Crookbrow stares at my arm. In the moonlight, it’s hard to see the dark splotches that mark me as someone who survived rose plague and emerged immune, but you can find them if you’re looking. Crookbrow’s gaze moves from my umbermarks to a scar on my wrist. “He bears a Rovenni brand,” he tells the others.

If he were more observant, he would see that my brand is unevenly applied, the work of an amateur rather than a Rovenni elder. But I don’t bring that to his attention.

“Please,” I say. “I don’t want any trouble. Perhaps this evidence will be more convincing.” I detach a small bag from my belt and toss it at the soldier’s feet. He picks it up, his eyebrows rising at the heft of its jingling contents. My fingers curl into claws. It’s hard not to snatch the pouch right back out of his hand. That’s the last of our money, the leftovers of a purse I lifted from a traveling priestess of Mendegi. Maybe this whole thing is the Goddess’s wrath for stealing from her.

Crookbrow frowns as he weighs the bag in his hand. I wonder if he’s going to take the money and kill me anyway, but then he slips the pouch beneath his cloak. “We’ll escort you back to your kin, but if you leave again, we’ll shoot you like any other plague fleer, umbermarks or no.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Truthfully, though, I don’t know whether to be worried or relieved as the soldiers march me back toward the city. On the one hand, they didn’t recognize me. Still, I’m now at the Rovenni’s mercy. A word from them, and this entire charade will be over.

Outside the city gates, some haphazard wooden fences have been set up to form a corral. Several large square tents have been erected inside, and a handful of Rovenni mill beside them along with their horses. I see men and women, young traders and old. Amparan soldiers stand sentry outside the fence. As my guards bring me closer, the Rovenni gather around the gate, looking warily at my escorts and then at me.

The man Nush stands closest to the gate, legs planted wide as if he were still astride one of his steeds. I catch his eye. “I told you it was folly to send me out there, brother,” I say loudly. “Brother” might be too much, but I don’t exactly have time to send a subtle message. “Almost got me killed.”

Nush’s eyes are intent on my face, and his thick beard does nothing to hide his frown. I can tell he finds me familiar, though I’m not sure he can place me.

Crookbrow jerks me toward the gate by the sleeve of my tunic, rattling my bones. “You are all to remain inside this enclosure. Even the umbertouched.”