Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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start looking. We might never have known what happened to you, whether you were dead, alive or in
chains somewhere, some pederast's slave…"
Sova drew up, with a hardness Megan had never seen before; the girl had acquired it, it seemed, on this
trip.
"It would have been my choice. You're angry because you don't like me making my own choices.
Besides, nothingdid happen to me. I did far riskier things to help you in the fight up the river, and you
didn't mind."
Megan closed her lips on a sharp answer. "Your choice to risk your life and health, when I and your
other parents have before law agreed to protect you to the best of our ability till your age of adulthood?"
she said levelly. "I could hit you, but that wouldn't be fair. I'd be hitting you because I was scared and
angry. But I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?" Sova said, more amenably. Shkai'ra came back with a bucket and plunked it down next
to their hearthrocks, took out her tinderbox and struck sparks on the shavings, listening.
"Think of what might happen. No one can stop you if you really decide to do something, but if you get
into trouble, I'd like to be in a position to help you."
"All right," Sova said breezily.
"And first thing, you are going to write a letter home to Rilla and Shyu, apologizing. I'll put it in the
packet I'm sending home."
"I already wrote, I told you. I wrote, 'Sorry but it's something I have to do.'"
Megan pursed her lips. "All right. But you're going to write to them saying you got here safely." To that
the girl agreed. "Come on then, there's work to do before we march. Whatever possessed you to come
at this hour?"
"I only heard where you were when Sinanayi came in. She was on duty until now and I didn't want to
have to try and find you on the march."
"Good enough," said Megan, wondering who in Halya Sinanayi was. Shkai'ra had dug out the frying pan,
a filch of smoked bacon, some eggs they'd bought from a farmer yesterday but hadn't had time to cook;
most of them were unbroken. Another disciplined thing in this army: no stripping the country if you could
pay.
She started blowing at the kindling, then looked up.
"Two hours to dawn," she said, then looked at Sova. "Megan said it better than I could," she said.
"Nobody your age thinks they can get hurt until they do. A burned hand teaches more caution than a
thousand words. You're going to see war here, look carefully."
She shoved the stone a little closer to the fire, putting the pan across their surface, dropped in some lard
from the jar and began slicing onions into it. "The way you managed was part luck, Sova; you only get so
much good luck, don't use it when you don't have to. I want you to outlive me, and to see your children
before I die. This is a war-camp, under discipline. If you break orders again, Iwill hit you, perhaps even
flog you; that's the customary punishment here. For the same reason I've walloped you at weapons drill