As for his bruised and swollen face? All the better for concealing his identity. And because there was always the possibility of him finding himself in such a situation, he and his spymasters had put protocols in place, stories, that would further obscure who he truly was.

He tried to relax. Perhaps this was a singular opportunity to deal a blow to Second Empire. In order for that to happen, he would have to play his part well.

As he drifted off, he wondered what had happened to Nari and Magged. Had they escaped the aureas slee? He remembered little past an icy hand gripping his throat, strangling him, and the cold. He remembered nothing of how he left the cave, or how he ended up here, wherever here was. It was not Nari, or Magged, or the aureas slee he dreamed about, however.

Her blood on his hands, the arrow jutting at an admonitory angle from her ribs. No, no, no . . . Her hair lay in a brown wave across his arm as he held her in the dappled sunshine of the wood.

He surfaced enough to realize that yes, her blood was on his hands, as was that of every individual who served him. Every drop of blood they shed in service to the realm bloodied his hands. But he loved her.

Cannot lose her. He had come close to losing her too many times. As his awareness dimmed, he thought she did not deserve all she suffered, and the gods take him if he be responsible for it.

• • •

The next time he came to, it was to the sound of music, a lullaby his nurse once sang for him, a gentle tune of stepping from star to star as if they were stepping stones in a stream. The song was called “The Starry Crossing.” The voice singing it was female and, to his ear, perfectly pitched and melodious. It belonged to a person of exceeding vocal talent. She was accompanied by a lute.

Come to sleep, my little one

Come to rest, my little one

Drift into the starry dream

Step across the night sky stream

Follow the crossing, little one

The starry crossing, little one

The hound, the hawk, the grayling dove

The horse, the fish, the ladle, too

All await beyond the dawn

All await to cradle you

Come to sleep, my little one

Come to rest, my little one

Step into the starry dream

Step across the night sky stream

Follow the crossing, little one

The starry crossing, little one

He of the great wings beckons you

Your spirit he has now unbound

For the Earth is but a mew

The heavens aloft you have found

Come to sleep, my little one

Come to rest, my little one

The music almost drew him back into sleep until it was interrupted by irritating voices.

“Teaching her that Sacoridian heathen rubbish again, Arvyn?” A woman, whose tone was mocking.

“It’s just a lullaby,” Fiori replied.

“Oh? What do you think the starry crossing means?”

Fiori mumbled something in response. Of course, he would know the stars represented the gods, and that traversing the heavens meant death, but he wasn’t supposed to be Fiori. He was playing the part of one called Arvyn.

“It is a perversion, all those gods,” the woman said, “and you shouldn’t be teaching Lala such trash. There is only one god.”

“Now, now, Nyssa,” came the voice Zachary recognized as Grandmother’s. “Arvyn does not know our ways, yet. I am sure we could teach him some Arcosian lullabies.”

“I would like that, Grandmother,” Fiori said. “Are they as dark as ‘The Starry Crossing’?”

“I should say so. It would seem that portraying dark themes in the guise of children’s songs and rhyme is universal.”

Zachary experimented with opening his eyes. His vision was still blurry but perhaps not quite as bad as before. High above the rafters was a ceiling made of new wood. Heavy stone walls rose up around him. Parts of the walls looked recently mortared, but the structure had the feel of great age about it. To his side was the large hearth that kept him comfortably warm. To the other side of it, a couple people sat on a crude bench to warm their hands. One, a bespectacled fellow of middling years, observed him looking around.

“You’re waking up again, eh?” The man stood and came to Zachary’s side. “I am Varius. I do some of the mending around here. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty.” The word came out as a croak.

“That’s a good sign.” Varius turned and spoke to someone, and Zachary heard retreating footsteps.

An elderly woman stepped into view and also looked down at him. She wore a cloak wrapped around her like a blanket.

“So, our mysterious stranger has reawakened. I must say I am quite interested to hear your story, young man. You are lucky the groundmites preferred to trade you for livestock rather than eat you.”

“Thank you,” he replied in a hoarse whisper.

“Oh,” she said, “don’t be thanking me yet.”

She smiled as she looked down on him, and he might have thought her kindly but for the ominous quality of her words and the shrewd gleam in her eye.

“Do you have a name?” she asked.

“Perhaps we should wait till he has had a drink,” Varius said.

“Of course.”

“Here is Min now with some water.”

A woman handed Varius a cup and the mender knelt beside Zachary.

“Let me help you drink,” he said, “and take it slowly.”

Varius helped tilt Zachary’s head forward and pressed the cup to his lips. The movement hurt his head all the more, but he drank eagerly.