The track leading up to the town of Pietrodore was bordered by dense forest on one side and a perilous drop plunging all the way to the road below on the other. The stones underfoot became more hazardous the higher they climbed. It was clear Pietrodore was a town that did not want to be reached with ease, and despite their earlier excitement Finnikin could not shake the possibility of failure. He tried to shut out Froi's endless whining about being hungry and the heavy breathing that signaled Sir Topher's fatigue. Instead he found himself drawn to Trevanion's hope; it was as if his father was willing his men to be at this last post before the border. Despite his love for Finnikin and Beatriss, Trevanion was never complete without his Guard, and Finnikin knew his father would not be fully at ease until he was among them again.
Like many places they had seen in Yutlind, the town was heavily guarded. Yet Pietrodore was aligned to neither the north nor the south and was hostile to foreigners and Yuts alike. It had been free of war for decades, due to its location and lack of strategic worth.
Finnikin could hear the soldiers at the gate speaking common Yut, and he welcomed the sound of the language with relief. After his helplessness with the spirit warriors and those in the rock village, it returned to him a small measure of pride.
But the two soldiers standing guard refused to let them enter. Their hostility was palpable and their decision final. Finnikin stepped forward to try reasoning with them, but their hands went instantly to their swords. He dared not ask about the Lumateran Guard and realized with a sinking feeling that they had wasted their journey. Then he felt Evanjalin by his side.
'This is my love,' she told the stony-faced soldiers. 'We are to be joined.'
There was no response.
'By our spiritual guide,' Evanjalin continued, gesturing to Sir Topher. 'My betrothed's younger brother and father are to be our witnesses.'
One of the soldiers looked over to Froi, Trevanion, and Sir Topher, who all nodded, despite having no idea what was being said.
'We have been persecuted for our union in all other regions of this kingdom.' Evanjalin turned to Finnikin and gently lifted his shirt, pointing out the red wound on his side. The soldiers stared at the wound, their expressions unchanged. She looked at Finnikin with such sadness that he almost believed her pitiful tale.
'We'll find a way,' he said gently.
'We come to you for refuge,' she continued, turning back to the men. 'For we have heard that no one in this town would call me the scum of the land.' She revealed her right shoulder. 'Or brand me like an animal.'
Finnikin fought to hide his shock. The branding was indeed one found on cattle, numbers burnt into her skin. He saw Trevanion flinch and tears of rage well up in Sir Topher's eyes.
'We have been told that no other town can equal Pietrodore in its purity and integrity,' Finnikin continued. 'Any other is tainted by blood and sorrow, but for the love of this woman I would travel the land... nay, the earth, to find a place where she will never be marked again.'
Evanjalin knelt at the foot of the largest soldier, who shifted uncomfortably. Finnikin did not know the history of these people. Perhaps they had endured thousands of years of persecution for their position on a war-ravaged border. Perhaps these soldiers had inherited the grief of their ancestors. But kneeling at their feet was someone who had been branded as a slave, and no other kingdom had lost as many of their children to slavery as Yutlind. The burly man extended his hand to cover Evanjalin's shoulder, and then helped her to her feet. With a flick of his head in the direction of the town, he allowed them to enter.
They passed through the gates solemnly. Finnikin stared at Evanjalin as she walked ahead of him between Sir Topher and Froi. When she stumbled, Trevanion's hand reached out to steady her, gently cradling the back of her head in his palm for a moment before letting go.
The main street was wide enough for a horse and cart, and lined with stores full of boots and armor and with colorful guilds. Tiny lanes to the left and right led to cottages decorated with flowers. From every direction, Finnikin caught glimpses of the low stone wall that surrounded the town and of the sweeping views of Yutlind beyond.
At the end of the street, they reached the town square. Here, the sandstone walls of houses were covered with climbing rosebushes overflowing with color and fragrance. Finnikin watched as Evanjalin stopped and stared at the roses in awe. He had become used to the plainness of her dress and appearance. That she would marvel at the color around them surprised him, and he wondered about the girl she had once been. Would she have dreamed of placing flowers in her hair or scenting her skin with the delicate fragrance of honeysuckle?
They continued on to the town's highest point, from where they could see the four rock villages of Yutlind Sud. Directly below was the river encircling the flatlands, and in the distance another rock village. The landscape was lush: ten different shades of green, some the color of rich moss, others the color of leaves in sunlight, all contrasting with the dark soil of the plowed earth.
'They are here,' Trevanion murmured. 'I know it.'
'Because it is almost a replica of Lumatere?' Sir Topher asked.
'As close to it.' There was a hint of a smile on Trevanion's face. 'They were a sentimental lot, my Guard. I never pictured them in a tent city.'
'Maybe we should secure this town for our exiles,' Finnikin joked. 'Add more color to the war in this kingdom.'
Trevanion took one more look at the little Lumatere in the distance below.
'Your plan?' Sir Topher asked.
'Finnikin and I will secure rooms for the night,' Trevanion said. 'Evanjalin, go with Sir Topher to find food and provisions. Speak Yut, not Lumateran. Froi, stay here and keep out of trouble. We will return soon.'
'I pray to Lagrami for good news of your men, Trevanion,' Sir Topher said.
Finnikin followed his father into the inn. The few men who sat around drinking stared at them long and hard. From the kitchen, Finnikin could smell roasting meat, and his stomach responded hungrily.
'We are looking for friends of ours who have settled here,' Finnikin said in Yut, watching the innkeeper polish glasses behind the bar. 'Foreigners.'
'Not here,' the man said without an upward glance.
Finnikin exchanged a look with Trevanion, who did not seem to need a translation.
'Then perhaps a place to rest,' Finnikin continued. 'We have traveled far.'
One of the cardplayers from the back tables made his way to the bar, standing so close to Finnikin that he received a glowering stare from Trevanion.
'We are full,' the innkeeper said.
'Full, you say?' Finnikin looked around the mostly empty room and then back at the innkeeper. 'We are not a threat to you,' he said quietly.
The innkeeper leaned over the counter, his face a hair's breadth from Finnikin's. There was something unpleasant in his smile, and as he spoke, he poked Finnikin for effect. 'And we are still full.'
In an instant, Trevanion had the man by the collar and slammed his face against the counter between them. His murderous stare remained until Finnikin placed a hand on his arm to restrain him. The cardplayer who had joined them inched away as Trevanion shoved the innkeeper back behind the bar.
Outside, Evanjalin and Sir Topher were waiting for them in the waning afternoon sun. There was anticipation on Evanjalin's face and disappointment on Sir Topher's.
'The shutters came down the moment we approached,' Sir Topher complained. 'Any success on your part?'
Trevanion didn't speak as they walked toward the edge of the square.
'No,' Finnikin muttered, exchanging a glance with Evanjalin. 'I think I need to do this with my betrothed and not my father,' he mumbled to her in Yut.
Trevanion sent him a furious look. 'We speak Lumateran among ourselves!' he said. 'What you have to say to Evanjalin, you say to all of us.'
'Most unfair, Finnikin,' Sir Topher said.
Finnikin shook his head in frustration. 'Sometimes it's easier for me to stick to one language,' he lied.
Froi was on his feet the moment they approached, searching to see what they had brought. 'Where food?' he
