The guards around him are closer to my age, and I can’t help measuring myself against them. The closest one is big, though his slow lumbering steps makes me think he’d be heavy on his feet. The man behind him is smaller, but his eyes are sharp, and he looks at me with something like eagerness. If I really am a soldier, he’ll be one I have to watch out for.

“They call you Dineas, do they?”

“Yes, Commander.” I stay perfectly still as he walks a circle around me.

“I doubt you’re from our army,” he says. “Our barracks report all outbreaks of rose plague. You remember nothing of your past?”

“No, sir. I remember nothing since the fever.”

He takes my left arm by the wrist and pulls up my sleeve. I fight the urge to wince when he pats the bandage. “Does it still pain you?”

“No, sir.”

Arxa glances at Zivah, who carefully unwraps the bandage from my wrist. The commander contemplates my burn. “It’s a livestock-trader mark. We can make some inquiries there.” His eyes drop to the muscles of my forearm. “Are you left-handed?”

It takes me a moment to come up with my answer. “I’ve been eating with my right hand.”

He raises his eyebrows and rolls up the sleeve of my right arm. I feel like a hunting dog presented for inspection, which then makes me wonder if I’ve ever owned a hunting dog. When the commander raises his head, he looks cautiously pleased. “You just might be a swordsman.” He runs his thumb over the pads of my fingers. “An archer as well. And,” he says, eyeing my face, “you’ve seen some close combat.”

He backs up, dusting off his hands. “Let’s see what you can do.”

He spins on his heel, leaving the room as decisively as he’d entered it. The other soldiers follow him. I look at Zivah and raise my eyebrows—the man’s used to giving orders. Zivah just gives me an encouraging smile and motions for me to follow. She falls in step after me.

It’s my first time outside, and the dirty streets and run-down houses look even shabbier up close. I peer curiously at the rosemarked people all around, but most of them seem to be keeping their distance from us.

To my surprise, the commander takes us to the compound gates. “We’re looking for some extra space,” he tells the posted guards. “We’ll stay close.”

It’s disorienting, stepping outside of the walls. Sand and brush stretch out around me in all directions. After the small hospital rooms, I hardly know what to make of such openness. The sun, too, is something fierce, sharp on my bare skin and heavy on my tunic. Sweat beads on my forehead.