A dozen transports, as many carts, maybe thirty Reds walking. All slow, keeping pace with each
other. It’ll take them at least nine hours to get where they’re going. A waste of manpower, but I doubt
they mind. Delivering uniforms is safer than wearing them. As I watch, the last of the convoy leaves
the eastern gate.
“The Prayer Gate,” Barrow mutters.
“Hmm?”
He taps my glass, then points. “We call it the Prayer Gate. As you enter, you pray to leave. As you
leave, you pray never to return.”
I can’t help but scoff. “I didn’t know Norta found religion.” He only shakes his head. “Then who
do you pray to?”
“No one, I guess. Just words, at the end of it all.”
Somehow, in the shadow of Corvium, Shade Barrow’s eyes find a bit of warmth.
“You get me in that gate, I’ll teach you a prayer of my own.” Rise, Red as the Dawn. Annoying as
Barrow might be, I have a sneaking feeling he’ll be Scarlet soon enough.
He tips his head, watching me as keenly as I watch him. “Deal.”
“Although I don’t see how you plan to do it. Our best chance was that convoy, but unfortunately
you’re—what did you say? Chronologically challenged?”
“No one’s perfect, not even me,” he replies with a shit-eating grin. “But I said I’d get you inside
today, and I mean what I say. Eventually.”
I look him up and down, gauging his manner. I do not trust Barrow. It’s not in me to truly trust
anyone. But risk is part of the game. “Are you going to get me shot?”
His grin widens. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”
“Well then, how do we do this?”
To my surprise, he extends a long-fingered hand. I stare at it, confused. Does he mean to skip up
to the gates like a pair of giggling children? Frowning, I cross my arms and turn my back.
“Well, let’s get moving—”
A curtain of black blots my vision as Barrow slips a scarf over my eyes.
I would scream if I could, signaling to Tristan following us from a quarter mile away. But the air
is suddenly crushed from my lungs and everything seems to shrink. I feel nothing but the tightening
world and the warm bulk of Barrow’s chest against my back. Time spins, everything falls. The ground
tips beneath my feet.
I hit concrete hard, enough to rattle an already rattling brain. The blindfold slips off, not that it
does me much good. My vision spots, black against something darker, all of it still spinning. I have to
shut my eyes again to convince myself I’m not spinning with it.
My hands scrabble against something slick and cold—hopefully water—as I try to push myself
back up. Instead, I fall backward, and force my eyes open to find blue, dank darkness. The spots
recede, slow at first, then all at once.
“What the f—!”
I turn onto my knees, throwing up everything in my belly.
Barrow’s hand finds my back, rubbing what he assumes are soothing circles. But his touch makes
my skin crawl. I spit, finished retching, and force myself to uneasy feet, if only to get away from him.
He puts out a hand to steady me but I smack it away, wishing I’d kept my knife.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl. “What was that? What happened? Where am I? ”
“Careful, you’re turning into a philosopher.”
I spit acidic bile at his feet. “Barrow!” I hiss.
He sighs, annoyed as a schoolteacher. “I took you through the pipe tunnels. There’s a few in the
tree line. Had to keep you blinded, of course. Can’t let all my secrets go for free.”
“Pipes my ass. We were standing outside a minute ago. Nothing moves that fast.”
Barrow tries his best to smother a grin. “You hit your head,” he says after a long moment. “Passed
out on the slide down.”
That would explain the vomiting. Concussion. Yet I’ve never felt so alert. All the pain and nausea
of the last few seconds are suddenly gone. Gingerly, I feel along my skull, searching for a bump or a
tender spot. But there’s nothing at all.
He watches my examination with strangely focused attention. “Or do you think you ended up a half
mile away, beneath the fortress of Corvium, some other way?”
“No, I suppose not.”
As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I realize we’re in a supply cellar. Abandoned or forgotten,
judging by the dust on the empty shelves and the inch of standing water on the floor. I avoid looking at
the fresh pile of sick.
“Here, put these on.” He fishes a grimy bundle of cloth from somewhere in the dark, carefully
hidden but easy to find. It sails my way, colliding with my chest in a puff of dust and odor.
“Wonderful,” I mutter, unfolding it to find a regulation uniform. It’s well worn, patched and
stained with who-knows-what. The insignia is simple, a single white bar outlined in black. An
infantry soldier, enlisted. A walking corpse. “Whose body did you swipe this off?”
The shock of cold sparks in him again, only for a moment. “It’ll fit. That’s all you need to worry
about.”
“Very well.”
I shrug out of my jacket without much fanfare, then peel off my battered pants and shirt in
succession. My undergarments are nothing special, mismatched and thankfully clean, but Barrow
stares anyway, his mouth open a little.
“Catching flies, Barrow?” I taunt as I pull on the uniform trousers. In the dim light, they look red
and battered as rusted pipes.
“Sorry,” he mutters, turning his head, then his body. As if I care about privacy. I smirk at the blush
spreading up his neck.
“I didn’t think soldiers were so embarrassed by the female form,” I press on as I zip myself into
the uniform top. It’s snug but fits well enough. Obviously meant for someone shorter, with narrower
shoulders.
He whips back around. The flush has reached his cheeks. It makes him seem younger. No, I
realize. It makes him seem his age. “I didn’t know Lakelanders were so free with them.”
I flash him a smile as cold as his eyes. “I’m Scarlet Guard, boy. We have worse things to worry
about than naked flesh.”
Something trembles between us. A current of air maybe, or perhaps the ache of my head injury
finally coming back. That must be it.
Then Barrow laughs.
“What?”
“You remind me of my sister.”
It’s my turn to grin. “You spy on her a lot, do you?”
He doesn’t flinch at the jab, letting it glance past. “In your manner, Farley. Your ways. You think
the same.”
“She must be a bright girl.”
“She certainly thinks so.”
“Very funny.”
“I think you two would be great friends.” Then he tips his head, pausing a second. “Or you might
kill each other.”
For the second time in as many minutes, I reluctantly touch Barrow. This is not so gentle as his