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fell in his eyes. “I’ll never walk again.”
    “Not true. We can fit you with a substitute made of steel and leather. If you decide to stay, that is.”
    Decide to stay? A sea-size emptiness gaped within him. Everything he knew, everything he was, had been ripped away in one moment.
    He could never return home.
    A door slammed in an adjoining room. Heavy footsteps roamed the wooden floor, and Filip’s defenses went on the alert.
    A lanky, sandy-haired young man stomped into the room. “Are you one of them?”
    Zelia stood between the bed and the door, arms crossed over her chest. “And who might you be, barging in here without my permission?”
    “This is the Descendants’ hospital, right? Then he must be one of them.” His thin lip curled at Filip, who suddenly realized how weak the opium had left him.
    “They have sanctuary here,” Zelia said, “until Galen and the rest of the Council decide what to do with them.”
    “How about this—tie rocks around their ankles and dump them in the river.”
    “And who are you?”
    “Adrek the Cougar. I’ve come from Kalindos to report the latest Descendant slaughter.”
    That name again, Descendants. Filip yearned for a dagger to slice the word out of this man’s throat.
    Zelia planted her hands on her hips. “You’re in the wrong place, Adrek. You should give your report to Galen.”
    “I did. He told me you were harboring the enemy here, that I could speak to one of them.”
    “I’m not harboring the enemy. I’m treating patients.” She widened her protective stance at the end of Filip’s bed.
    Adrek hardened his gaze on her. “They came to Kalindos, four nights ago. Killed our elders. Killed my father. Took everyone.” His breath made his words shake. “Hundred and seventy people, gone, in the middle of the night.”
    Filip’s face burned, and not from lingering fever. He’d heard of Kalindos—his army’s intelligence had described it as a tiny, worthless forest village needing few defenses. It had nothing worth conquering, nothing worth stealing. Nothing but people. Filip’s commander was as brutal as he was incompetent, and had now brought shame and dishonor to all of Ilios.
    Zelia gave both men a look of astonishment, then turned back to Adrek. “Why would the Descendants attack your village?”
    “Because we helped you win your battle against them. Turned out to be a mistake.”
    “Nonetheless, I won’t let you harm one of my patients.”
    Filip almost laughed. She couldn’t stop this Adrek person from killing him, and shouldn’t. Better to die by an enemy’s hands than live like an old man at twenty-one.
    Adrek stepped around Zelia and brought forth a small leather bag. Before she could stop him, he dumped its contents on top of Filip. Several small pieces of metal rolled off to clang on the floor. “What are these things?”
    Willing his hand not to shake, Filip picked up the rigid red-and-yellow ribbon that lay on his chest. It seemed like an artifact from a long-lost world. “They’re nothing,” he whispered.
    “Nothing?” Adrek scooped up the pieces that had fallen, then tossed them into Filip’s lap. “Your people left them behind when they massacred my village. They go on uniforms, right? They’re not nothing.”
    “I didn’t mean it that way.” Subtlety was lost on this fellow. “Yes, you’re right. They signify ranks and awards and—” He folded his fingers around the ribbon, though he wanted to toss it away “—it shows where they belong.”
    “So where do they belong? Where can we find them?”
    Filip sifted through the medals and rank insignia until he found a silver button, the kind worn on the outside of the soldiers’ sleeves. “Second battalion.” He sneered. “Not mine.” He tossed it back to Adrek, who snatched it out of the air.
    “But you know where they’re based, right?” he said.
    Filip turned his head away and said nothing.
    “They took my daughter.” Adrek’s voice cracked on the last