“Two, please,” he said. “What?” Amaranthe asked. The soldier pulled out three bills. Relief made her smile genuine. She handed him two flatcakes. He gave her the money, a curt wave, and ran off, fingers peeling away the wrappers. Amaranthe hurried down the road, certain she had surpassed her luck quota for the week. When she turned into the trees, she almost tripped over Sicarius. He was crouching on the balls of his feet, watching her approach. “They let you go?” His gaze fell on the cakes and ranmyas clutched in her hands. “Not intentionally.” An alarm bell clanged at the fort, and Amaranthe
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