LITMIR.BIZ

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      He grabbed the Guard Rider medallion and placed it around his neck again. Anything was better than the memories, the nightmares. If Aleric and Chancellor Doran would keep those away, he’d give his life to the Riders. He’d do anything.

      That was why he had joined the Riders in the first place. After the disaster, he had been forced to swear to serve the king, or they would kill his brother. He refused to betray his brother like he betrayed Desma.

      Now the three Youth Guard members are dead, he told himself, lying back down. The Guard Rider medallion was already giving him strength, letting him breathe easier. It will be all right.

      But no matter what other lies Demetri had made himself believe, he knew that was not true. Nothing would be all right ever again.

      Chapter 2

      The second time a passing traveler gave Jesse money, he began to think that Parvel was right about needing to wash and get new clothes.

      “Sir,” Jesse called, standing to return the money. His limp made it hard to catch up with the man. “Really, I’m not a beggar. You don’t….”

      But the man never stopped. In fact, he started walking more quickly, as if afraid that Jesse would try to rob him.

      When he turned back to Silas, Rae, and Parvel, he could tell they were trying to hold back laughter. “It’s because we’re sitting by the road, like many beggars do,” Jesse grumbled, sitting down next to them.

      “Then why are you the only one anyone has given money to?” Silas pointed out.

      Jesse tried to think of an answer. “Because I look the youngest.”

      Silas and Parvel, though only a few years older than Jesse, looked much older. “But Rae is fourteen,” Parvel countered, “a year younger than you. And she’s just as small.”

      “Then it’s my crippled leg,” Jesse said, feeling as if he were losing the argument. He did carry a walking stick, carved for him by his friend Kayne, but even more obviously, his torn pant leg exposed his scarred, battered left leg.

      “No,” Parvel said, grinning widely. “It’s because you’re dirty, smelly, and ragged.” Silas and Rae laughed.

      “So are you,” Jesse shot back.

      “We don’t look nearly as bad as you,” Rae said with her usual bluntness.

      Jesse wanted to argue the point, but found he could not, so he changed the subject instead. “Why are we sitting here in the open, anyway? Captain Demetri and the Patrol think we’re dead—what if he sees us here?”

      “What are the chances that he would pass by on this very road?” Silas pointed out. “The captain must have gone home to District Four by now.”

      “See?” Parvel said triumphantly. “If even Silas says it’s safe, we know it’s safe.” He had a point there, Jesse knew. Silas was the most cautious of the group. “Even if this Captain Demetri of yours showed up, Jesse, he’d never recognize you under all of those layers of filth.”

      Jesse ignored the comment. “Can we get on with the planning? Please?”

      “If we can keep from being interrupted by people wanting to give Jesse beggar’s coins,” Rae said.

      “I hope we all at least look somewhat tattered and poor,” Silas said, standing. He started to walk again. Jesse groaned. He was tired of walking. “We’ll need to act like weary travelers if we are to be admitted to the house of refuge outside of Davior.”

      That was their plan for a meal and a place to spend the night. They had run out of food the day before, and Jesse, at least, was tired of sleeping on the rock-hard ground. Silas had said that the priests who ran the houses of refuge rarely asked questions of their guests.

      Jesse had never seen a house of refuge before, but he had heard of them. His uncle and aunt had talked about taking him to one when his parents disappeared two years before. The priests often took in orphans as well as travelers. Then Aunt Dara decided she needed more help at the inn, and there had been no more talk of taking Jesse to “those fool priests.”

      “How far is it from here?” Rae asked, falling into step next to Silas.

      “Not far at all,” Silas promised. Jesse didn’t believe him. He had been saying that for two days as they traveled. “We’ll be there within the hour.”

      Rae grunted. “Good,” she said. “I don’t know how much more of Parvel’s jabbering I can take.”

      Jesse couldn’t understand why Parvel’s story bothered Rae so much. It wasn’t some wild, exaggerated tale that Parvel told to pass time as they traveled—it was the true story of God, and God’s son, Jesus, who came to earth. Jesse was fascinated by the miracles Jesus performed and the way He seemed to love even the most insignificant people.

      Silas and Rae, though, did not believe in God, and did not appreciate Parvel’s story. They had grumbled about it during their journey to Davior, often traveling ahead so they wouldn’t have to listen.

      Jesse ignored Rae’s comment. “We were at the part where Jesus’ friend Lazarus was sick,” he reminded Parvel.

      Parvel grinned, although Jesse couldn’t figure out why. Sickness was not a thing to smile about. “When they received the news, the disciples were upset, but Jesus didn’t leave. He stayed right where He was….”

      Jesse fell into an even pace, leaning on his walking stick, as Parvel continued the story. By the time they reached the gates of the house of refuge, Parvel had told Jesse all about how Lazarus had died, and how Jesus had raised him from the dead.

      “And so many people believed in Jesus because of Lazarus that the leaders decided they would have to kill Jesus and Lazarus,” Parvel finished.

      Jesse laughed. “That’s ridiculous. How do you kill a man who’s already died?”

      “You cut his loudmouth head off with a sword,” Silas snapped from in front of them. Even Parvel looked a little taken aback. It was strange of Silas to be so outspoken, even when joking.

      “No more of this story,” Silas said. “We’re coming into the village. From now on, let me do the talking. I’m from this District and know how things are done. Besides, you all have accents.”

      Rae sniffed and folded her arms. “I don’t have an accent. Everyone else does.”

      Parvel laughed. “I suppose all of us could say that.”

      Jesse didn’t mind the silence, just as he didn’t mind hiding their weapons or travelling off the main road. If Silas was overly cautious, at least that was better than rushing blindly into danger. They didn’t want to arouse any suspicions.

      Like most houses of refuge, the one in Davior was on the very edge of town, another reason they had chosen to stay there. Jesse knew the reason was to make it more accessible to travelers, but the house of refuge looked lonely on the hill overlooking Davior, as if it had been pushed away from the city along with the outcasts who lived there.

      Once they got closer, Jesse could see that the house of refuge was a large, two-story building surrounded by a neat pole fence and marked by a white flag with a red stripe—the symbol of the Order of Amarian priests.

      The porch creaked under their collective weight, but other than that there were no signs the house of refuge was dirty or run-down. The floor was swept, the windows clean, and a few flowers poked bravely out of the ground near the wall.

      That surprised Jesse, because the tiny chapel in his hometown of Mir was little more than a dirty hut. Then again, he reminded himself, our priest was fat and lazy. There’s no reason to assume that all priests are like him.

      Silas’s knock on the door echoed hollowly. They stood there on the porch, waiting.

      “What if it’s been abandoned?” Jesse asked.

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