Like Fire Through Bone by E. E. Ottoman Page A

them. “I think we’ll make the foothills by this evening and camp there,” he said. “And we can travel into the desert tomorrow.”
    Patros nodded, and Vasilios shifted a little but kept quiet. He was unused to traveling on horseback and had a nasty feeling he was going to be sore all over when they stopped for the night.
    By the time roughly an hour had passed, the landscape around them had noticeably changed. There was less grass and more light-brown earth that was not quite sand, but far from fertile. The small copses of thin, thorny trees that still dotted the landscape had small buds of new dark-green growth among the thorns. The land was flat enough that Vasilios could make out the dark-brown-and-red sandstone foothills ahead yet quite a ways off. Vasilios knew from his study of maps of the Empire that the hills formed the tail end of the great mountain chain that ran along the edge of the desert.
    His legs were starting to cramp as were his wrists where he had them locked together to keep his grip on Patros’s waist as the horse trotted over the rough ground.
    “You all right?” Patros asked.
    “Yes.” Vasilios shifted a little again. “I’m just not used to riding on horseback.”
    “Didn’t you grow up riding?” Patros sounded surprised.
    “No.” Vasilios snorted. “I was born on Nisii, the largest of the islands in the Southern Sea, but even so, we didn’t have horses there—sheep and goats but not horses.”
    “Oh.” Patros seemed to think about that.
    “Where were you born?” Vasilios asked, simply because speaking, even if not strictly appropriate, was better than riding in silence again.
    “Not far from here, actually,” Patros said. “My father was a financial minister up at the Imperial Palace. My mother and I lived in one of his country villas west of the city.” He laughed. “Which means I’ve been riding pretty much since I could walk.”
    Vasilios turned Patros’s statement over in his head. The way that he had said it made Vasilios suspect Patros was illegitimate. That made sense, since military service was the best choice for an illegitimate son of a well-placed family. At the moment, Vasilios didn’t remember Patros’s father’s name, although he was sure he’d been given it when they were introduced.
    “It must be nice,” he said, “to have known how for that long.”
    “I suppose.” Patros laughed lightly. “It is a skill that has come in handy.”
    “I learned how to tie a fishing net when I was six. My father was a fisherman, you see,” Vasilios told him, unsure why, and then laughed a little. “Though that’s hardly been helpful for most of my life.”
    They rode in silence again for a little while, and then Markos, who’d been riding slightly ahead, slowed and came to ride beside them.
    “Maybe we could stop soon for a minute or so,” Patros said to Markos. “Let Vasilios stretch his legs a little.”
    “I don’t need to—” Vasilios began, but Markos had turned to look at him now, his brows furrowed before smoothing out in realization.
    “That would be fine.” He smiled at Vasilios, who looked down, a little annoyed that he didn’t have the stamina of the other two, even though he would be glad for a chance to get off the horse.
    They stopped after a little while, and Markos swung down off the horse and then led the way into a small grove of the thorny trees. Patros dismounted, then helped Vasilios down. Vasilios stretched, then began trying to work the kinks out of his shoulders. He was grateful for the scarf protecting his head and shading his face. It had kept the worst of the sun off. He suspected he would be even more grateful for it the next day when they started through the desert.
    Vasilios sat on the sparse grass and looked over at Patros and Markos, who stood close together over by the horses.
    “I still don’t like you being out there essentially unprotected,” Patros said. “You should have a full guard detail. If one of your