“Mytea?” said Aleci, glad for the change in topic, “They’re a God. My God. The God of lost souls.”

“Lost souls?” Finne repeated.

“Lost travelers, for example,” said Aleci. “It is my duty to extend a hand and hearth to anyone-”

His words were cut off by the sound of a baby crying.

“Please excuse me,” said Finne, he got up from the bed and made his way to the cots. Aleci could see him walking back and forth, soothing Ethain to no avail.

The amount of infants Aleci had spent time with was five, if you counted their mothers in the room. They didn’t sound like Ethain did, Ethain’s cries were weak and fluttery.

“Feed him,” said Aleci, “You don’t have to leave the tent.” He wasn't sure why Finne insisted on leaving earlier, but he would make it clear now, “Do you want me to light another candle?”

“If you wish, Praefect,” said Finne.

Aleci did so, and when the candle was lit, he heard Finne sitting down on the cot. The cries stopped, and he was relieved to hear the sounds of suckling. The last thing he wanted to do was track down a wet nurse. There probably wouldn’t be one for miles.

“Why are you going to the Capital?” said Aleci.

“I … have family there,” said Finne, hesitantly and too quickly.

“Who?” said Aleci, “I know almost all the Imrukians in the Capital. I can send a letter for you.” When there was a long pause he said, “I would not lie to you, Finne, and I hope you wouldn’t lie to me. Is there-” he thought of the children’s names, “a father looking for them? Your husband?” He could see Finne’s shadow from the screen, and carried on, it was best to rip out a scab, “If your noble husband hurts my men, Finne, I would need to know. I have my duty to them as well. Please understand.”

“You came to wage war,” said Finne faintly, so faint Aleci had to strain his ears to hear him.

“Imruk declared war first,” said Aleci, even though he knew it was a half truth, “I want nothing more to do with this war, and-” he stopped himself, the chances of Finne being a spy was astronomically small, but he wasn’t about to commit treason. “I said to you I would take you to the Capital. You have my word. I would like to simply ask if I should assign more guards.”

Finne’s voice was very small when he said, “He told me he didn’t want a cripple.”

“What?” said Aleci.

Finne walked over to him, the baby in his arms. Ethain’s swaddles had been loosened, and Finne hesitantly sat down next to Aleci. He met Aleci’s eyes warily and gently eased the baby’s legs out into view. There was a healthy amount of baby fat on Ethain, but both his feet were oddly pointed together. Clubbed, thought Aleci, with dawning comprehension.

“There’s a physician,” said Finne, “a physician in the Capital that fixes these. I read-” he swiftly corrected himself, “I heard that.”

“Read?” said Aleci, “You can read my tongue?”

“No,” said Finne, looking away from him.

Aleci sighed deeply, “You can keep your secrets if you want, but tell me who you are looking for.”

“Thodius,” said Finne, carefully swaddling the now cooing infant, “Thodius of Nabaeum.”

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“I don’t know him,” said Aleci, “Perhaps my friend does, he does like to read these odd tomes. Could your husband not send for the man? Is he not a noble?”

Finne swallowed, refusing to meet Aleci’s eyes, “He’s a cripple, Aleci, they aren’t worth his time.” He breathed in and out, shakily, “He’s my child too.”

Aleci glanced at the baby, then at the floor. He didn’t want to dash Finne’s hopes that Thodius would somehow straighten the baby’s feet. Many such babies were abandoned in the Capital after all, taken in at best by beggars for begging rings and at worst by slavers. Even the nobles in the Capital he doubted would search for such a man to fix their child’s feet. But Finne had taken such a risk, he must have clung desperately to this hope.

“Would your husband come searching for you?” said Aleci.

“I don’t know,” said Finne faintly, wiping at his face. “He… I’m not his favorite. Why would he look for me?”

He would just have to double the scouts and nightwatches just in case, thought Aleci. The last thing he needed was some righteous bastard wanting back children he didn’t even remember siring.

“Can you pay him?” said Aleci, “I don’t think Thodius would take just a ring and earrings as payment.”

Finne blinked at him, wide eyed, “It’s not?” he sounded sickened, “It’s all I-”

Finne, thought Aleci, did not think things through. But then who was he to fault him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to dwell on what Fine's husband did to warrant Finne deciding a wintry escape was the best option.

“I can pay,” offered Aleci, “I have some… means.”

One must never wave their wealth in the face of others' misfortune, his mother had told him, her brows furrowed in a disapproving frown as they waited in the streets for a Magister and his procession to pass them. Aleci had agreed, and taken great pleasure in watching the man gamble his fortunes away on horseraces that Aleci himself personally rigged as a newly minted Praefect several years later. Though he couldn't repeat that particular excercise often, even if he thought the money could better be used elsewhere. One Magister losing his fortune could be waved off, two was a raised eyebrow and three times would warrant an investigation.

“You would?” said Finne, sounding faint. He bit his lip then looked at Aleci, “Do you want… Do you want me to repay you? I would… I would do whatever you want. Whatever you want.” he repeated, his voice now steady, “I won’t say no.”

It was a twisted proposition, and Aleci regretted putting Finne in the position of begging for his child’s treatment.

“Are you sure,” said Aleci, deciding he would answer with the pretend ignorance that Finne wanted to be a servant of sorts to him, “you have the time? You have three children to care for.”

Finne glanced at where Aleci’s hands laid in his lap, “I can pay you back in the Capital,'' said Finne. “You want a son? I can give you one. The soldiers said you wanted your own line. You don’t have to marry me, I can be your amatrix.” He visibly swallowed, rambling on, “and the child, it would be like Edon, not like…” he closed his eyes, hanging his head as if waiting for a death blow.

First of all, Aleci wanted to know which one of his guards was so openly gossipy that they declared to the entire crowd that he wanted a family. Secondly… Only a handful of his guards were even remotely competent in Imrukian, and none of them were gossipers, and did Finne say amatrix? That was both beneath and above him, he wasn’t a Magister.

“Gossipy bastards,” exclaimed Aleci, and Finne flinched, “You understood them?”

“No,” said Finne and turned his head away from Aleci, shaking.

“If you can tell them what you want the trip would be so much easier for everyone,” said Aleci, deciding to switch to his own tongue, “I won’t have to assign Domerc to translate.”

Finne met his eyes, blinking rapidly, “You don’t want a child from me?”

Aleci glanced over to where Edon was sleeping and shuddered inwardly. “I told you, Finne, I am Mytea’s acolyte and I don’t need payment from you,” said Aleci, kindly. “You can repay this by helping another lost traveler, whenever you have the means to do so, hm?” he made his face into what he hoped was an amused smile, “Now who was this idiot that said I wanted a family?”

“You’re not going to punish him?” said Finne.

Aleci shook his head, “No, I’ll tell him to-” he jerked his head towards the pile of soiled clothing. “Wash that. Clearly he’s got nothing better to do. Who was it?” When Finne looked apprehensive he reached out to gently stroke his cheek, “Don’t worry, if he’s mad at you then it’s his own fault for refusing to hold his tongue.”

He was relieved to see that Finne was capable of smiling. It made him look years younger, but as soon as it was gone he was world weary again. Like a house with the shutters drawn, thought Aleci.

“I think he was punished plenty,” said Finne, “Domerc cuffed him over the head and told him to hold his tongue, like you said.”

Whoever taught Finne must be a scholar from the Empire, “You really do know the tongue,” said Aleci, “Do they?” he gestured towards the sleeping children.

“No,” said Finne, amending himself. “Maybe a little for Edon.”

“What about Ediann?” said Aleci.

Finne rocked Ethain, hesitantly. He was biting his lips again, before he said, “Would you abandon your child? If they were-”

“No,” said Aleci, softly, “I wouldn’t.”

The more sardonic part of him thought that if he had crippled children they wouldn’t be forced into service, but he quickly shut that door.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” said Finne, wiping at his own eyes. “I have prayed and prayed for healthy children. So that he’d be happy. So that they wouldn’t-” Finne swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” said Aleci quickly. “Sometimes things just are. Perhaps that’s why you found that book hm? To put the idea into you to find this Thodius?”

Finne blinked rapidly at him, eyes wide.

“Why don’t you sleep?” said Aleci, gently. “It’s been a long day for you I’m sure, and we start early tomorrow. I’ve had a wagon prepared, you can sit in it with your children.”

Finne was still very polite and formal when he bid Aleci goodnight. Aleci could hear him tossing and turning on the other bed. He hoped that he didn’t upturn Finne’s world the way he normally did with people when he sat down to ask them why they thought things the way they did. But he would have blurted it out eventually, there was nothing Aleci hated more than mothers blaming themselves for how their children turned out. Well, perhaps some should, but most shouldn’t. Most people were good mothers.