Silvara watched Agrippa stride out of the clearing, bow in hand.
“Go,” she heard Carina hiss, the woman having been furious when she’d told her Agrippa had broken it off. “Convince him to change his mind. This might be your only chance.”
She’d told the rebel leader that Agrippa had ended it between them. She’d also told Carina why and had sat through an hour of the woman’s blame and accusations for having bungled the perfect circumstance with her ambition. “What were you thinking, following them?” Carina had snarled. “Did you think that they wouldn’t catch you? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”
Silvara had held her tongue, knowing there was no point in admitting to the woman that she’d wanted to discover useful information in a way that hadn’t involved deceit and manipulation and seduction. That she’d seen the moment as an opportunity to make a difference in a way that didn’t cause her to cringe in shame.
And she’d come so close.
“The only thing we’ve learned is that the primus knows the plans, which we already knew,” Carina had said. “But now the opportunity to learn them from him is lost.”
And with it, nearly any chance they had of saving Hydrilla. All they could do now was pray that winter would chase the legions away, but given the number of supplies rolling into their camps, that seemed less and less probable. Her eyes burned, knowing that she’d failed her family. That she’d failed her people. That the moment she’d had to make her mark—to make a difference—had come and gone.
And that hadn’t been the only thing she’d lost.
Closing her eyes, she remembered the naked distress on Agrippa’s face when he’d spoken of betraying the trust of his men—of his friends—for her sake. If only she hadn’t put him in that position…
“Silvara,” Carina repeated, pulling her from her thoughts. “Go!”
Lifting her chin, Silvara ignored her. He’d know that her running after him to plead forgiveness would be out of character. Would suspect her intentions. And she’d already hurt him enough with nothing to show for it. So instead, she watched several of the men fell trees, which they swiftly chopped into firewood. With equal expedience, they created several roaring fires, then one of the men whom she recognized as Agrippa’s friend Quintus said, “Get yourselves warm. We don’t want to have to dig more holes than necessary, right?”
Caught in the crowd, Silvara stepped closer to the flames, welcome heat soaking into her bones. She hadn’t been warm since the night Agrippa had taken her to that cave, and her body ached from the constant chill, her toes numb, the skin of her hands chapped and cracked. Her stomach growled painfully, empty since yesterday, her rations in Agnes’s belly.
A tear dripped down her cheek and she wiped it away furiously. Agnes had been the only one who’d understood. The only one who’d had her back. Like the grandmother Silvara had never known.
And now she was dead.
Twisting away from the heat, she moved to watch the young men dig, sweat dripping down their brows, the holes growing deeper and the mounds of earth higher. Her eyes moved to the bodies, counting them.
Forty-two.
And with the temperature seeming to drop by the second, how many more would die tonight? With no food and no fuel, would she die tonight?
The sun moved overhead, clouds forming to obscure it. Soon snow began to fall, and still Agrippa hadn’t returned. Unease filtered through Silvara’s veins, because Quintus kept scanning the trees, his jaw tight even as he gave orders for the bodies to be put into graves.
Groups broke away from the fires and went to those they’d lost, weeping as they stripped the bodies of precious clothing before the legionnaires lowered them into the ground and shoveled dirt back over top.
Going to Agnes, she knelt next to the old woman, smoothing back her grey hair. “I will keep your memory in my heart,” she whispered. “I will not forget.”
Feet scuffed against the ground, and she looked up to see Quintus and Miki standing next to her.
“Sorry about Agnes, Silvara,” Miki said. “She was a nice old lady. Deserved better than this.”
Quintus nodded. “Not many people can give sass better than Agrippa, but she did. Deserves a monument for it.” He hesitated, then added, “Her voice will be missed.”
“Thank you.” Her voice shook and Silvara clenched her teeth to stop her shivering before she asked, “Where is he?”
Neither of them answered, only exchanged looks, the meaning of which she couldn’t decipher. Finally, Quintus said, “He didn’t say where he was going.”
She turned back to Agnes and unfastened the first button on her dress before her hands froze. She deserved to be put into the earth with dignity, not stripped naked for all to see. “He told me he won’t come see me anymore. That I’m here might be the reason why he’s not.”
She could feel silent communication going on over her head, then Quintus sat next to her, legs dangling into the grave. “Silvara, I’m not sure if telling you this is going to make you feel better or worse, but he does care. He cares a lot, and that’s the problem, right? You know as well as anyone that we’re not allowed relationships outside the legion. And if he gets caught, he’ll be punished. It could tarnish his reputation.”
Fresh hurt flooded through her that she mattered less than his reputation, but on its heels came anger at herself for caring so much. She was a spy and he was her mark, and she’d bungled everything by being overambitious. By getting caught, even if Agrippa hadn’t guessed her intent.
Blood boiling hot, she unbuttoned Agnes’s dress, stripping the garments from the old woman and handing them off to the other laundresses. She stood silently as Quintus and Miki lowered her into the grave, then began shoveling dirt into the hole, filling it.
Feet thudded against the ground, and abruptly Agrippa was standing next to her. “To Agnes!” he shouted. “And to the rest of the fallen who made all our lives a little better though we give them nothing but coin in return.”
“To the fallen!” the legionnaires roared in response, fists hammering against chests in salute.
“Pack up,” Agrippa shouted. “And move out.”
“Agrippa!” She called his name, her fury at his selfishness rising hot and fast, but he was already moving. Walking swiftly toward the trail in the company of his men, abandoning the followers to get themselves back to camp.
“Asshole,” she hissed under her breath, then she blinked, seeing for the first time what the legion had left behind. Dozens of felled trees, none of them redwood and all small enough to reasonably be brought back to camp.
Which was exactly what her people were doing, working together to drag them toward the trail.
An act of kindness.
She bit at her bottom lip, then joined those at the front of group, helping to drag the tree back to camp. Enough firewood that no one would freeze tonight.
“What’s that ahead?” one of the men in the group asked, pointing.
Lifting her head, Silvara peered into the distance, seeing a still form sprawled across the trail. “It’s a deer.”
Dropping the tree, she walked swiftly down the path, seeing how the legionnaires had parted rank to go around the animal. Dropping to her knees without care for the blood, her eyes latched on the arrow jutting from its chest, the familiar fletching stained red.
Perhaps his reputation wasn’t worth so much after all.