Limping through the streets of his occupied city wasn't fun on the best of days.

Today was not the best of days.

His limp was worse than usual, probably because it had rained all through the night and the air was still heavy and damp despite the reemergence of the sun. His sister had tried to keep him home in concern, but belts were tight enough as it was. He had grimly limped to work only to find the bookshop he kept records for being ransacked by occupying soldiers for being a suspected hotspot of sedition.

Not that they were wrong, Costis admitted to himself when his black mood had passed enough to allow fairness. And with any luck, the others had managed to slip away into the crowd too.

Still, he wasn't sure how long it would take for them to track him down. He needed to warn his sister, and then -

He didn't know. If getting shot hadn't invalided him out of the army halfway through the invasion, he would have been with the remnants of it forming the backbone of the resistance in the mountains. As it was, he had no idea how to find them even if he could make it there on his leg.

He was jolted out of his dark thoughts by shouts ringing out over the crowd. He looked around frantically for the dreaded red coats. If they had found him already -

But the guards pushing their way through the reluctant crowd were chasing a different prey, a young man slipping his way through the crowd like an eel. He looked like a printer's apprentice, judging by his coat, and Costis could well believe theirs had not been the only shop to be overturned today. Something bulged in his pocket - papers, probably, although the shape was odd.

Costis moved aside so the runner could pass him, having no other help to offer, but the apprentice stumbled as he neared, eyes widening as he saw Costis.

Costis had no time to wonder about that. One of the guards had managed to push through and catch up. His hand was already extended to grab the young man's arm.

Costis reacted on bone deep instinct.

He punched the guard in the jaw.

The man went down like a felled tree. Costis stared down at his own, wondering how he could be so abysmally stupid.

Not that it wasn't satisfying. Or that there wasn't a deeper part of him he barely recognized insisting he couldn't have done anything else.

But it had been stupid all the same.

"Panic later," the youth said and grabbed his wrist to drag him into a run. They'd only gone a few rough steps when he looked back, frowning, to find the holdup and saw the limp. He spat an archaic curse.

"Just run," Costis said grimly, turning to face their pursuers. The tides of the crowd had held them back, but that wouldn't hold for long. Maybe he could at least get in one more good hit.

"Not this time," the other growled and yanked him into an alley half covered by strung up laundry. "Quick, change coats."

"We can't just - "

"How do you think I got this one?" he asked as he shrugged off his ink stained jacket and exchanged it for a dull green. "Here, put this on." He tossed over a pale grey one.

Costis obeyed without thinking and followed the other as he led the way through the maze of alleys. The shouts got more and more distant until they vanished entirely, and they stopped to breathe in the abandoned courtyard the youth had led him to, adjacent to a war torn house.

Costis limped to the edge of a dry fountain and let his knees give way at last.

The other man was barely breathing hard. He grinned at Costis. "I wasn't expecting to see you here, Costis. Or anywhere, really. Are any of the others with you?"

"Others?" Others of the resistance? Costis wasn't sure if he should say. And how did this stranger know his name?"

"Kamet? Teleus? Aris, even."

"The names ring a bell, but I can't place them," Costis admitted. "And how do you know my name?"

The young man swallowed. "You don't remember me."

Costis looked him over again. "You look familiar," he offered helplessly. "What's your name? When did we meet?" A thought struck him. "If it was in the hospital tent, I probably won't remember," he said apologetically, rubbing his leg. "That's all pretty blurry."

The young man looked stricken for a second before he regained control of himself. "You can call me Gen," he said. "The rest isn't important."

"Short for Eugenides?" Costis guessed. Even centuries after the great annux had died, the name was still popular. "For the old king?"

Gen gave a strange grimace. "For the thief," he corrected, patting whatever was in his pocket. "Appropriately, as it turns out."

Costis grinned at him. "And does the great thief have a plan to get us out of this?"

"I did," he said. "Unfortunately, it fell through. Thus the mad dash through the market, and you getting dragged into this."

"I was on their list anyway," Costis said. "And it's my duty to help out in any case."

Gen shot him a hopeful look, but whatever he saw on Costis's face made it fade again.

Something heavy curdled in Costis's stomach at the sight. It shouldn't matter what Gen thought of him, but it did.

"I need to warn my sister," he finally said. "I've a few weapons stashed away there, and some contacts that might be able to get us out of the city. I've nothing after that."

"If you can get us out of the city, I can get us to the resistance."

"I'm not sure if any of my squad made it there to vouch for me." He hoped so. The alternatives were far worse.

Gen waved this off. "You're with me. You'll be fine."

"You barely know me!" Costis protested.

"You've got an honest face." Gen grinned. "And an excellent punch."

Costis did have an honest face, at least according to everyone he knew, but he'd used it against too many of the occupiers to think that counted for much. Still, if Gen trusted him, he should probably stop trying to talk him out of it.

But - "I'll probably slow you down," he said reluctantly.

Gen waved this off too. We won't be walking the whole way. I'm sure we can hitch a ride on someone's cart."

"I know a man who has horses," Costis offered. He didn't have the money for two, but the man had helped the resistance before. Costis could probably talk him around.

Gen winced. "Horses," he said unenthusiastically.

Costis frowned at him. "You don't ride?"

"I can," Gen said, both words all but dragged out of him. "If necessary."

"I'd say it's necessary." He pushed himself to his feet. "Why were they chasing you, anyway? What did you steal?"

Gen's grin grew self-satisfied. "Just a relic from a dead king." He pulled it out of his pocket: a razor sharp hook, gleaming in the sunlight.

Costis stared at it, entranced. For a moment it looked wet with blood - no, shining with firelight - no, reflecting the shine of a golden cup -

He gasped and stumbled back against the fountain. Hands grabbed his arms and helped support him.

"Costis?"

He always had to have his moment of drama. "I'd punch you again if it wasn't treason," Costis said. "My king."

His king's hands tightened on his arms for just a moment. "You remember."

"Wasn't that the point?"

The king hesitated. "Actually, that was more of a hunch."

"You didn't know, did you."

"I suspected."

"Of course, my king."

"You should probably keep calling me Gen until we get out of here."

Calling his king by name would be hard enough. He wasn't sure he could manage a nickname.

"As you say, m - Eugenides."

"Close enough. I'll wear you down eventually."

Costis had no doubt of that at all.