At a wave of dismissal from the king, Johan dipped out of the room. Alarik chose the nearest chair and reached for a pastry, washing it down with a slug of coffee.
There. The blackness of his mood faded to a misty grey.
Captain Vine sunk into the chair opposite him, and all four of them leaned forward to pour over the map. It depicted the upper territories of Gevra, the north border sketched as an unbroken line of dark peaks that marked the Blackspire Mountains, and beyond it, the unchartered plains of Vask.
Elias placed red pins in six spots along the mountain range. ‘Spies have been detained here, here and here,’ he said, skewering the parchment. ‘And five more in the tunnels themselves.’
‘What are they after?’ muttered Alarik. ‘Is Regna so poor that she must scrabble in our dirt for ore?’
Elias pressed his lips together, frowning.
‘Something tells me her ambitions are far grander than that,’ said Vesper, uneasily.
Alarik was inclined to agree. Regna was clearly up to something. Or rather, searching for something. Inhiskingdom.
He hissed, his anger mirrored by Captain’s Vine’s clenched fist. The lemon inside it split open, releasing a burst of citrus.
‘They will cross the border eventually. And continue south,’ said Alarik, tracking a pathway from the Blackspires all the way to Grinstad Palace. ‘A two-day march in fair weather.’
‘Fair weather?’ Elias snorted. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘Forget the weather. She’ll be dead before she sets foot on Hunter’s Pass,’ said Vine, with the kind of stirring confidence that had made Alarik promote her in the first place. ‘Our army will maim hers.’
‘They’ll have to do it with their swords and bows,’ said Vesper, uneasily. ‘We can’t use fire lances that close to the mines. The tunnels will collapse.’
‘We’ll have our beasts,’ said Vine, and all four of them glanced at the empty chair.
Where the hell was she?
Alarik reminded himself of the treacherous blizzards that had swarmed Gevra these past weeks, ripping through the seas and yanking trees from the ground. No doubt they had made for a choppy crossing from Carrig. Still, impatience gnawed at him.
He looked to Elias. ‘Forget Regna’s spies. Where are her troops?’
Elias shook his head. ‘Not yet at the Blackspires.’
‘Then push your scouts further north. Send them into Vask. I want to know her numbers. Her weaponry.’
Elias raised his brows. ‘And if she catches them?’
‘Then you’re not very good at your job, Elias.’ Alarik levelled him with a hard look. ‘You’re the best spymaster on the northern continent. Are you not?’
Elias bristled. ‘Onallcontinents.’
Growing up as the unclaimed bastard son of King Soren’s youngest brother had made Elias hungry to prove himself at court. It was Alarik who had given him the opportunity, time and time again. Elias had not failed him yet.
‘I want numbers. Positions. The full scope of her plan, as best you can get it.’ He looked to Vine.‘Start the soldiers on battle drills. From today.’
‘We eat, sleep and breathe battle drills,’ said Vine.
The king almost smiled. ‘The first archer to bring me a dead Vaskan eagle gets a month’s wages on the spot.’
Vine smirked. ‘I’ll hike the Fovarrs myself if the coin’s that good.’
Vesper turned to the king, not wanting to be outdone. ‘I’m still working on our fire lances. But the range should be three times as far as our cannons.’
Alarik noted her twitching fingers. ‘You’re nervous, Vesper.’
She hesitated.
