“Your orders are simple,” Stasia said, having placed two separate pairs of burlap sacks filled with dirt about thirty yards apart. He noted hers were filled with more, but pretended not to notice. “Pick up one sack, carry it over to the other sack, and then drop it. Then bring the second back to drop where you got the first. Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to lift it so you don’t ruin your lower back.”

Cyrus grunted when lifting his, and he swore it was mostly rock, not dirt, given how much it weighed. He was sweating, and his arms shaking, by the time he reached the other. Stasia, meanwhile, hardly appeared bothered beyond a little bit of redness in her face and neck.

“How many times?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“I usually do twenty. For you, let’s start with… ten.”

Cyrus’s pride pushed him to lift and walk beyond when it hurt, to carry it even when it felt like his entire body vibrated.

He still barely reached five.

“Come on,” she said, smacking him on the back as he heaved in air. “Let’s give your arms a rest. Sprints next.”

She marked two trees at the nearby forest’s edge. All he had to do was sprint from one to the other, back and forth, like a deranged dog trapped behind a fence.

“Remember,” she said. “I’m right here, with you all the while. We’re doing this fair.”

He walked the last few she demanded of him. Stasia zipped on past during her own laps, and with each one, she elbowed or nudged him in an attempt to get him to run. Next came a tree with a sturdy low branch. Stasia showed him how to tuck his hands around it to lift, then found a different, slightly higher branch for herself to leap up and catch.

“How many?” Cyrus asked. The question had begun to terrify him.

“I usually go until I can’t anymore,” Stasia said as she bobbed up and down. The muscles in her exposed abdomen tightened, and slick sweat trickled down her arms and neck. Cyrus had not appreciated how strong she was until this morning. He doubted there was a single spot on her body that wasn’t pure muscle.

Twenty-five years, Thorda had said he led rebellions against the empire. Did that mean Stasia had been working and perfecting this routine for twenty-five years? If so, how long would it take until he could do a fraction of it?

Cyrus lifted and dropped until his arms gave out. Stasia laughed and picked him up as if it were all a cheerful game.