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When Asa left his home in Ysterien, his family gave him three gifts.
The first was passage on the fastest trade ship sailing between Ysterien’s chief port of Karda and its sister in the province of Pommersien—an extravagant gift but a necessary one. Each year, fewer merchants dared the overland routes between Ysterien and the empire over the mountains. The historians claimed the Erythandran Empire had fallen twenty years before, but it was falling still, a slow, erratic, and seemingly endless descent. Like a land besieged by drought, its borders crumbled, its provinces shrank into new and smaller kingdoms with uncertain futures, like dust caught and driven by a hot wind.
The second gift was a cousin to the first, a generous sum of money to account for expenses beyond the ship voyage itself. His family had always been practical, even when indulging him in this most impractical journey. They offered advice, too, but they always had, his mother, his young stepfather, the many brothers, half-brothers, sisters, and cousins employed in the family banking concerns. The money was more than a gift—it was a sign that he belonged to the household.
Once Asa reached the port, he sold his passage to the first taker. He sent all his luggage, except one small trunk, back to his mother. He did not bother with a note. She would guess what he’d done. Then he hired a horse from a stable near the harbor district and repacked the contents of his trunk into saddlebags. His destination had not changed, but he wanted to make this journey on his own terms, not under the watchful eye of the ship’s crew, who undoubtedly reported to their guild and house, and from thence to his mother.
“You’re mad,” the stable owner said.
Asa shrugged. “It’s necessary. Do you want the trunk?”
“Of course I want the trunk. I’ll give you thirty draqirii for it—silver ones. But you’re mad to try the mountain roads. Word came back last month that Hanídos evicted the emperor’s soldiers. Things are somewhat unsettled there.”
Unsettled, meaning dangerous to foreigners.
“I understand,” Asa said mildly. “And I want fifty draqirii. That trunk is made from good, solid cedar wood. My mother commissioned it from House Jawero especially for this journey. Besides, you could sell it back to her for a profit.”
The stable master’s lips twitched. “You’re more like a merchant than a banker’s son. But it’s true. And she would thank me. Eventually.”
In the end, he counted out sixty draqirii. For luck, he told Asa. The goddess Lir always loved a blind man, in honor of her brother, Toc, who had plucked out his own eyes to make the sun and moon. And Asa was as obstinately blind a man as the stable master had ever known.
Asa’s family had said much the same to him when he first proposed this journey east. In the end, however, his mother had agreed. “One last indulgence,” she’d said with dry humor. Then her expression had turned speculative. “I will be curious to see if it changes you.”
The stable boys finished up their work. Asa mounted the horse easily. From the cobblestoned yard of the stables, the land sloped downward toward the harbor, and he had a clear view of the ocean-filled horizon. The day was bright, the spring breezes warm and caressing, and the seas were like a vast blue jewel cupped in invisible hands. Miles away, in his mother’s household, his family would be gathered around the table.
His mother’s last words, her strange assessing expression, came back to him.
She spoke as if she were certain I will return.
He struggled against the tug of expectation. His mother always spoke that way, he told himself. That was how she often achieved her desires—simply by taking for granted her wishes would be fulfilled.
It was time to go. He checked the balance of his sword against his hip and the ease with which he might reach the knives in either boot. He murmured one of the spells that his oldest cousin had taught him in exchange for Asa’s favorite poetry books. He noticed the stable master’s faint surprise at these proceedings, as if a banker’s son were not capable of dealing with anything but coins and notes of promise.
He was not entirely wrong, Asa thought. Even ten years of sword lessons from the best masters—another indulgence—might not prove enough for this journey.
“I should pay you more,” he said to the stable master. “I probably won’t bring this horse back.”
“I know,” the other man said. “That’s why I asked so much for the hire.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “Why are you going east?”
Because I have too many dreams, Asa thought.
* * *
His dreams followed him over the well-kept roads of Ysterien, which wound upward through the high valleys of the coast and into the foothills. These were dreams of past lives, the memories each soul carried across the void from death into rebirth. In all of them, Asa was a warrior, hand gripping a sword or spear. Sometimes he dreamed of battle. More often, he dreamed of standing guard in an endless night. The most persistent dreams had nothing to do with war, not directly, but with a woman.
She stood at the window, her gaze turned away. It was a brilliant summer’s day. Sunlight poured through the glass. Outside, the familiar expanse of crimson roof rose like waves between and around the spires of the palace. Asa knew this room, knew this woman. My beloved, he thought, his heart catching at how the light outlined her cheek. So it had been from the very start, their love as natural as breathing.
Even as he recognized these details, the dream overwhelmed him. He was no longer Asa, a young man from Ysterien, but the soldier Adele.
“When do you go?” the other woman asked.
“We march for the border tomorrow.”
“Ah.” It was more a breath released than a reply. Then: “I should speak of the Empire, and how it has no borders except the sea, but that would too unnatural. Also, it would be a lie. I…I would have no lies between us tonight, Adele.”
Adele shifted on her feet. “No lies,” she said softly. “Never. And when I return—”
But she could not finish that sentence without lying. After all, she was a warrior. And war made such promises impossible to keep.
