The pounding grows, and I dig my nails into my fists. I’ll have to kill him. Wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze—

  A noise escapes me, a cross between a whimper and a sob. No. I don’t want to hurt this boy.

  What’s wrong with me, to think that?

  Gar studies me, and then he says, “The mark has nearly disappeared beneath new skin. If your family wants to retain ownership, you might want to brand him again.”

  I let out a wisp of a breath, and the pounding in my head dies down.

  He does not believe that I, a wandering peasant seeking employment in a strange land, come from a noble family with the means to mark my horse.

  And yet for some reason he’s not calling me on it.

  The du dissipate, and I feel a rush of relief.

  “Thank you. I haven’t given the horse proper attention since I—acquired him.”

  That’s all the information I’ll give Gar.

  Gar nods down at the green grass beneath his feet. “I’m raking the hay into bales. The rope’s behind me, already cut into lengths from prior use. If I have to work with you, I’m giving you the hard job.” Now he grins, and the smile makes the freckles disappear into the lines of his face. “Put some muscles on you.”

  “Are you saying I’m not strong?” I say, and I’m trying to joke, but my voice trembles.

  I’m still shaken by the urge I felt to kill him.

  “You will be,” Gar says.

  “I can handle a sword better than you can,” I say.

  He laughs. “Maybe someday you’ll get the chance to prove that. For now, let’s see you work your magic with ropes.”

  I freeze, stunned by his words. “But magic—isn’t it—”

  He waves me off impatiently. “Metaphorical, Myrddin. There are no magic folk left in Alban.” He sighs. “My life would be so much easier if I had magic.”

  I want to tell him how wrong he is. But that would be saying too much. I find the ropes and watch Gar role the bale of hay into a precise ball, and then he shows me how to bundle it up and tie it.

  “Like tying thatch for houses,” I say.

  “Not too different,” he agrees. “Then we take it and load it onto the cart.” He gets beneath the tied bale and lifts it. The sleeves of his tunic fall from his arms as he heaves, and the muscles tighten with the effort. The bale fills his arms’ span. He walks the few steps to the cart and deposits the bale beside two others.

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  “It’s taken me all morning to do these three,” he says. “Now you can tie the bundles, and I can focus on moving them to the cart.”

  Gar made it look easy. But my first task of wrapping and tying proves frustrating and awkward. I can barely get my arms around the circle of hay he made, and the straw scratches me, poking sharply into my flesh through my tunic. The rope slides from my fingers, scraping the skin raw as I pull it tight. I grunt under the effort, my back and legs protesting as I hug the needle-like hay bale and knot the rope around it. Sweat rolls from my face by the time I begin gathering hay for the next bale, and I’m panting.

  It would be nice to get some help from the gurek now.

  I look up when I hear Gar laughing.

  “What?” I snap rather peevishly.

  “Just wait until tomorrow,” he says.

  By the time I get the next hay bale roped, Gar has two more bundles waiting for me. I wonder if I mistook his earlier kindness.

  The sun rises higher in the sky, and I throw off my outer tunic, wearing only my sheath beneath. I’m taking a chance, but no one points to me or cries out about a woman in the fields.

  He kneels across from me as I attempt to tie up my fifth bundle. My throat burns, itchy from inhaled hay particles, and my body aches like I let the cart roll over me.

  “There are four bundles left,” he says. He finishes tying the one in front of me and scoops it up with a soft grunt. “Go fasten them.”

  And then he walks away.

  My arm trembles as I wipe at the sweat of my brow. I stand there watching him as he dumps the bale into the cart. He takes one of the rope pieces and squats beside a hay bale.

  And then I realize he’s helping me.

  We work together on the last ones, and then we sit on the back of the cart sharing a bucket of water together.

  “That was harder than I expected,” I admit.

  “Aye. And we do a lot of it. The horses eat. We rake hay every Mars Day and Venus Day.”

  He changed the Roman days of the week into the tongue of the Britons, but it took me only a moment to recognize them.

  “So not tomorrow,” I say.

  “Not tomorrow.”

  I close my eyes. My shoulders burn, my arms ache, little muscles on my back and legs twitch and snap from the exertion I just put them through. “Small mercy.”

  “We work for our keep.”

  “Maybe with two of us, the work won’t be as hard?” I say.

  “Maybe.” Gar drops the bowl into the bucket of water.

  “Who are the other boys who rooms with us?”

  “Rhys and Hywel. We only see them at night, but steer clear of Hywel. If ever a soul was encumbered with bitterness and hatred, it’s him.”

  “Why?”

  Gar glances around and leans closer. “It’s not my place to bring up what secrets people leave behind. But since you’ll be sharing a room with him, it’s best you know. He comes from a noble family. But he was sold into servitude to pay off his father’s debt.”

  I consider that. “At least his family is alive. Somewhere.”

  “Is that better? Our families are dead. Our hearts aren’t being tugged in another direction, always wondering when, if, how we can be reunited.”

  He says the words casually, but I want to cover my ears and shake my head in protest. Dead.

  I still can’t believe Mam and Tad are gone. Tarrant.

  “How do you know my family is dead?” I ask.

  He scoffs. “A young boy hiring himself out with nothing but the clothes on his back and the horse he found? You may as well make a proclamation.”

  “Is it pity, then, that made Master Anarawd hire me?”

  “He saw your worth. And now you belong to him.”

  I rear back at his word choice. “I don’t belong to him. I’m a hired employee. I can leave whenever I want.”

  “Not anymore, you can’t. The moment you apprenticed yourself to him, you became indebted to him. Master Anarawd owns you now.”