What would his uncle say about that? And would Leif care?
What didshethink of it? She didn’t know, save the sight of them put an odd fluttering in her belly.
“They’re impressive warriors,” someone said beside her, and it was an effort not to startle.
The voice was masculine, the accent soft and lilting, and that told her the speaker’s identity before she turned her head. It was still somehow shocking to see Cassius the Selesee prisoner standing at her elbow, the silver cuffs on his wrists glimmering in the predawn light. How had she not heard his approach? The chain that hung between the cuffs, long enough to allow him to tend to basic human needs, but not so long as to allow him to wield a sword, was held in both his hands, preventing it from jangling as he’d walked. The ankle bracelets and their chain were altogether absent.
Amelia waited for a surge of alarm that didn’t come. Thus far, Cassius had been the most accommodating of prisoners. Quiet, polite, uncomplaining, and as helpful as anyone could have asked when it came to providing information on Sel tactics, troop movements, and fighting style. He’d been so helpful, in fact, that Reggie had exploded just two nights before, where they all stood around a table spread with maps in Amelia’s tent.
“Have you all gone mad?” he’d demanded. “Why is he here? Why have we not slit his throat and dumped him in a ditch along the roadside?” Veins had stood stark in his throat, his nostrils had flared, and his eyes had glittered with a wild,terrified light that not even a consummate performer like him could have faked. Due to the warmth of the afternoon, he’d unlaced his leather jerkin and the shirt beneath; the scar at his throat had looked dark as a fresh bruise in the dimness of the tent.
Connor had taken him by the arm, and murmured something too low for the rest of them to hear. “No!” Reggie had hissed, face growing redder, and snatched his arm free. But Connor had persisted, and guided him outside the tent. When Amelia saw Reggie later, his face had a distinct tight, shiny look to it she recognized all too well, but he’d been calmer, and hadn’t said another word about Cassius.
She knew Reggie’s outburst was the result of his personal, deeply disturbing history with the Sels. But he wasn’t wrong about the risk even one of their number posed. Given the Selesee penchant for magic, he could have been hiding any number of booby traps, or been in constant contact with some powerful lord or general who was even now planning to attack them.
But she’d had men strip search Cassius, and pore over his clothes and his weapons and the few supplies he’d carried on his person before dressing him in good Southern clothes, no weapons provided. She’d had Leif and Ragnar question him as a means of getting near enough to sense the presence of magic – which Ragnar had assured he would be able to “sniff out” if he had been bespelled or could manipulate magic himself. Their conclusion was that he was entirely mortal, and entirely normal.
He traveled in the back of one of the supply wagons, rather than on horseback, monitored by guards round the clock, bound at ankles and wrists.
His ankle shackles were gone, now, and there wasn’t a guard in sight. Still, once Amelia’s initial startle reflex settled, she found that she wasn’t alarmed by his presence.
He turned to face her, his narrow, pale face and silvery hair bleached further by the early hour. Though limp and trending toward greasy from a lack of proper washing, his hair was combed and tied neatly back at the crown, highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw, the narrowness of his chin. He was so startlingly different from the flushed, sweating, steam-breathing men sparring before them that Amelia felt an odd surge of kinship: both of them had been drawn across the dew-soaked grass to witness a spectacle of masculine, Northern warfare beyond their ken.
“They are,” Amelia agreed, and turned back toward the action in time to watch Leif send Ragnar staggering back with a series of forceful underhanded blows.Clack, clack, crack. “In the South, in my lifetime at least, the men are raised as nobles first, and knights second. It appears to be the other way round in the North.”
He hummed in agreement. “Warriors first, nobles second.”
She thought of what he’d told her the night she first questioned him: that he’d been raised as nothing but a soldier, housed with other orphan boys who’d been bred and trained for a singular purpose. His composure, the soft, thoughtful timbre of his voice, clashed with that idea astoundingly.
Perhaps he truly was a spy.
Ragnar ducked, sprang back, and then surged forward with a quick backhanded strike that Leif didn’t manage to block. He grunted when the end of the staff smacked off his bicep with a heavy sound, then twirled his own staff around and swung a hard downward swipe at Ragnar’s head. He dodged it, but barely, laughing and swearing.
Cassius drew breath and said, “I suppose you’re wondering where my guards are this morning.” Casual, but with an undercurrent of guilt.
“The thought did cross my mind.”
A sideways glance proved he was frowning, a small, downward curve at the corner of his mouth that made him look thoughtful and serious. Again: if this was an act, it was a convincing one. “Lords William and Henry were tasked with guarding me overnight.”
“They aren’tlords, Cassius. ‘Misters’ will suffice.”
“Lords William and Henry,” he persisted, “began playing a dice game of some sort to pass the time. Each of them had a flagon of wine, and they began drinking, and, well…they’re rather indisposed this morning.”
“They’re unconscious, you mean.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Amelia nodded, and made a mental note to stick William and Henry with latrine duty for the next fortnight. “That sort of thing can happen, on campaign. But I’m afraid it doesn’t explain your lack of ankle shackles.” She lifted her brows, expectant.
“Ah. Yes. Well.” It was hard to tell, given the silver morning, but his cheeks were so pale she thought she saw him blush. The near corner of his mouth tugged to the side, not really a smile. “I may have availed myself of the key, which was hanging quite helpfully on Lord William’s belt.”
Make that latrine duty for the rest of hislife.
Amelia swallowed down a swell of alarm, relieved and surprised when it didn’t resurge. She was concerned, but not frightened. Not panicking.
“So,” she said, “you waited until they passed out, then nicked the key from William’s belt, unlocked your shackles, and, what, went for a little dawn walk?”
“Only the leg shackles. I left these.” He hoisted his wrists in demonstration.
