Besides soldiers, there are messengers and servants in imperial livery hurrying back and forth. Two men with slave brands on their faces clean out gutters along the barracks. People walk by them without giving them a second glance.

Barracks seven looks quiet at this time of day, and it’s blissfully cool inside compared to the sunny training fields. Two men stand just inside the door. I nod a greeting and they nod back, but they don’t pause in their conversation, and I continue on. Bunks line either wall, and the fifth one is the only one stripped of linens. I drape my bedding over the straw as best I can, change into the army tunic, and then I sit down and wonder what to do next. I suppose I’ll get orders tomorrow, but I can’t exactly sit here until then. At the very least, I’ll need to find the mess hall.

I make my way back out. I’m about to step through the door when a big man comes in the other direction. We both stop, and I back up a few steps to let him through. Then I realize I know this man. He’s the big soldier, the one who snuck up on me in my test.

Great. I turn my head on the off chance he might think I’m simply another new umbertouched soldier and pass me by. No such luck. He squints at me, then frowns.

“Aren’t you that mystery soldier? The one abandoned at the compound?”

So much for blending in. “That’s right.”

The man strokes his beard. “Well, well,” he says.

Behind me, the two men stop their conversation to watch.

The big man takes a step toward me, and I take a step back.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What’s the matter? Shy?” He takes in my tense stance, my half-raised fists, and then throws his head back into a roar of a laugh. “You’re a jumpy one, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I don’t fight unless I’m being paid, and today’s my day off.” He reaches out his hand. “We’ve never met properly. I’m Walgash, soldier under Arxa in Neju’s Guard. And you’re the upstart maltworm who bruised my ribs.”

I take his hand, trying not to look too sheepish. “They call me Dineas.”

Walgash turns to the other two soldiers. “Naudar, Masista, you’ve got to meet this man. He appeared out of nowhere at the rosemarked compound with no memory of where he came from.”

The two come to shake my hand, peering at me as if I were some kind of oddity, which I suppose I am. Naudar looks to be a young Amparan about my age, and Masista is a dark-skinned southerner who looks slightly older.

Walgash pats his belly. “You three had your midday meal yet? My stomach’s about to turn inside out.”