Evie briefly studies the older woman. She sees an earnestness in Mother Manai’s expression, in the way she’s regarding Evie. It occurs to her in that moment that Manai is the only one taking her seriously, willing to see what Evie sees in their current circumstance.

“That’s why I’m telling you all this,” Evie says, holding Manai’s gaze. “We have a better chance together, small enough to slip through the line but with enough force to defend ourselves if need be. It’s not a daydream or a fantasy. It’s an opportunity, perhaps the only one you’ll ever have.”

“You tell a fine story, little Sparrow,” Lariat commends her. “Yer a finer speaker than any Savage I’ve yet known. So I’m sure yer smart enough to know we can’t put any stock in it.”

“I can only offer you the truth. It’s your choice to believe it. Brio and I are headed east, but we’re not giving ourselves over to the Skrain. I will see this man returned to the Capitol or I’ll die in the attempt. It’s that simple for me. Whatever you have to do for yourselves, I understand, but will you answer me one question, and answer it with absolute truth?”

“I always tell the truth,” Lariat mockingly protests. “Except when I lie.”

“Ask your question,” Mother Manai bids her, far more serious.

“Do any of you truly believe you will ever see your families again?” Evie asks them all. “Do you truly believe you will survive long enough to earn your reprieve, and that it will be granted if you do? Do you really believe you will ever be allowed to leave the Savage Legion?”

Silence answers her.

Even Lariat doesn’t quite seem to know what to say to that.

Evie waits, somehow knowing not to press them in that moment, to let them sit with the weight of her questions, with the answers the Savages don’t wish to speak aloud, and the futures those answers conjure whether they want to see them or not.

“No,” Mother Manai says at last, quietly. “No, of course we don’t.”

“Then I will ask you one final question,” Evie says. “What difference does it make? You can die in your thirtieth or even fortieth battle, and it will be no different than if you died in your first. What do you have to fear by escaping? By trying? At least you’ll have a chance, a hope. And even if you’re right and it’s futile and we’re captured, you’ll have died trying to get back to your people instead of fighting for the ones who forced coins down our gullets and hurled us at enemy shields with rusted weapons. You’ll have died fighting, truly fighting, instead of submitting.”