“Papa, is my dress straight?” asked Garbi, nervously fidgeting with it. She stood atop her stag, riding as easily as if she stood on solid ground, and it made her so tall her wheat-colored hair shone in the sun like a lamp hanging above them. And if that wasn’t enough, her wolf Ashe walked right alongside. She was an impossible sight, something completely new in all the Glories, and was worried about her dress. At least Poppy had the good sense to ignore her fidgeting, stupid beast.

  “Yes, just like Mama told you, and just like Dyana told you before that. You look perfect,” Androkles said. “The more you play with it, the less straight it’ll get.”

  They were already being watched by every farmer within walking distance, as well as their entire households. If she was going to fuss about her dress, it was too late. It had been too late since stopping in Keramaios for supplies and fresh clothing three days ago.

  Not only that, they’d given the rumor-spreaders plenty of time this morning when they stopped at Galos’ Well and bathed the entire train. Now, every mile of road had people standing along it, waiting for them to walk past.

  “Is that the last hill?” asked Wolfscar from his shoulder, pointing. “Should I go look?”

  “Yes, it is, and no, you shouldn’t,” said Androkles. “We will all see it together.”

  From his other shoulder, Chopper asked, “Can I go? I can go. I can look and come back.”

  “No, we will all see it together,” he repeated. Then, just to be sure, he glanced back at Pepper, who was still there, walking next to Flower with their tails entwined. It’d be just like him to try and sneak ahead.

  Everyone had fresh clothing, and the women had some jewelry. Even the slaves had nice clean tunics. It would not do to stumble into town looking dirty and unremarkable. Not this time.

  Androkles had even had to buy a new shield, since a fighting man did not return to Dikaia without it; never mind he’d sold his old one before leaving. The stupid thing did nothing for him but make his back ache, no matter how often he switched the strap from shoulder to shoulder.

  He’d wanted to walk nude and let his boys carry his armor, like his forefather Agapetos had done in the age of the gods. The early summer weather was warm enough, and every Dikaian would immediately recognize the story and his fame would have tripled. They’d see his scars and be astounded that he survived. But Agurne refused, saying she wasn’t following a naked man anywhere. That, and neither boy could carry the shield that far.

  And if he was honest with himself, he was not going to be the center of anyone’s attention, dressed or otherwise. Not with twenty demons following him, let alone the rest of the family.

  The Night People walked spaced out along the line of slaves, each carrying several weapons and giving chilling glances at everyone they passed. Their new leather shirts and pants made them stand out even more than their twilight-colored skin and black horns, since no one in the Glories wore pants, shirts, or leather.

  It was nearly time. Another hundred paces and they’d be at the top of the hill. “All right, come line up,” he said, waving Agurne and the rest forward.

  Agurne waited to roll her eyes until she was up where he could see it, but that just made him grin. She thought she’d seen big cities before, and this would be no different. That was a thing she thought.

  Dyana rode up next to Agurne in her new dress, and Garbi moved into the wing. The boys stepped up to complete the line, and they pressed on. Their excitement was easy for him to gauge. The children wore their emotions so plainly they may as well be waving banners about it.

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  Excitement and nervousness built as they approached the hilltop, so much that it spread into the slaves following behind, who raised an anxious murmur of their own.

  Carts and porters coming up the hill from the other direction saw Androkles’ group and stood aside, staring unashamedly. Androkles nodded politely at each man who looked like a citizen, since these were his people; most of them had the good sense to return it.

  Only a few more paces, and they topped the hill. Androkles watched their reactions as it slowly dawned on them what they were looking at. He’d been awaiting this moment for weeks.

  The fields of Dikaia spread before them, two full miles of carefully-tended meadow. The fields were littered with people, mostly clustered near the roads so they could get a good look. Several thousand eyes fell on Androkles and his family, all turning their heads.

  Beyond the fields stood the walls, sturdy and beautiful, with clean edges and sheer surfaces, tall and thick. Impenetrable. And beyond the walls, Dikaia herself, great and glorious. The City covered a small mountain, an unbelievable number of buildings. Painted wood and marble, paved streets. Vibrant. Exquisite. The patterns of light and shadow on so many structures made the City look like it shimmered as brightly as the ocean behind it.

  His family stopped moving forward to stare with wide-eyed amazement, too stunned to even speak. Except Agurne, who gave an appreciative nod but was acting unimpressed.

  “Have you ever seen anything so grand?” Androkles asked.

  “No,” said Flower quietly. His eyes were glazing over, as if the sight itself was too much and he had to retreat into imagination.

  “It’s just a big city,” said Agurne. However, as he took a closer look at her, she had her reins gripped so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

  Androkles grinned. “Are you alright, Agurne? Do you need a drink of water?”

  The scowl she shot him made everything worth it.

  “That’s so many people!” said Garbi, unconsciously straightening her dress again.

  “That’s so much water,” said Pepper.

  Flower gasped, “I didn’t even see it! I didn’t even notice the water. Papa, is that the ocean?”

  Dyana answered first. “It is. I wondered if I’d ever see it again. My tribe used to say the whole world was encircled by the ocean, but everywhere I went, I just found more land. I missed it. Can you smell that?” She inhaled deeply with a contented look on her face that developed into a smile.

  Then everyone else had to try and smell the water. Androkles couldn’t, even if he was more subtle about making the attempt. The wind wasn’t even blowing, and it was miles away. Dyana was mistaken.

  Garbi asked, “How am I going to learn everyone’s name?”

  Androkles said, “You only have to learn the names of people who are important. But don’t worry about it. They will adore you. They will adore all of you. There is no doubt of that.”

  Satisfied that his family was duly impressed, Androkles took a moment to focus on drinking in the sight himself. How many times had he walked over this very hill at the end of the war season? Twenty-five, at least. It had meant something different each time. He had been twenty-five different men. One was a youth with a broken heart and a fresh memory of cowardice. Another was an exhausted, barefoot man with splitting heels. A jubilant victor. A helpless surgery victim. A drunkard. A sober man filled with anger. A heartsick husband. A heartbroken man carrying a dead friend’s shield. Too many times, that last one.

  His City was balm to his spirit. It brought clarity and peace to his mind. Looking out upon it, its glory, its fields and walls and houses, its port, its people and navy and all of it together, washed away the Androkles of the road. Gone was the man with danger at every turn, the man with enemies behind every rock and tree. He became the good-humored Dikaian again.

  That was the case each time he returned. It had always been the City of his fathers, the place of their graves, the place their shades might still guard. His home. The place that made him and gave him everything he was.

  But now it was the City of his children. It was the City where sweet little Garbi would marry, where Flower and Pepper would grow up and become men. Where, goddesses willing, Agurne might give him a son of his body to preserve his bloodline after he was gone.

  Dikaia called to him, holding her arms out to embrace him home. She still had more to give. How he loved her!

  “That is my City,” he said, reverently. He reached out and squeezed Agurne’s hand, and Pepper’s, since they were the ones standing next to him. “And now it is yours.”

  His heart filled and overflowed. Hot tears dripped down his cheeks and were lost in his beard, but he did nothing to hide or stop them. Let everyone see. Let them know how Androkles regarded his City and never forget it.

  He gave their hands another squeeze, then let go and began walking.