Cadmus rubbed his smooth, square jaw. “I don’t think he should command from the sky. His rank is too elevated. What is your name, young man?”
“Trevelyan,” Evander said. “Evander Trevelyan. From Allagesh.”
“Make him captain, then. I assume you know one another, from Silvanlight?”
“We know one another,” Evander said, but he couldn’t conceal his disgust. Cadmus noticed, and his eyes flicked between them, and then he glanced at the Cobblepinions. Their hatred of Haldir was palpable. Cadmus smiled.
“There you have it, General,” Cadmus said.
The general nodded. “Bournemuth, you’re to oversee the new Dread Five crew in their training. Trevelyan, you’ll be captain. Excellent.” He sighed, like he was checking an irritating chore off a to-do list.“And Colonel, I won’t have you killing anyone. Keep that shotfire in your belt. Do you have combat experience, Trevelyan?”
Haldir scoffed. Evander was prepared for this question and had already thought up a lie. “I was a mercenary for several years. On both sides.”
It was a risk—Cadmus could have Evander dragged out and executed on the spot. But Evander knew how tyrannical rulers thought, that they lived in constant fear that their loyal subjects would either see through them to the rot beneath their gild, or else grow weary of oppression and break free. A mercenary does neither. He works for gold, and gold is neither a tyrant nor benevolent. A mercenary can be trusted so long as the stakes are low enough and the pay is high enough.
“You fought for Ashkendor?” Cadmus asked.
“For a short time. But I disliked the pay, so I fought for you for a few years before I went to Silvanlight.”
“You must have been quite young?”
“I was.”
Haldir’s eyes bored into the side of Evander’s head, but Evander held Cadmus’s gaze unwavering.
“Excellent,” Cadmus said, relaxing. “Congratulations, you are now the captain of the Dread Five crew. Train them well. I may have a special job for them before the invasion.”
Evander tensed against a flinch. He hadn’t heard anything about an invasion. An invasion of what? Allagesh? Ashkendor?
He shot a glance at the conscripts, and his heart sank. He’d barely survived training them in Silvanlight, and now he had to prepare them for war?He had hoped to find Valenna and get out of Sennalaith, but if he left, who would take his place? Haldir, who shot young boys on the slightest provocation? For now, at least, he was a barrier between the five foolhardy children and that man’s hamfisted cruelty.
“I’ll summon you to the war council,” Cadmus said, clapping Evander on the shoulder. The friendliness of the gestureunsettled Evander. He was used to his mother, aloof and sadistic. Cadmus was almost warm.
The king turned and walked through the camp, the silver-haired general marching in stride behind him.
For a moment, Evander, Haldir, and the Cobblepinions stood in uncertain silence. When Haldir opened his mouth to give an order, Evander spun on him. “We have nothing to say to one another. Get out of my sight.”
“I am your commanding officer,” Haldir snarled. “I give the …”
“No!” Evander closed the space between them until his chest almost touched Haldir’s. “You may have bought a commission, but you and I know that I could riseabove your rank if I chose, because I am cleverer than you and I am better with dragons. If I am dead or demoted, then you”—he stabbed his finger into Haldir’s muscled chest—“will take my place. Do you want that? Commanding a dreadnought with a crew of vengeful children at your back?”
Haldir didn’t respond, but his face went as white as his teeth.
“I’ve had enough of you, Haldir. Bloody enough. You had best treat my life like it was your own, because it is. I live, and so do you. You tell Cadmus about me and Valenna, and you’ll be dead before I'm hanged, and you know it. You are a figurehead on this crew. That is all.”
Casting a nervous glance at the Cobblepine conscripts—now the Dread Five crew—Haldir shook his head and strode down the lane toward the mess hall.
Beckoned by the smell of bacon and fresh bread, the crew meandered toward the mess hall after him, talking excitedly. Evander followed them at an unsociable distance until Samara fell into stride beside him.
“If Haldir had shot you, you’d be fine,” she said.
“I beg to differ …”
“Really?” Samara skipped twice, like a child with a tantalizing secret. “As long as he hit you in the arms, back, or chest.”
“Clearly, you want to tell me why,” Evander said, impatient.
Samara balked. “If you’re going to use that tone, I won’t tell you.”
