When I tell the stablehands I don’t know if I’ve ridden before, they pair me with one of the gentler mares. The Neju’s Guard old-timers spend the morning testing our riding ability. When it turns out I’m comfortable leading my horse through all the gaits, I’m told to join the soldiers practicing formations.

At one point, I see a man standing with Arxa by the side, watching us. The stranger looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Who is that?” I ask Masista.

He looks over his shoulder. “That’s Prince Kiran, the emperor’s heir. He spends a lot of time at the training fields.”

And that’s why he looks familiar. The prince bears a clear resemblance to the portrait of the emperor. The prince’s beard is black and trimmed shorter than his father’s, and his nose is sharper, but he has the same wide mouth and heavy brows. From the way he stands I can tell he’s a soldier himself.

The day’s training goes by quickly. Hard work, and I know I’ll be sore the next day, but I come out with the feeling I’ve made a good day’s effort.

When Arxa finally dismisses us, Walgash gathers everyone up.

“Tonight we feast in the city,” he says, “courtesy of us old-timers. Meals and drinks on us!”

The announcement is met with cheers, and we stream out the palace gates. Our mob of soldiers attracts quite a few curious looks as we move through the streets. It feels good to be here, in a group where I’ve earned my place.

“Do you know where they’re taking us?” I ask Naudar, who’s distracted by a merchant girl smiling at him from the side of the street.

“No idea,” he says, when he realizes I’ve spoken.

“For gods’ sake, Naudar. Next time you drift off I’ll walk you into a wall.”

We follow the crowd into a large tavern that looks like it’s been reserved for us for the night. The drinks start flowing immediately, and food follows soon after. It’s good fare, even better after a long day.

Several games of dice start up in the corner, though I stay at the main tables with Naudar. A serving girl brings us each a goblet of wine.

“Are you the soldier with no past?” she asks.

“That’s probably me,” I say, studiously ignoring Naudar’s smirk.

Her smile has a spark to it. “Maybe you could tell me about it later.” Her hips sway from side to side as she walks away.

Naudar claps me on the back. “Well done, my friend! And the night is yet young.”

I take a deep gulp of wine. The girl was pretty—red lips, and round in all the right places. But I don’t know, something about her seemed off. Maybe she was too flawless. Her skin was too smooth.