"I'm sorry," I say pleasantly, "say that one more time?"

  "Once you are married, her joy at the union will doubtless put her in a more receptive frame of mind. Then you can explain --"

  "I mean, first of all, I highly doubt she wants my explanations. But secondly, what's this about us getting ?"

  "I hadn't realized," Quarter says, grabbing his mug and holding it up. "Congratulations!"

  "I named you my ," Atrax says. "When I die, Theo will be in your care. Since you are not blood-siblings, the easiest course is for you two to marry."

  "I feel like I should get a say in this," I venture, still cautious. "And I imagine Theo will demand one as well."

  "You and I are her family elders, and she must abide by our decisions. As for you, if you do not wish to marry her, it is your responsibility to see her safely wed elsewhere." He gives me a long look. "You do not find her attractive? You love only men, perhaps? There is no shame in it."

  "I certainly don't want to insult your sister," I say, picking my words carefully, "and she is a fine young woman, but I'm not planning to marry in the foreseeable future."

  "You don't like her," Atrax says. His shoulders slump. "Ach, I can see why not. The way she treats me! Who would want to marry that? You will have to find a husband for her from one of the other clans, perhaps, everyone here has heard her voice too often --"

  "Please," I tell him. "I think I'm a little too drunk for this. Can we talk about it in the morning?"

  "Of course!" He clouts me on the shoulder again. "But I must take my challenge to Slaughterborne soon. Do not wait too long, eh?"

  ***

  After that the feast loses some of its flavor, so I excuse myself on the grounds of extreme exhaustion. I notice that I'm not alone in this. A piece of news seems to be passing through the clan, whispered from one ear to another, and those who hear it lose much of their joviality and soon depart. Whether it's their leader's impending suicide-by-cannibal, my own threatened nuptials, or some other unrevealed aspect of the situation that troubles them is anyone's guess.

  Before I can sleep, I need to check on the remaining members of our little band. I head to the medical tent, Mercy padding behind me, and as I suspected they're both there. Agni is lying on a bedroll, cover drawn up to her chin, sleeping peacefully. Erasmus sits beside her, huddled under his cloak with his arms wrapped around his knees in a curiously child-like pose.

  "Hey," I say quietly, sitting opposite him. "Everything all right?"

  "They clozed her wound and gave her rockwater. The doctor zayz zhe will recover quickly."

  "That's good to hear. What about you?"

  "I am alive," he mutters, with that strange buzz in his voice. "It iz more than I expected."

  "I wanted to thank you. Without you and Quarter running the ship, we would never have made it."

  He gives a weary shrug. "I only did what I waz told."

  "You're no coward, I know that much. 'I'll block the door with my bloody corpse,' was it?"

  "It waz the only option."

  Silence for a while. Whatever is gnawing at him, whatever his story really is, he's not eager to share it. Fair enough, I suppose. The con artist in me itches to get him to open up, but what does it really matter? I give him a nod and climb to my feet.

  "A moment, pleaze," he says unexpectedly.

  "What's wrong?"

  "What will you do now?"

  "I … haven't quite figured that out yet." I put on an embarrassed smile. "I'm still negotiating with our hosts."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  "I have nowhere elze to go." He lets out a heavy sigh. "I had accepted my fate az a mine zlave, but it zeems the godz had other planz."

  "Murder," Mercy says sympathetically.

  "If you continue your journey, I azk to accompany you. I will not fight, but I can work az required and I do not eat much. I will not be a burden."

  "I don't really know where I'm going," I tell him honestly.

  "It doez not matter to me. I dezire only to follow."

  Hard to argue with that. And even if he can't fight, there's always uses for a man of his stature. It does make me extra curious what's under that cloak he clings to so tightly, though.

  "Like I said, I'm still not sure what happens next," I tell him. "But you're welcome to join me in whatever it is, at least for a while."

  "That iz … good." He curls his bulk a little tighter. "Thank you."

  ***

  One more person to talk to before I can sleep, much as I don't want to.

  My belongings, such as they are, have been placed carefully beside my bed. If anyone was bothered by the fact that I was carrying around a human skull, they haven't raised their concerns with me. The glass knife is there, too. If I'm going to keep carrying the thing, I'll need to get some leather and chitin to make a proper handle for it. Or maybe --

  I'm avoiding the obvious. I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and mutter, "Gray?"

  you have done well.

  I open one eye cautiously. "What, no cutting remark? No suggestion I might as well drop dead?"

  you will require allies for your revolution against the princeps. a marriage to theodoxia will secure the beginnings of a base of power. once you retrieve the weapon from the north, you can lead this clan to victory over their neighbors. great empires have begun from less.

  "I told you, I'm not starting a revolution!"

  you bound yourself to my purpose.

  "Your is fucking crazy."

  then what precisely do you propose to do?

  "I could stay here. Bury you in the sand and live with the nomads. Fucking marry Theo, if she'll have me." Oddly the prospect doesn't seem dreadful in my half-imagined fantasy. "Or I could get them to fix up the cutter and go off somewhere else."

  the navy will not simply forget about a lost cruiser. sooner or later the forces of the princeps will come.

  "Sure, but they're not going to bother looking for ."

  no. they will not be so discriminating.

  He's right, of course. Campaigning among the barbarians of the Sinister Waste is a regular feature of Navy policy. Nominally, these clans are supposed to be as subject to the tithe as the rest of the world. When they refuse to acknowledge that, the Princeps reminds them and takes several years worth of slaves all at once for back payments. At other times, the City finds some compliant chieftain out here and supplies weapons to set up a little satrapy. As long as the flesh-tithe flows, the Outer Court makes no complaint.

  The fact that there's no evidence of Theo's people paying any tithe and that Slaughterborne feels strong enough to attack a City cruiser are strong pieces of evidence that the next punitive expedition is overdue. The odds are good that one of these days roach-herders and Sworn alike are going to wake up to find the guns of the Carnisa squadron lined up on them.

  "That's not really my problem, though, is it?" I say after a while, lying back on the bedroll. "It'll happen whether I'm here or not. Nothing I can do about it. If it wasn't First-in-the-City in the big chair, it'd be someone else, right? The world sucks, but it always has and it always will. No sense in getting upset about it."

  I'm quoting, I realize too late. Something my mother said to me. I remember her arm tightening around my skinny shoulders as we watched soldiers parade through the City streets. She'd leaned close, and whispered, "The world won't give you what you want. You have to take it."

  There's a long silence. I lie there, eyes closed, and feel exhaustion finally pulling me toward sleep.

  i remember when all this was green.

  I frown, confused. "All what? The tent?"

  the waste. the land. the world. green with fields and grass and trees.

  I snort automatically. "Right. Full of horses and dinosaurs and other made-up animals." But in a conversation with a talking skull, it seems a little less crazy. "When was this supposed to be?"

  a long, long time ago.

  "When you were alive?"

  There's a sound that might have been a laugh. not quite so long ago as that.

  "So what happened? Someone ruined everything?"

  not exactly. people lived and fought and died and had children, generation after generation. and the world grew drier and the trees grew sparser until there was nothing left. the world is dying. it has been dying all these years. some day it will dry up for good.

  "Inspiring." I yawn. "So the moral of the story is, it doesn't matter what we do because the world is going to die anyway?"

  He doesn't respond. I roll onto my side and let my thoughts drift. Only when sleep has nearly claimed me do I hear him, quiet and deep.

  the moral of the story is that we should do something about it.