Lives of Kings by Lucy Leiderman Page A

passed before they lit the fire again, and soon it was roaring to life, as bright as the one that had gone out. Magician’s face was stony. Kian thought he saw him huff in the darkness, then the fire went out again. This time the cursing was louder, and more men joined in.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Kian whispered into the darkness. “Is this your big distraction?”
    â€œWhat are you sitting next to, Prince?” Magician asked.
    Kian looked around at the supplies for the first time. “Firewood,” he said finally. This confused him. “Why would they travel with firewood?”
    â€œThink,” Magician told him, annoyed. “They travel in the winter, when dry wood is hard to find. They would have to go farther into the woods to collect it. A Roman alone is an easy Roman to kill. They travel with wood to protect themselves from us. They fear us. And we will show them why.”
    Kian briefly considered that he would make a bad soldier. And a bad leader.
    More time passed now between when the fire went out and when a new one was lit. And as soon as it was lit, it promptly went out again. Angry footsteps vibrated the frozen ground beneath Kian. They approached quickly, tearing open the flap and letting even more of winter in. Kian shivered in the chill.
    â€œMove, native.”
    Kian had to tuck his legs in quickly because three men surrounded him to pick up the dry wood. M-A came in behind them, exclaiming that the northern winter built character.
    Just as the men were almost out of the tent with the new wood, Magician motioned to Kian.
    â€œTell him I know why their fire won’t start,” Magician said.
    Kian hesitated. Magician’s plan could go wrong, and there was no coming back from it if it did.
    â€œTell them,” Magician pressed angrily.
    â€œM-A!” Kian called in their language.
    The man turned around, curious. “What is it, boy?”
    Kian took a deep breath. “My master knows why your fire won’t start.”
    â€œTell him they are cursed and will have no warmth in all of their future journeys,” Magician prompted.
    Kian repeated this to M-A.
    The commander seemed unimpressed, his grey eyebrows rising to nearly where a hairline would have been had he still possessed any hair. He shook his head, coming slowly back into the tent.
    â€œI will never understand your superstitions,” he told Kian, though he looked toward Magician. “In case my general lets you live tomorrow and I am not the last Roman you meet, take this word of warning, boy: don’t try to push your ways on the men of the south. The only thing they may care to take from the north is your women.”
    Kian’s nails bit into his skin. His fists were clenched behind his back, but he kept his temper even. “Don’t you have your own gods?” he asked as innocently as he could.
    â€œYes,” M-A replied. “And they unfortunately didn’t seem to follow us to this land. They truly wield great power, and I cannot wait to get back into their sight.”
    â€œTell him I will work magic,” Magician said. “Just like his gods. And I will bring back their fire.”
    Kian bit the inside of his cheek in frustration until it bled into his mouth, but still he relayed the message to M-A.
    For a second it looked like M-A was going to laugh and walk out of the tent. A big part of Kian hoped that would happen. But then the man seemed to reconsider.
    M-A called a few of his pages to come in and untie Magician. When they got him to his feet, his legs were unable to hold him up. He stumbled, and the two pages struggled to hold him up.
    â€œAn old man’s body cannot live a young prisoner’s life,” Magician said in a pained voice Kian knew to be fake. He translated the words for M-A but knew the real Magician would rather die than show any weakness. It was all an act.
    As they passed Kian, M-A leading the way back to the dark camp,