“It’s Emperor Kiran’s decree,” the minister says in an oily voice. “You must be kept in the city because of new plague laws.”

“Lies. The emperor wants us all dead so he can take our stallions for his army.”

I remember this man. His name is Nush, and he once accused me of being a horse thief.

“Think carefully before refusing a direct order from the emperor,” says the minister.

It seems now that the soldiers guarding the gate all turn to watch.

Finally, Nush speaks again. “Keep us here if you must, but put us outside the walls. If you try to force us in, we’ll fight, and we have nothing to lose.” There’s enough threat in his voice that any smart man would take heed.

I don’t think the minister will bring in soldiers, but I can’t afford to wait and see what happens. Grass bends and crunches under my feet as I hurry away, and soon the ground starts to slope downward. The river is a thousand paces wide, swollen from the spring rains, and the water splashes and froths as it rushes past. It’s deep too, judging from the boats I saw earlier in the day. I don’t know what I’m looking for. An abandoned boat? A secret log bridge? Stone jutting up from the river at convenient intervals? It really isn’t the type of river to ford or swim, even for those as desperate as me and Zivah, and the only proper bridge is currently the centerpiece of the Taof quarantine.

Slicewing caws. I freeze. A lone soldier walks the grass toward me with wide, swaggering steps. He’s not looking in my direction, though, and I duck down into the grass. With any luck, he’ll walk right past. But since we’ve been short on luck lately, I wrap a hand around the hilt of my knife.

As he comes closer, I see he’s a typical Amparan sentry in standard armor. Not as scared-looking as the others now that he’s farther from the city, but I’m not impressed with the way he’s keeping watch. He looks like he’s daydreaming rather than scanning for fugitives. I notice he’s rubbed mud on his skin to look like umbermarks. It’s not the first time I’ve seen someone try to fool the plague that way. Zivah says it doesn’t work.

The soldier swivels his face in my direction. His eyes widen.

Maybe not so much of a daydreamer after all. I tense my muscles to spring.

And then his face shifts. His skin darkens. His eyes grow more wide set, and his cheekbones more pronounced.

My knife falls from my hand. “Masista?”