Even from where I’m standing, the smell is awful. Based on what they’ve said, the deceased have been piling up for a week. The General wants all his people to be loyal to the gods, but for the convenience of not having to smell their burning flesh, he risks damning their souls when they die. If the workers’ minds weren’t cloudy from the drugged water, maybe they’d see the hypocrisy in it.

“Are you done yet?” Reed grunts.

The men yank a sheet over the wagon, hiding the bodies from view, then follow Reed as he heads for the Backbone. I watch their torches drift off, Rune flying with them. Soon the only light left is that of the moon and a few flickering torches high along the dam wall where security details patrol. It’s a blessing that these men don’t have falcons. They really should, though maybe the birds are a pain to train, a resource reserved only for the General and his Four. More likely, he doesn’t want to teach his code to more people. If they can communicate on their own, they can keep secrets from him.

I stand still, waiting for a change in the guards. When their backs are turned, their attention slightly lowered, I dart for the cart. Lifting the sheet, I dive beneath and yank it back into place.

The stench is horrific. I gag, nearly losing the little food in my stomach as I wedge my way between the stiff bodies. The guard who died during the scuffle over dice is still warm, his body the easiest to move. Something sticky trails across my arm. I bite my bottom lip to hold in a cry. Turn away from the wetness. Find myself staring into a set of lifeless eyes. It’s an old man with wrinkled, sun-browned skin. He probably died from exhaustion in the fields, but blood marks his crown. There’s a gaping hole in his skull.

They’ve checked to see if he was gods touched. I glance around. Everyone in the wagon has been checked.

I wrap my scarf over my nose, hoping to block the smell. It still presses in on me, heavy and rotten and warm. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore what I’ve seen.

I don’t have to weather it for long. Just until first light. Then the wagon will be moving.

The only way out is with the dead.

Chapter Sixteen

Sleeping with the dead seems like tempting the gods to render me a corpse as well, so I don’t risk it.

When the wagon creaks to life, dawn’s early glow is just beginning to fill the sky. I can make it out through the paper-thin rag of a blanket that hides me. What I can’t hide from are the flies. They found the bodies as soon as the heat began to climb.