When Ba’an woke the not-vuti was empty.

She sat up instantly, seeking out Lukios’ familiar soul; she slumped with relief when she found him.

He had been at the akaikai grove, and was returning to the not-vuti now.

She put her hand over her racing heart, feeling it slow as she calmed.

Of course Lukios had not left. Where would he go? They were surrounded by desert on all sides and she did not own a map. There was no way for him to get to Kyros alone.

And yet she had worried that he had left her, as though she were in any position to be left.

Pathetic. Ba’an was pathetic.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slipped out of bed. There was no point in sulking or ruminating. It was best to stay busy.

Ba’an changed, then made the bed before washing her face in the kitchen. She heard Lukios wander through the courtyard as she knelt to light the fire, and by the time she was blowing on it she could hear the clack-clack-clack of wood against wood as Lukios stacked the pile. He had finished by the time she had the cauldron on the fire and filled with water—the noises had stopped.

Ba’an washed and chopped mushrooms, waiting for Lukios to come in.

He didn’t. He was outside by the woodpile, standing very still.

Ba’an dumped the mushrooms—four different kinds—into the water. She washed the leafy greens next and set them aside. Lukios still had not moved.

They were out of meat. No one had gone fishing and the traps were empty. Ba’an took the balu’tra she had ground into flour and added it to the soup. It would thicken it, though it would not taste as good as adding real grains.

Lukios was still outside, simply…standing there.

Ba’an stepped away from the fire, turning to the door. Should she…?

She took a step forward and stopped.

But what if he was upset with her?

She turned back to the cauldron, which was bubbling away. She dumped the leafy greens into the soup and stirred it. When she tasted it, she wrinkled her nose.

Ugh. They had to go to Kyros soon. Ba’an needed salt rocks—desperately.

Lukios was still standing outside. The sun was beginning to climb in the sky. Soon it would become too hot—why was he only standing there? He would burn.

And breakfast was ready—such as it was.

Ba’an walked to the doorway. She was not very quiet—she walked normally, like a person, whereas Lukios stepped lighter than a cat—but he still did not turn. His head was tilted down so he was staring at the ground—or was he staring at his feet? The sun glinted off his hair, and the strands seem to glow, like threads of gold.

Ba’an opened her mouth, then closed it again. After the third time, she settled on what she wished to say.

“Breakfast is ready, Lukios.”

He startled and turned. Had he simply not noticed her?

“Oh. That’s great.” He smiled, though Ba’an thought it was not as bright and wide as his usual one. “Hey, guess what? I found something tasty.” He reached into the folds of his chiton and drew out an egg. It was small, fitting neatly into the palm of his hand. She could see even from her spot in the doorway that it was grey and speckled. Rock bird eggs.

Ba’an wiped her mouth, swallowing. Oh yes. They were very tasty indeed. Finally, they would have something heartier than mushrooms.

Ba’an enjoyed mushrooms, but they were not very filling on their own.

“That is a very good find! We can bake them. Oh! How many?”

He held up a hand with four fingers raised. “You can have three, since you’re so much bigger than I am,” he said, and his grin widened.

“Very funny, Lukios. We will have two each. So it is fair.”

Actually, Lukios was more than twice her weight, so he ought to have three, but Ba’an was not that generous. She was very, very hungry.

“Ha, if you say so. We’ll see.” He gave her a knowing grin, and Ba’an smiled back though not without discomfort. He was muted today. His smiles were…dimmer. Not as bright, or as cheerful.

Ba’an had upset him, though she did not think he was angry with her. No. It was much worse than that—he was hurt.

She bit the corner of her lip as they entered the not-vuti together. Of course she had hurt him. Ba’an wished to fix this, but she did not know how. Lukios normally recovered his good cheer quickly, though she had never…rejected him for being himself, before. That was different than a small squabble over chores or a poor choice of seasoning.

Ba’an did not know how to correct this. She thought they ought to talk, as promised, but she did not know how to broach the topic. If she had still been a sitting witch and he a hunter, she would have simply…hm. Well, such a thing would not have happened, because no hunter was an outlander. No hunter in a saa-vuti vur was what Lukios was. There would be nothing to reject, and if he had committed es’tat then he would have been punished. There was no question as to what would happen.

This was difficult.

Lukios ambled to the bir-vuti to wash himself, laughingly telling her that sweat wasn’t the sort of smell that whetted the appetite. This was true, though she did not think he had gotten very sweaty. Perhaps he had a better sense of smell than she did.

Or perhaps he had wanted to be away from her.

Ba’an busied herself with the eggs, which did not take long at all. Then she sat watching the soup boil, twisting the hem of her shift with her fingers over and over as she waited. What could she say? What should she say?

But it was true what she had thought. It was possible that speaking with Lukios would make matters worse. Ba’an did not wish to harm Lukios. It was why she had never asked him where he had been during the Dolkoi’ri-anta, what he had done—Ba’an avoided thinking or remembering it in general, and knowing what he had done would only complicate things. Make her resent him, even. It was better not to speak of it, better to let sleeping memories lie undisturbed, locked away and forgotten forever.

Remembering what she had done to Thu’rin was more than enough. Ba’an did not remember what she had done after—most of it—and that suited her very well. She did not wish to know more of Lukios if it would lead to her hating him.

Ba’an wanted to remember him as he was now: young and golden, humorous and handsome, a sweet memory to warm her as she waited to be unmade, devoured by a dead and hungry god. It would not take very long now, and she wished to carry only good memories of him until she remembered nothing at all.

She took a breath to steady her nerves, then banked the fire. The soup was going to boil off. She added some more water, and stirred, making sure it did not stick at the bottom. Cleaning it would be very taxing.

Lukios took his time, and when he finally returned Ba’an could feel her stomach tying itself up in knots, attempting to eat itself. It made her cranky, but she wrestled it down. Losing her temper was the very last thing she ought to do here.

“Sorry.” Lukios’ hair dripped onto his tunic and chiton. Had he actually bathed instead of simply washing?

“It is well.” Her belly growled, calling her a liar. Lukios chuckled.

“You should have just eaten, Ba’an. I was slow, sorry.”

She ladled him his portion first then served herself. The eggs she had baked in the fire, putting them into a clay bowl so that they would not lose any of the meat if the shell cracked while cooking. That had been wise—they had all cracked.

She gave him his portion of that too. Obediently, he took both, but she noticed he only ate one.

She would not eat it even if he left it. It was a matter of principle now.

“You must eat your egg, Lukios.”

“Okay.” He didn’t move to eat it. Instead he set his bowl aside and watched her eat her third serving of the blandest soup she had ever made.

She did not blame him for having only one serving. Ba’an wished she could stop eating, but her hunger was a force of its own. The weak, watery taste of it made her tongue and throat spasm in protest as she gulped it down.

Silently, he pushed his remaining egg to her once she finished her soup. She glared at him.

“Lukios. I will not eat your egg. You are the one that found them. It is only fair.”

“Well, you’re hungrier than I am.” He grinned. “On account of being so big and manly.”

“That is not funny, Lukios. Dolkoi’ri humour is not funny. At all.” She glared. “And I am not a big man.” This was offensive. Ba’an knew she was no great beauty, but she was far from being mannish.

“Aw, I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t look like a man at all, Ba’an. You’re too pretty.” She continued glaring. “Really. Really. I was just teasing. Let’s split it in half then. That’s fair, right?”

Ba’an began peeling the egg.

“No. Eat your egg, Lukios. Rock bird eggs are good for you. They will make you grow very big.” Not that he wasn’t big enough already. At Lukios’ age the only growing he could possibly do was sideways, but she did not think Lukios would have this problem until he was much, much older.

On cue, his grin became a leer. Ba’an rolled her eyes as he said, “Wanna know what else can get really, really big?”

“Lukios.”

“Yea—mmmfh!”

“That is much better. Chew.”

He obeyed, and this time he was the one rolling his eyes. Ba’an stirred the soup again then stared into the fire. The air between them had become awkward. It was obvious that he was thinking about the same thing she was.

They remained sitting once they were finished. The fire crackled and popped merrily, and Ba’an found it comforting though the day was getting hot.

“Lukios.”

“Yeah.” He looked into the fire too, avoiding her eyes.

Ba’an’s heart began to sink. Was it truly so bad?

Just who was Lukios of House Helios? Was he…close to Stephanos?

Had he…carried out…Ba’an banished the thought. No. She would not believe it unless he told her himself. This much, she could do.

He took a breath and opened his mouth, then closed it again. By the third time he did this, Ba’an was clenching the hem of her shift in a white-knuckled grip.

She was afraid it was very, very bad. If he told her he had been involved in the Dolkoi’ri-anta as more than a simple soldier, she may be obliged to kill him. Had he been sitting in a tent the entire time, signing papers that sealed the fate of hundreds and hundreds of her brethren?

If it was something like that, could she stop him from…speaking it out loud?

No. This was ludicrous. Ba’an was not a child, and plugging her ears would not make it go away.

And…he had told her that he had seen her at Perenos Field. He had seen her up close, close enough to have recognized her right away.

No. He could not have been the man that had ordered…such things.

“I…Ba’an, don’t take this the wrong way. But I think it’s easier to just show you.”

She blinked. Lukios turned around, putting his back to her, and unclasped his chiton. The fabric fell, draping around his waist.

What—was he stripping? Why--?

He shrugged off his tunic and set it aside, shoulders bowed. “I’m guessing you already know about these.”

Ah. The scars.

“Yes. They are very…” She paused. “K’Avaari also discipline their children. But we do not scar them.”

Lukios’ shoulders began to shake.

“Lukios?”

He was shaking his head, laughing silently and helplessly. “Oh, Ba’an. No one beats their own kid like this. Well, some people but—no. Mostly not. Just drunks and bottom-feeders, that’s all. A good cuffing here and there? Sure. But a whipping? No. That’s illegal. Citizens can’t be whipped—unless they’re soldiers.”

“Lukios. I do not understand what you are saying.” Or why it was funny. Ba’an did not think it was funny to whip children or anyone else. It was cruel. A sharp smack on the bottom or a rod across the palms or calves was one thing. A whipping was something else entirely.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He cleared his throat. “See this?” He reached behind him and touched the burn mark over his left shoulder.

“Yes. It must have been very painful.”

“Oh, it was. But it was worth it. Worth every drachma, too. See, I went to a surgeon and had him do it.”

“What? Why? Lukios, why would you…pay a man to burn you?”

“To get rid of my brand, Ba’an.”

“Brand?” There was a sort of horrific realization dawning in her mind. The rising thought made her ears buzz, and she nearly missed what he said next.

“Yeah. I had a brand. A slave brand. I’m not a real Helios, Ba’an. I was adopted three years ago by one. Before that I was just Lukios of Heliopolis, and before that I was just Lukios. I was a slave until I was twenty.” He swallowed thickly, head drooping. “There. Now you know.”

“Ba’an? Ba’an? Ba’an!”

Lukios’ voice finally cut through the buzzing in her ears. Blinking, she looked up at him. His eyes were wide as he looked down at her. Distantly she was aware that he was holding her arms, holding her up. He was strangely blurry.

“Lukios. I am…well.”

She expected him to say something humorously cutting, but he did not. Instead he only brought up his hand to wipe her cheek with his thumb. It came away glistening.

Ba’an touched her own face. It was wet. She blinked, and another tear dripped down her cheek.

“I don’t think so.” He had not released her other arm.

“I am well. I was only…surprised.” She sat up. She had not realized that she had slumped nearly to the ground. Her heart was racing, as though she had run very fast and very hard. She wiped her tears, trying not to look pathetic.

But it had been obvious from the start. Lukios had been correct: Who would whip their own child the way he had been? The marks were placed very precisely, and she had known that whoever had done it had struck him in the same spot over and over, even past the point when the skin had broken and bled. And then he had done it again just below it. And again. And again. Lukios' back would have been a ragged, tattered mess of skin once it was done.

No one whipped their own child like that. Not unless they had gone utterly mad.

And Lukios always ate everything, even if it was terrible and bland. He always worked. Always. He never seemed to need rest, and he was always up so early and off to bed late.

Because that was how he had lived his life. Until he was twenty—no, his entire life. It was ingrained in him now.

Why had she not seen this?

She had fooled herself by looking at his fine things, his signet ring, his good looks.

Another thought occurred to her and she covered her mouth.

His looks.

The appetites of Dolkoi’ri men did not only run to women. Even Ba’an knew this, just as she knew that they were often fond of young boys—there were many in the brothels at Kyros.

Lukios, with his rare looks and bright, happy spirit, would have never been left alone.

She was going to vomit.

Ba’an tried to breath through the tightness in her throat. If she continued thinking about it, she would be sick. If she continued thinking about it, she would make a great mess, right on the—the—

“Ba’an. It’s okay. It was a long time ago. I don’t really think about it anymore.” He tugged her close and held her, stroking her hair in a soothing way. “You don’t have to cry. It was ages and ages ago, and I’m doing just fine.”

But he did think about it. No one likes being sold and bought.

Of course he knew that very well.

Ba’an let herself lean against him, ear and cheek pressed to his skin. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady, but just a hair faster than it should have been. He had been nervous. Nervous about telling her--what, that he had been a slave? Ba'an had been afraid he would tell her something else entirely.

This was a relief. As terrible as it was--she was relieved.

And horrified.

How could Lukios still laugh?

How could Lukios be Lukios? Even now he was comforting her, when it should have been the other way around. How was he this instead of an angry, bitter, selfish man, twisted by his suffering?

Lukios was a miracle. A miracle.

Then another thought occurred to her: Kyros.

There was no mystery now as to why he did not wish to go. It would be cruel to force him.

“Lukios.”

“Hm?”

“If you do not wish to…leave…you do not need to.”

“Ba’an?”

She could feel her cheeks go hot and she turned her face so her forehead was pressed against his chest. “If you do not wish to…return…to your old life. I will not…make you leave.” There.

Perhaps life in a cave was better than life with those who had profited from buying and selling you—legally.

“Oh. Oh, Ba’an.” He laughed very softly, and she felt it roll through him and into her. It was very pleasant. “You’re the Stormcrow. You’re not supposed to be this sweet. You’re just not. Can’t you be meaner?”

She frowned. “No. Why would I be cruel?” Silly man. “And that is not my name or title. It is only a foolish thing your—the Dolkoi’ri call me. I am not a ‘stormcrow.’”

It sounded very stupid, besides. Stormcrow. Ha. Ba’an had slain and consumed a god. Then she had skinned it and worn it like a coat. But they called her a stormcrow—whatever that was.

Ignorant, brutish, and cruel. Ba’an had not been wrong about the Dolkoi’ri at all.

“Ha. But Ba’an, you really do look like a pretty little bird.” He put his hands on her cheeks and peered down at her. “Yup. It’s the big, dark eyes. And the hair. And the—well, you look very sweet and delicate--just like a bird.” He sobered. “That’s real tempting, Ba’an. But you were right the first time—we do have to go. We’ll starve to death, otherwise, and…well, I do have duties. I can’t run from them forever, though…”

She looked up at him just in time for his kiss to land on her forehead.

“It was real nice to be just Lukios for a while. Thanks, Ba’an.”

“I do not understand,” she said, puzzled—how could Lukios be anyone but Lukios, no matter what the law said?—"but you are…welcome. And you are welcome to return whenever you wish.” Though she did not think he would. He would forget her soon enough.

“Aw. Ba’an. You’re just too—come here.” He pulled her tightly to him and gave her a fierce, all-encompassing hug. Ba’an put her arms around him as well, letting him hold her as he liked. It was not usual for the K’Avaari to touch like this, and such a thing never happened between a man and a woman who were not lovers already, but she was used to bizarre and outrageous Dolkoi’ri customs. She would allow it this once.

Besides, he was very warm and solid, and it felt very nice. He smelled good, too.

Quietly, Lukios said into her hair, “I’d like it if you didn’t treat me any differently.”

She frowned. “I do not know why I would. You are always yourself. Do not allow foolish Dolkoi’ri ideas to convince you otherwise.”

The essence of a thing did not change. A child grew. A man aged. Kindness became cruelty and back. But the essence of a thing was the same: the child was human, as was the man. Kindness and cruelty were born from the heart, and the heart always remained. Cruelty did not make a man a monster—he was only a cruel man.

Only monsters were monsters. Ba’an knew this very well.

But Ba’an knew the Dolkoi’ri had a habit of labelling things as they wished, as though the act of naming changed the thing they named. It did not. Only their understanding of it changed.

A rock did not care what it was called. It was always a rock. A man who was a slave was still a man. It did not matter whether you called him a slave, a freeman, or a citizen: he was a man.

And Lukios was Lukios.

Lukios began shaking again with laughter. He pulled away from her, gasping, and he slapped his knee.

“I do not know why it is funny.”

He shook his head. “It’s not funny. It’s—it’s right. It’s right. I should have known you’d—you’d—” He was laughing too hard to continue.

Finally he came to a stop, wheezing and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Should’ve known you’d say that. What was I even worried about? Ha.” He grinned. “Stupid outlander things, that’s what. Never change, Ba’an. You’re glorious.”

“I am wise and well-learned, yes.”

Lukios’ grin only widened. “No arguments from me.”

“So now you must listen to more wisdom.” She glanced at the lengthening shadows. It was nearly lunch time again, and her belly knew it.

“Yeah?”

“We must finish packing and leave for Kyros within the week. Or we will starve.”

He began laughing again.

“Whatever you say, Ba’an. Whatever you say.”