Over the course of the evening, a parade of new faces rotate through. Mostly I just eat, drink, and listen to battle stories. There’s a native of Sehmar who tells how he fought off ten bandits with only his horse for backup. Another soldier was captured by the Shidadi for three days. I’m guessing there’s a good bit of imagination mixed into these stories, but they’re entertaining. I soon start losing track of which tale belongs to who.

In fact, my entire head starts to feel fuzzy.

A grizzled soldier looks my way. “Enjoying yourself, Dineas?”

“Yes, but I need some fresh air,” I say, standing up. My legs wobble underneath me, which is strange because I haven’t had that much to drink. I stumble and catch myself on another man’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

The soldier who was captured by the Shidadi looks over. “First one down?” he asks the man I fell on.

“Looks like it.”

“Careful,” someone adds. “Arxa will have our hides if any of them hit their heads.”

And that’s the last thing I hear before my legs give out.

The first thing I notice is my splitting headache. It’s relentless, and it makes me want to shrink back into unconsciousness.

Then I notice how cold it is. The wind blows over every inch of my skin, raising goose bumps. After that, I start hearing voices and murmurs below me.

Groaning, I force my eyes open. The sky above is just turning light. That’s why it’s so cold. I’m outside. Also—I look down—I’m not wearing a single stitch of clothing. That’s when I jump, and realize that I’m tied to a pole.

Now I’m wide-awake. I blink, casting around for any hint as to what had happened. Naudar’s to my right, naked and trussed up just like me. He’s still unconscious, and I can see in the growing light that someone has drawn rude symbols on his face, as well as written “Ampara’s Best” on his chest. I looked down to see “Ampara’s Finest” written on me.

And then I remember the voices I heard earlier. Oh no. I’m afraid to look, but there’s no avoiding it.

We’re on a rooftop above a crowded marketplace. Vendors are setting up their stalls, and already, a crowd has gathered to gawk up at us.

“Naudar,” I whisper, my voice tinged with panic. He doesn’t stir. “Naudar!”

He groans, pries one eye open, then closes it. A moment later, both eyes open wide and nearly pop out of his head. Then he lets out string of curse words that capture my feelings exactly.

“Gods,” he says. “I knew we should have been suspicious. The old-timers are never that generous.”

“Naudar, what’s going on?”

“Let’s just say that Neju’s Guard has a long tradition of elaborate welcomes for their new recruits.”