If this is a welcome, I never want to get on their bad side.

The crowd below is growing larger with men, women, and children of all ages. A young umbertouched woman covers her mouth and giggles. My face flushes to the roots of my hair. There’s even a few priestesses of Mendegi in the crowd. Mendegi, the goddess of women. Shouldn’t they be looking somewhere else?

“They’re not going to leave us up here forever, are they?” I tug desperately at the rope around my hands and go faint with relief when they start to loosen. It takes a bit of finessing, but eventually I work my way out. Naudar’s not far behind, and we clamber down the side of the building. A commandeered oilcloth from an unattended booth restores some of our dignity, and we run as fast as we can back to the palace. We were supposed to be in the training fields at dawn.

At the barracks, we find our clothes folded neatly on our cots. But try as we might, we can’t scrub the markings from our skin.

“It’s no use,” moans Naudar. “We just have to go train like this.”

Arxa, to his credit, doesn’t crack the barest hint of a smile when he sees. He just takes one long look at us and waves us in. “Ten-man formations,” he says.

Walgash is the first to greet us as we stumble onto the field. “Fun time last night?”

His grin only widens at our stony glances.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so glum. When I first joined, the old-timers rolled me down a hill in a barrel. At least you came out without bumps and bruises. And really, they did you a favor. What young woman of the city will resist you after that display?” He tugs on his beard. “Though I suppose the chilly morning did you no favors.”

Naudar makes a sound like a choking cat. I give an incoherent groan. And we shuffle into place to do our drills.

Chapter Twenty-seven

I try not to laugh when I see Dineas, I really do. He’s so embarrassed standing in the examination room with markings all over his face and arms that it seems cruel to prolong his misery. My lips twitch, and I turn my head. But a chuckle escapes, and from there it’s a lost cause.

“I’m so sorry,” I choke out between gasps. “I really do feel bad for you.”

Dineas gives a martyr’s sigh. “I suppose I should be used to it by now.”

I step in for a closer look. I can’t tell what kind of dye his fellow soldiers used, but it has a while to go before it disappears. A surprisingly artistic sketch of a well-endowed woman disappears beneath the sleeve of his tunic.

I gesture toward his torso. “I’m curious…”