown eyes narrowed. “The conversation went on longer than that, Silvara.”
“Yes, but not with the legatus. With one of his men.” Though calling them such was a lie, for the Thirty-Seventh were still boys no older than she was herself. Very dangerous boys, the fact of which she’d gotten a terrifying reminder. So quickly, they’d had their weapons in their hands, surrounding their commander, ready to kill at the slightest provocation. “He was a centurion, I think.”
“The Thirty-Seventh’s primus,” Hecktor said. “Name’s Agrippa. Not one you’d want to pick a fight with—he’s a killer. Ours stay far clear of his patrols.”
Unbidden, memory of his hazel eyes flashed across her vision. Despite the gladius in his hand, there’d been no threat in them. Only wariness. Then curiosity. And then…
“Catching the eye of one of his men does us no good, you idiot girl!” Carina threw up her hands. “And we’re running out of time.” Reaching forward to grip Silvara’s shoulders hard, she added, “Your family is running out of time.”
Because her father and brother, both rebel warriors, were trapped in Hydrilla. And like everyone else in that damned fortress, they were starving.
For weeks now, the fortress had been sending up signals with smoke that spoke to the direness of circumstances within the city. Begging their fellow rebels to help. To rally and attack the legions from the rear. To do something, anything, because to surrender would mean being forced into indenture and to continue to hold out meant almost certain death.
Except the rebels had been hard hit this past year with the presence of six Empire legions in Bardeen. Attacking these two from the rear would only net casualties, so the rebels had attempted different tactics. Carina and Hecktor had infiltrated the legions’ civilian followers in an attempt to discover information that might help the fortress but had learned little. So when Silvara had arrived, having run away from her mother’s home on the coast in the hopes of joining the cause, they’d decided to try a different tactic.
“I’ll find a way to run into him again,” she said. “I’ll dress differently. Change my hair. I’ll try harder.”
“The boy’s no fool,” Carina scoffed. “If he thinks you’re trying to get into his bed, he’ll be suspicious of everything you say. Every action you make. This was our one chance and you failed. When Hydrilla falls beneath the Empire’s heels, the blame will be cast at your feet.”
“Easy, Carina,” Hecktor said. “It was always a plan with little chance for success. Silvara is not at fault.”
She was to blame. But so were they, because it had been a flawed plan to begin with. “Maybe next time you’ll see the merit of putting a knife in my hand instead of buckets,” she snapped back. “I was so close! I could have done it!”
Carina snorted. “Says the girl who doesn’t know the first thing about fighting and who has never killed a man.”
A fault not her own given she’d been forbidden to learn. And it was a weakness Silvara was erasing, for she took every opportunity to watch the legions train. Practiced their forms in her tent and when she was alone in the woods foraging. “You doubt my resolve? The lives of my father and brother are at stake, Carina. I wouldn’t hesitate.”
The rebel leader opened her mouth, but Hecktor beat her to it. “Your commitment is appreciated, Silvara. But while the loss of their legatus would be a blow to the Thirty-Seventh, it would solve none of our problems. It is the Twenty-Ninth’s legatus, Hostus, who commands this siege. And the only impact Marcus’s death would net is a promotion for his second. What we need is information from the inside.”
She knew that. Spirits help her, but she knew. And yet to strike a blow…
He waved a hand at her. “Go about your business, girl. If we have further need of you, we will come to you.”
Eyes burning with anger and shame, Silvara lifted her buckets and exited the tent, heading to the river. Because even if she was useless to the cause, she still needed to eat. Which meant she still needed to work. Which meant going back to scrubbing filth from the tunics and undergarments of her enemy, the smell of their sweat thick on her nose.
Exiting the camp, she kicked a rock and cursed loudly, watching as it rolled down the slope into the frigid river, where the water was turbid and white as it flew toward the drop a hundred paces away. The roar of the waterfall was loud even from a distance, and she’d been warned more than once that to go over would mean almost certain death. Especially given she couldn’t swim.
Just one of her many limitations.
Kicking another rock, she muttered a curse she’d heard one of the legionnaires use, her nails digging into her palms. Her dream was to fight alongside her father and brother, but they’d refused to teach her because they believed her too small. Too weak. Had instead sent her and her mother to work in a legion fortress on the southern coast, arguing that taking legion gold to fund the rebel cause was a fine thing.
Silvara knew the truth. The work was steady and safe and allowed Silvara to learn the Cel language as well as their ways. Except that only mattered if Bardeen finally conceded defeat, accepting its lot as an Empire province rather than a free nation. Which wasn’t a concession she was willing to make.
A trio of Twenty-Ninth passed, one of them whistling at her while the others laughed, and she wanted to turn around and spit at their feet. Wanted to snatch up one of their weapons and run them through, then to stand, watching them bleed out onto the ground they’d stolen from her people. I hate you! she silently screamed as she did none of those things. As she kept walking, her head down. I wish death upon you all!