And she intended to see it done, no matter what Carina or Hecktor said. She’d find a way.
Reaching the banks of the river, Silvara set one of her buckets on the ground, then gingerly picked her way toward the edge, the worn soles of her boots slipping and sliding on the ice. She lowered the bucket into the churning water, clenching her teeth as it soaked her hands, the force of it nearly pulling her off balance.
The bucket filled in a few seconds, and she heaved, trying to lift the heavy water. Her arms, weak from weeks of little food, trembled, the bucket caught in the current. It tugged her forward, and she sucked in an alarmed breath, equal parts terrified of falling in and of losing a tool of her trade she couldn’t afford to replace.
“I don’t think so,” she said between her teeth, putting her back into it.
Then her foot slipped on the ice.
Silvara shrieked as she pitched forward, but before she hit the deadly water, hands caught her around the waist, hauling her back. She landed on her bottom on the bank, her fingers still clamped around the handle of her bucket, frigid water spilling over her legs and boots.
“It’s a bit of a chilly day for a swim, don’t you think?” a male voice asked in Cel. And when she looked up, it was to find herself staring into the hazel eyes of the Thirty-Seventh Legion’s primus.
4
Agrippa
She was even prettier than he’d remembered.
Smiling as she stared up at him, he said, “I personally prefer a steaming hot tub and lavender-scented soap, but perhaps you’ve a stiffer constitution than I do.”
“I could have told you that, Agrippa,” Quintus called from farther up the bank. “You’re the only one in camp who needs warm wash water.”
“And that is why I’m the only one who doesn’t stink,” he retorted. “Soap lathers better in warm water. Isn’t that true?” He turned his face back to her. “Tell them and maybe they’ll change their habits. We share a tent, so you’d be doing me a significant favor.”
“Yes.” Her voice was wary. “It’s true.”
“I do love to be proven right.” He held out his hand, watching as she hesitated before taking it, her skin icy cold against his. Already she was shivering violently, the thin wool of her dress and her worn boots soaked with river water. The wind howled past them, and despite having a thick, fur-lined cloak, he felt the chill as he helped her up the slippery slope.
“You should get your water farther upstream where it doesn’t run as fast.” He took the bucket from her and filled it, as well as the other. “On the far side of the bridge.”
“Good advice.” Her teeth chattered so hard he could scarcely understand her. “My gratitude…” She trailed off, then said, “I don’t know what I should call you.”
“We can offer you some suggestions,” Quintus said, and Agrippa flipped his middle finger at his friend before saying, “Agrippa. Those jackasses are Quintus and Miki. They’re a bit simple, so feel free to disregard anything they say as total drivel.”
“Well met, Agrippa.” She gave him a strained smile, then reached out to take the buckets from him. Though how she intended to carry them all the way back to the camp, he didn’t know. Not only was she tiny, but like most of those living in the followers’ camp, she showed signs of starvation, and being currently underfed himself, he knew how it sapped strength.
“We’re going that way anyway,” he said. “I can carry them for you.”
She looked away, but he didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in her eyes. Like she hated the suggestion that she couldn’t do it, which he respected. Then she said, “You can’t carry wash water for me.”
“Why?” he demanded. “You think I’m incapable of it? I know I’m running a bit lean these days, but that still hurts.”
“That’s not what I…” She trailed off, large brown eyes fixing on Quintus and Miki, who were howling with laughter. Then she rounded on him, teeth clattering as she said, “You’re mocking me!”
“It’s only mocking if it has cruel intent.” Agrippa rocked on his heels, trying not to grin. “Of course, if you really want to carry them, we will leave you to the task. Your call…”
She hesitated, then said, “Silvara.”
That it was a name nearly as lovely as her face was the first thought that came to his mind, but Agrippa bit his tongue and waited in silence while she considered the offer.
Silvara tucked her hands under her armpits, then looked him slowly up and down as though she weren’t freezing to death before saying, “I suppose you might manage it. Walk quickly, though. I’ve washing to do.”
“Yes, domina.” His heart skipped faster when she laughed, the sound as pure as the silver windchimes the Bardenese hung in the redwoods.
With Quintus and Miki trailing after them, they walked to the camp, passing a group of the Twenty-Ninth, who all lifted their eyebrows but mercifully said nothing. Although Agrippa had no doubt that word he’d been carrying laundry buckets would circulate through camp and that he’d hear about it from Marcus. And that what he’d hear would be something like, You are an officer of the Thirty-Seventh. Conduct yourself accordingly. As though Agrippa had conducted himself according to much of anything a day in his life.
“Where did you learn to speak Cel?” he asked, sweat beading on his spine, because the buckets were heavier than he cared to admit.
“I grew up in the town surrounding Illici,” she answered, naming the legion fortress on the coast. “One doesn’t get far if one doesn’t learn the Empire’s tongue, especially since the Cel don’t deign to learn ours.”
“I speak some.” In truth, he spoke Bardenese fluently, but he’d done enough spying over the years that the fact wasn’t something he’d admit freely.
“Only some?” Her gaze remained fixed on the path ahead of them. “That’s disappointing.”
“Why’s that? Do you have secrets to tell me that don’t translate?”
Silvara huffed out an amused breath, though it had a sharp edge to it. “No. It’s only that you look to have some of my country’s blood in you.”
It was forbidden to talk about what came before the legion. All second-born sons of the Empire were delivered to the gates of the fabled legion school the year they turned seven. To do otherwise was treason that saw parents hanging from the gallows. No one was exempt. Not even the sons of senators. Especially not the bastard sons of senators.
“I was born the day I walked through the gates of Campus Lescendor,” he intoned, repeating the phrasing they’d all been forced to repeat a thousand times to drill all thoughts of family and friends and the past from their heads. “The Empire is my father and my mother. The men of the Thirty-Seventh are my brothers. I am a legionnaire.”
She didn’t answer. Only kept walking.
The handles of the buckets cut into his palms as he warred with whether to risk saying more for the sake of keeping her interest. Especially as they passed into the camp, people around them on all sides. “I was born in Celendrial. My mother never spoke Bardenese to me, so what I know, I learned elsewhere.”