I remember now, how Tus had been one of the first to take an interest in me after my father died. There wasn’t much my mother couldn’t do, but in those few domains where a father’s example would have helped, Tus stepped in. When my beard started growing, he showed me how to angle my dagger so I wouldn’t cut myself when I shaved. When my shoulders and chest developed a man’s muscles, Tus taught me exercises to develop this new strength. Years later, he’s still watching out for me.

“Thank you,” I say.

“No need for that,” he says.

A thin whistle floats through the air. Around me, everything goes silent. We’re all intimately familiar with the sound of our sentry’s signal.

The man nearest the fire dumps a basket of dirt over it, snuffing out the light. All around me, I hear people taking cover. Someone runs past me, so close that I feel the breeze. Someone else shoves me from the side.

“Move, Dineas,” Tus growls. “Have you been gone so long?”

I spring into motion, running for one of the thicker stalks of bamboo. Others who know the terrain better than me will go farther, but I’ll take my chances here. It’s hard to climb without dropping anything, and my swords knock noisily against my back. But finally I get to a point where the bamboo forks into two stalks, and I wedge one foot in the split. By now, I can see again in the darkness, and I scan the forest floor below. My skin prickles with the possibility of combat. To calm my nerves, I take my bow from my back and run my finger along the wood, lingering around the spot worn smooth by my mother’s grip. An image of her face flashes through my mind—sharp, angular, with strength etched into every ridge and shadow. I feel her rough brown hands on my arms and shoulders, adjusting my hold. I hear her voice. Steady, Dineas. You must be calmer than the enemy. If I can no longer have her with me, I can at least do her proud.

All around me, the crickets start chirping again. I lift my gaze to see the girl who’d won the wrestling match perched in a tree nearby. She’s too young for a sword, but she holds a sling in one hand and a stone in the other. The determination in her face feels familiar. Did I look like that at her age?

The crickets fall silent. Down below, there are faint footsteps, and then I see the purple-and-gold overtunic of an Amparan soldier. At the sight of him, my heart starts to hammer against my chest. Did he follow me? Did I lead him right here? My breaths come harsh and ragged. Screams from the dungeons echo in my ears.