28 Calay, Military District

When the skinny young woman came nosing around the barracks, asking where she might find Mateo Bornan, her arrival caused a stir in the Military District. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old. Her skin was much too pale and covered with a coppery splatter of freckles; her hair was red and wild, as lustrous as a frayed old paintbrush. She was not attractive by any stretch, nor would she be—definitely not the sort of young woman the subcomdar was often seen with.

“Let me see Mateo Bornan.” She actually stamped her foot on the ground when the soldiers regarded her with amusement. “In private. I need to talk with him.”

Mateo had just arrived back from upriver, where he had escorted a group of fresh Uraban captives to the Alamont prisoner camps. Returning to Calay, though, he had heard the news of the king's death. Mateo's next sad duty would be attending Korastine's funeral.

When informed of the redheaded girl's presence outside the barracks, he said, “Send her away. We have too much else to do. The king is dead.” With a quick salute, the young guard left to give the girl a gruff dismissal.

As couriers spread the news around the five reaches, destrars would rush to Calay so they could attend the old king's final ceremony and be present for Anjine's formal coronation (although she had been the de facto ruler of Tierra for several years now). Mateo longed to go to Anjine—as a friend. She had always been able to talk with him about her greatest concerns, her inner doubts, her dreams. They were childhood friends, bound by years of memories and shared experiences. But this was a time of vulnerability for her. Perhaps he shouldn't allow himself to get closer. She would be the queen now, and he was just a soldier….

When they were children, politics hadn't mattered much—though Anjine's mother had never been keen on the close friendship between the princess and a lowborn boy taken into the castle. She had tried to separate the pair, and they had rebelled, finding surreptitious ways to run off, creating imaginary identities for themselves and having their own adventures out in the city. Later, as Anjine assumed the formal mantle of princess and he became a career soldier rising through the ranks, Mateo had needed to distance himself from her. Social expectations came into play.

Once Anjine was queen, his queen, the gulf between them would be even vaster. She couldn't just cry on Mateo's shoulder; the loss of her father wasn't just a skinned knee. She was Queen Anjine. The words formed a lump in Mateo's throat as he thought them.

If nothing else, he would be first to bend his knee and swear loyalty to her, offering his heart and life alike, for her… and for Tierra.

King Korastine had been a patient and loving mentor to him, practically a father. The king's wisdom, benevolence, understanding, and generosity had also made him a great ruler in times of prosperity, keeping his people on an even keel. But he was not molded from the right stuff to face a never-ending war. The violence, repeated tragedies, and simmering hatred had ruined him. Now perhaps Korastine would find peace; he certainly deserved it. But that only meant more heartache and backbreaking responsibility for poor Anjine.

He would help her however he could. He could not let her be ruined too.

The young guard returned once more, flustered. “I'm sorry, sir, but the girl won't leave. She even gave one of the troops a black eye when he tried to move her against her will. She calls you a fool if you won't listen to her.”

Despite his sad thoughts, an intrigued smile quirked Mateo's lips. “She gave one of my soldiers a black eye?”

“Yes, sir. Shall we lock her in the stockade?”

“Do you think you can?” Mateo gave a small chuckle. “Better send that soldier back to training if he can be bested by a girl! How old did you say she was?”

“Looks to be fifteen or so.” The rest of the sentence was weighted with unspoken meaning: Much too young for you. And certainly too old for her to claim to be his daughter.

“All right, she's sparked my interest. Let's see why she feels the need to cause so much fuss.”

The girl came in looking indignant. Her clothes were rags, and her face needed a good scrubbing; she seemed to be a stranger to regular meals. As Mateo inspected her, she flashed a hot glance at the soldier who had escorted her in. “I said I needed to speak to the subcomdar alone.”

The soldier gave Mateo an uncertain look. “Will you be all right, sir?”

“I'll try not to let her give me a black eye.” Doubtful, the soldier left and closed the door behind him. Sitting back at his desk, Mateo regarded the redheaded teenager with some amusement. “What's your name, girl? We haven't been introduced.”

“Tira.”

“And your last name?”

Her bony shoulders bobbed once. “Don't have one.” In response to his skeptical frown, she let out an impatient sigh. “You'll understand soon. I don't have a family that I remember. That was all pounded out of me. They try to make you forget, especially fond memories. They scour everything away, everything but the mission.”

Mateo perked up. “What mission?”

Tira squared her shoulders and met Mateo's gaze straight on with her greenish brown eyes. “I'm a ra'vir.”

The information took him completely by surprise. Mateo stared, ready to call for the soldier again, but the girl interjected, “A former one. Captured eight years ago from my home, brought down the coast of Uraba with many other children, marched overland, and trained for years.”

Behind the desk, Mateo's hand strayed toward the dagger at his belt. He could call for guards at a moment's notice, but he let Tira continue to talk. “Explain yourself. How do I know you're not a ra'vir anymore.”

“Urecari raiders captured a lot of us. Our training was ruthless, rigorous, relentless. Most children don't survive long—not the right material or not susceptible to the Teacher's manipulations. Some of the failures are sent to the soldanates as slaves. The rest are killed for their failings. The ones who complete ra'vir training are the best of the best, hardened warriors in the cause of Urec. They want to destroy anyone who worships the Fishhook. I was one of them.”

Mateo remained silent, waiting.

“After three years, the Teacher sent me back to Tierra. Alone—most ra'virs are. Don't know where any of the others might be. We were encouraged to scatter. The Teacher ordered us to inflict damage and keep you in terror.” She lowered her chin, swallowed hard. “I heard what happened at the Ishalem wall.”

The reminder made Mateo's anger flare. “And you expect me to believe you?” With the king's death still raw in his mind, he thought of how ra'virs had burned the Arkship in Calay harbor, destroying Korastine's dreams of sailing to Terravitae.

The redheaded girl shrugged again, made no apology. “Never found the right time or place to strike… but I did find friends. Aidenist friends, kindhearted Tierrans, good people, devout and sympathetic folks who helped me without knowing a thing about me. Even though I thought it was burned out of me, and the Teacher taught me to hate Aidenists, I started to remember my family. My real family. The raiders that captured me murdered my parents first. I remembered that I loved them, how kind they were. I remembered being a Tierran… but I can't forget that I'm a ra'vir. So I hid. I worked. I stayed alive. But I did nothing else.”

Mateo leaned forward. “Why did you come to me? And why now?”

Her milky skin flushed a bright red. “On the streets, I recognized a young man. I'm sure he was from my childhood village—probably escaped the raid somehow.” Tira sniffed. “He was living the life I could have had.” She shook her head. “When I heard about those Tierran soldiers killed at the Ishalem wall, I should have felt glad, but I didn't. It felt wrong.”

Fascinated, Mateo realized that he could neither turn away this potential boon, nor entirely trust her. At least not yet. “You say you can't identify any other ra'virs? So how can you help me?” The few captive ra'virs he'd interrogated had been no help at all.

“We don't have a secret sign or code, but I have suspicions about a few people.” She gave him a winsome smile. “And I know a way you can root them out.”