But what did that mean?
“Something wrong, boss?” Rakon rumbled, nudging his horse closer.
He passed the spyglass off to the large man and whistled once:Be on your guard.
Attention shifting back to Easome, Aldric asked, “Why would someone risk sailing around the northern tip of Elmoria rather than the south?”
The Lord Constable barked out a laugh, already wheeling his horse around. “They wouldn’t. Sailing around Varoa at this time of year would be too dangerous. Too many ice floes.”
His jaw tightened. His pulse ticked faster. “But what if they did?Whywould they?”
Easome paused, frowning. “Well…I suppose they might take the risk if they wanted to avoid being spotted by Mistress Olivia’s informants along the southern coast. It’s impossible to keep watchers inthe north, in the mountains.” The older man’s expression darkened. “They always go missing.”
Hoofbeats thundered along the column of soldiers, coming in fast. A rider in yellow—one of Wellane’s captains. Byron. “Why have we stopped?” he called, reining in his horse at the bottom of the ridge.
Aldric ignored the man. His thoughts scrambled, trying to recall the map sprawled across his kirei’s desk, to remember all the territories north of Goldreach. The duchy of Varoa, of course. Smaller baronies and counties of little importance.
And then: the duchy of Coreto.
Everything stilled. The cold faded. The howl of the wind grew distant.
He was aware of his Sons fanned around him, tense, ready.“Trust no one.”Those were the parting words he had whispered to his wife. They pulsed through his thoughts now, in time to his heartbeat, as he shifted his attention between Sir Easome and Wellane’s man, Byron.
Easome with his confused frown.
Byron with that nervous tic in his jaw. “We should keep going,” the man claimed, gesturing south, toward the road and the dark forest beyond. “We can rest the horses further on, surely.”
Rakon hummed and slammed the spyglass shut. “Good place for an ambush, boss.”
Aldric grunted; he had just thought the same thing. His one good eye flicked toward his half-Kunishi Son, who looked deceptively relaxed atop his horse. “Calix?”
His second tensed immediately, unslinging his bow and drawing it taut, an arrow already nocked and leveled at Wellane’s captain.
Byron paled, hands tightening on his horse’s reins. The beast snorted and tossed its head. “What is the meaning of this?”
Sir Easome snarled and drove his horse between Calix and Byron. “Your Majesty, please. This is what the Enemy wants: to divide us, to make us suspicious of our own.”
Aldric narrowed his eye. “How can I not be suspicious, with the Count of Wellane’s ships sailing into Goldreach from the north as we speak?”
Easome stared at him as if he had gone mad.
Byron’s brow furrowed. “Those aren’t our ships. We’re a landlocked county. Those are Lord Beaumont’s—” He stopped, clearly realizing his mistake.
There was no way he could have seen the banners from where he sat. No way he could know the ships belonged to Tiberius Beaumont.
Not unless he had already known.
Byron’s hand shot toward his belt and ripped free the hunting horn strapped there. He managed to blast a single, strangled note.
Before Calix’s arrow tore through his throat.
Movement rippled through the soldiers. Some broke rank—both yellow tabards and blue. Confusion choked the air. Someone screamed. First, one body crumpled to the earth. Then two. Then three.
“On me!” Aldric roared, unharnessing his glaive.
Too late, he heard the telltale whistle of arrows flying through the air, coming in from his blind side. He gritted his teeth and wrenched Mourn around, just in time to see Sir Easome hunch over him, shield raised.
Projectiles smashed against steel.
