He did his best not to think about it. Neither the stabbing nor what had happened after. The sight of Sera tending to his wounded foot like a medic rather than a queen. The bright soundof her laughter as she played Sovereign late into the night with his sister.
No. He couldn’t think about that right now. He couldn’t think aboutherright now. She was far too distracting, and he had a job to do.
His one-eyed gaze scraped across his wife’s soldiers as they drilled together in the yard. Some were clearly seasoned. Others a little too seasoned. Yet more were fresh from the fields—farm boys without a lick of training or natural skill.
He could only hope the reinforcements marching in from the north would be more impressive, or Arlund was certain to be a massacre.
“You said there was a report of a witch in Arlund,” he reminded Sir Easome, wheeling his attention that way. “Just the one?”
The Lord Constable grunted. “Just the one.”
Leif clicked his tongue and paused in the midst of smuggling another chunk of raw meat straight from his pocket into Soot’s waiting maw. The black-scaled usuru purred from where he was warmly tucked within his Son’s jerkin, being spoiled rotten.
In Kunishi, Leif observed,“No experience with the fire women.”
The people of Kuni had no word for “witch.”
Aldric grunted. The most he and his men had ever had to contend with was the occasional Fangtalker. And he had a feeling these witches, with their foul flame and unholy blades, would be a good deal more annoying to deal with.
There was no point in complaining about it, though.
“We will soon,”he rumbled back.
Duke Percival leveled a sharp look at the both of them. “In the common tongue, if you don’t mind.”
Aldric had half a mind to ignore the Lord Chancellor. He outranked the man. There was no need forhimto cater to his kirei’s godfather. And yet, “We were discussing the fact that we have no experience handling a witch.”
Sir Easome grimaced. “Neither do we.”
Aldric arched an eyebrow. “What’s your strategy, then?” he asked the Lord Constable.
But it was Duke Percival who answered, “Pray for rain.”
It took him a few moments to realize the old man wasn’t joking.
Calix and Rakon shared a glance, saying nothing. He could guess what they were thinking, though. Probably the same thing he was.
This wasn’t going to end well.
“Your Highness!” a voice called out, floating toward him on the chill wind. His shoulders stiffened at the sound.Sera.
With a twitch of the reins, he brought Mourn around to face the beautiful woman riding toward him atop her sleek palfrey, her cheeks pink with the cold. Queensguard wreathed her as ever. In her wake trailed a handful of mounted ladies-in-waiting, who looked perfectly miserable bundled up in their fur cloaks.
For once, there was no sight of her godmother. Nor her attack rat.
Sir Easome, Duke Percival, and his Sons bowed and murmured their greetings from atop their horses. Sera barely spared them apassing glance. Her eyes were all for him when she drew her mare up short and asked, “Well? What do you think?”
That if your goal is to water the fields of Arlund with Elmorian blood, you’re well on your way to achieving it.But he couldn’t say that. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted hope. Strategy.
A miracle.
“You don’t want to know what I think,” he rumbled to her under his breath.
Immediately, his wife’s porcelain features hardened into cool marble. “On the contrary, I do.” Nudging her mare forward, she rode away from him by several paces. When her godfather and Queensguard made to follow, she insisted, “I wish to speak with my husband alone.”
Husband.
Against his better judgment, his pulse quickened as he rode after her, the weight of Duke Percival’s eyes boring into his back.
