“Sometimes I throw pine nuts over their heads,” the God-King said, “and they get angry because they can’t catch them.”

Evvy looked him, startled. “Should you be wandering around by yourself?” she asked. “What if there are spies in the city and they grab you, or —” She blinked at what she was thinking, and her voice shook. The thought in her head was too awful: The God-King strapped up like she had been, lashed like she had been. “There are bad people in the world.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders as she began to cry. “Come here,” he said, and led her to a bench against an unpainted portion of the wall. He sat with her there, her head on his shoulder, letting her cry out the tension and fear that had swamped her. “I am protected,” he said. “You would be surprised how protected I am.” He looked at the wall paintings, which had come to stare at Evvy and pat her head and back. “Evvy, you’re worrying them.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face on her sleeve. Rosethorn could not seem to break her of the habit. “I’m just tired.” She frowned at the God-King. “And it doesn’t seem very god-like, or king-like, to tease paintings with pine nuts,” she told him sternly. The images halted their previous occupations to make faces at the God-King.

“They tease me right back,” he told Evvy, nodding at the grimacing creatures. “They come into my throne room when I’m hearing complaints and make rude gestures while people speak to me. They know I don’t dare laugh, or people will think I don’t take their problems seriously.” He looked like the farm boy he had once been, except for his braid rings and earrings.

“These paintings come into your throne room?”

“Not exactly. There are paintings like them in the room,” he replied. “Paintings from all over the city, for that matter. I think they trade turns tweaking me.” He offered her some of his pine nuts. “It must be your exposure to Luvo that allows you to see them in motion now. You never said you could see them when you were here before.”

“You talked with Luvo?” The nuts were nice and sweet. She had forgotten the world had good things like pine nuts.

“You three were asleep for a while,” the God-King said. “It was Luvo who told me what happened to you.” He looked away, his face shadowed. “I am so sorry, Evvy. You did nothing more than travel here to learn and to share your wonderful magic.”

Evvy suddenly had another horrible image in her head: The God-King, chained as Parahan had been chained, at the foot of Weishu’s throne. He said all she had ever done was visit Gyongxe, but all he had ever done was spend long days on his uncomfortable-looking throne, listening to people complain, or at meetings with adults who talked at him, not to him, or reading messages. Did he ever get to run and play as boys did? She felt a hand squeeze her heart.

“Has the emperor gone home?”

The God-King shook his head. “He has only retreated, and not far. He is resting and summoning his northern troops. We can only be grateful that he is also giving us time to rest and wait for more of our allies to come.”

“Will they be enough?” The war was almost a more comfortable subject than anything that had happened to her in Gyongxe.

“It is our land. Things happen in Gyongxe that can happen nowhere else,” he replied. “We must pray that is enough.”

A man had come to speak with him. Evvy watched, thinking, I can’t take Rosethorn and Briar from him. If I go, I bet Luvo will return to his mountain, so I can’t take Luvo, either — if he’ll stay for me, anyway. But I can’t leave and turn a whole country over to Weishu. Not without trying to help.

I just can’t let them get me again, that’s all.

Rosethorn went in search of First Dedicate Dokyi when they returned from their bath. Briar envied her energy, but he was still tired and his leg pained him. He apologized to Luvo for being poor company and went back to sleep.

The Snow Serpent River glittered in the sunlight. He sat on the bank, fishing. In the dream he knew that he rarely fished, but he was doing it here, and the crystal waters had produced a bite. He wrestled his fish up onto the riverbank. He had landed a body, that of an old woman. He looked at the river. It ran with the bodies of the dead: men, women, children, animals. They bristled with arrows or showed gaping wounds as the river turned them over and over in the rapids.

For some dream reason he put his hook and line into the water again. The next body he pulled onto the bank was Evvy. Her feet streamed blood.

He sat up in bed, gasping.

No more of that, he told himself. No more of that at all. He found a cloth and dumped some water on it from a pitcher beside his bed, then used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. Rather than try to sleep again, he would make himself useful, tired as he was. He collected a pack with his medicines and found his way to one of the infirmaries where the wounded were kept.

Much to his surprise, his work as a healer was not wanted, though the medicines were. It was true: Gyongxe had plenty of healer mages. He did find that his friends among the wounded soldiers wanted to see him. They were eager to introduce him to their friends. Briar did the rounds, sitting with each of them and joking, fighting to keep a cheerful face no matter how upset he might be at the extent of a soldier’s wounds. Many of them had mage fire burns, a sight that deepened Briar’s hate for Weishu. Why couldn’t the man be happy with what he had?