“Three children,” said Mariya, without acknowledging them. “Where is the fourth? The older boy?”

Oh gods. Kontas.

The headwoman’s smile was meant to wound. “We traded him away yesterday. Got a good offer for him from an eastern merchant who was passing on the Golden Road, south of here. They liked his gold-silk hair and pretty face.”

Kirya was off the gelding in an instant, but Mari’s curt command slapped her.

“Kirya, stop there. Don’t move!”

Shaking, Kirya found an arrow in her right hand and her bow gripped in her left. Men had pushed forward. She was not dead only because she was female; a man would have been cut down for the impiety.

“You must have known it was likely we would come after the children to redeem them. It goes against the laws of the gods to trade him away so quickly.”

“You are a foolish, foolish girl. We would have traded away the other boy, too, but the merchant only wanted the blond one. Now, take your complaining and depart, or make your offer and I will consider it.”

“The gods will punish you,” said Mariya, so gray that she looked half dead. But wasn’t their tribe already half dead, thrashing about blindly as the lifeblood drained out on the ground? Oh, gods, how terrified Kontas must be! And their mother dead in the fire—an honorable death, sent to the gods, certainly, but dead is dead. Kirya could not speak for tears, knowing herself half an orphan already although she had cousins to succor her. And yet what did she have to look forward to? Orphan was taken. What man would accept her Flower Night, now that her night with Orphan had been interrupted in such a illomened manner? The gods had cursed her. What did she have left?

Nothing.

“Mari, it’s as she says, take it or leave it.” She had worn gloves as a precaution, and she unslung the quiver from her back and untied the bundle, heedless of those edging close to shield the headwoman, whom they all obviously feared and obeyed even if she was a foreign monster with demon eyes. She grabbed the cloak with her gloved hands and shook it free.

They shouted with dismay when the silver cloth snapped out like the unfurling wings of one of the gods’ holy steeds. Only the headwoman and her war leader did not shrink back. The silk-adorned girl child covered her face and began to cry. Her mother grabbed the girl’s wrists, pulled them down, and slapped the little thing in the face.

“Never snivel! Don’t show fear.” She looked up at Mariya. “Give us the cloth. Take the children. It’s a fair bargain. They’re worth nothing to us, just more mouths to feed.”

“What of our other goods? The winged kur belonging to our war leader? The worth of those of our tribe members who have crossed the lines to join your tribe? We’re owed something in recompense.”

“You’re owed nothing. You are fortunate I am in a generous mood today.”