"Toward Aquitaine?"

Odiana shrugged. "Is that what's that way?" She walked along and opened the basket as they neared the stream, rummaging around inside. "Here," she

said. "Hold these." She thrust a pair of dirty plates into Amara's arms. "We can wash them while we're here. Crows, soldiers are so messy. But at least the le-gionares keep their tents clean." She fished out a bone and threw it toward a passing dog. Then an apple core, from which she took a judicious nibble before wrinkling up her nose and tossing it into the stream. Next came a piece of paper, which she hardly glanced at before flicking it aside.

Amara turned and stomped the paper flat with her foot, before the wind could catch it. Then she bent over and picked it up.

"What?" asked Odiana. "What are you doing?"

Amara picked up the paper. "Well. Um. It hardly seems like a good idea to just toss it on the ground if you're trying to clean up."

"If it isn't in the camp, no one will care," Odiana said. She tilted her head to one side, watching, as Amara unfolded the paper and studied the writing inside. "You can read?" the slave asked.

"Some," said Amara, distracted. She read the note, and her hands started shaking as she did.

Legion Commander, Second Legion,

You are hereby ordered to strike camp and make for the rendezvous -point. You should arrive no later than the tenth full moon of the year, in preparation for winter. Maintain drilling until you march, and dispatch the men in the usual manner.

There was more, but Amara skipped over it, barely skimming, to see what was at the bottom.

Atticus Quentin, High Lord of Attica

Amara's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing. Her fears were true. Insurrection. Rebellion. War.

"What does it say?" asked Odiana. She shoved another plate into Amara's hands and said, "Here. Put these in the stream."