Amarande said nothing, gazing steadily at the masked figure but not responding in any way. The Warlord drew in an annoyed breath—yet again, she wished for a hostage who played along.
“If that did not impress you, perhaps tonight’s fire pit ceremony will—I will see to it that you have a front-row seat.” The Warlord turned away but paused, as if she had forgotten to mention something. “Perhaps your precious Luca will attend.”
CHAPTER43
THEY’Dhammered out a plan on the long journey. It was solid. But it also meant Luca did have to hide—if only for a little while. He’d only show his face when the time was right. Ula ran point on everything. Setting up camp with the others, reluctantly stowing away the horses in the corral, and mapping the site as it stood.
From their location, they had a straight shot to the fire pit, the Warlord’s tent, and the prison carts, all nicely lined up around the ashen lip. Easy kindling for the great flames.
Luca had heard the Warlord’s threat with his own ears, yes. But he would not put it past a power-hungry woman like that not to abandon her own plan and toss Amarande to her death simply for the spectacle. His was a heart that always bent toward the greater good, but by necessity he had to plan for the greater evil and all its whims.
Tonight. Tomorrow. Ever after with Amarande. If all went as planned.
Under the tight panel of linen wrapping his stitched skin and back wound, his breath caught. How had Koldo done this for twenty years? The buildup, the climax and plans and actions of others one could not control? It all felt as if they’d made camp atop the Innkeeper’s vaunted compost pile, grains of sands pulling them to the stars above, or destiny for the ages.
“Miguel,my hands are full!” Ula called from outside the carriage.
Luca undid the latch and held the entrance flap as she shouldered in with a jug of water from the Warlord’s rationed supply, and two plates of stewed meat; cured olives, briny with vinegar; and a pair of small bread loaves, piping hot.
Luca took the plates and set them down as she reached within the folds of her tunic and pulled out a small map. “Petri is off with the map and instructions. Everything will be in its place.” That was a relief—they weren’t sure they’d be able to get a rider out while escaping notice. Ula gestured to the plate before him. “Here, eat.”
Luca didn’t move to feed himself. “And Ama?”
“Tiger in a cage. As gorgeous and deadly as ever.”
Luca’s dimples flashed. “Rub it in that I can’t see her for myself, will you?”
“Had to.” Ula grinned, pouring herself a cup of water as she rattled off all she’d observed. “Injured hand, no weapons, cell cart mates with Taillefer. I didn’t get too close because she had a crowd.”
Of course.
“They took the wheels off her carriage. The other cell carts, too. Locks and guards. Don’t want any Ardenia-hating idiot tipping her into the fire if she’s the ticket to an empire.”
“Or they want to have enough people around to heave her in if her mother doesn’t agree to the Warlord’s terms.”
She mock gasped. “Look at you with the dark thoughts—I never thought I’d see the day.”
Optimism, which had always colored his world, had most definitely taken on a new shade of late. Luca was unsure if he’d actually changed or if the shift in perspective gained through his recent past had darkened the corners.
“It’s hard to see the best in people when those jockeying for power intend to show you their worst.”
“Eyes on the prize, Miguel.” She tossed an olive at him. “When their backs are turned and their eyes blinded by their precious fire, our blades will be ready.”
CHAPTER44
IThad been days and King Ferdinand was still thinking.
About war—it was certainly coming.
The caracaras—winged messengers—from the watchers in the Warlord’s ring were definitive. Queen Inés had murdered nearly everyone in sight at her wedding. Although she had captured three crowns, her first order of business was to collect a fourth.
In less than a day, her armada would arrive in the port carrying her combined armies whose manpower, if not skill, eclipsed that of Ardenia’s famed army. Which was currently spread thin across three borders. Well, two—the soldiers keeping watch over Myrcell had arrived at the castle. And though these soldiers were of the caliber only Sendoa and Koldo could have created, they weren’t enough.
Not to fortify the port. Not to fortify the castle. And definitely not both at once.
No matter how superior, how well trained, there was no way for the Ardenian army to win against an opponent at least three times its size, if not more.
Ferdinand had laid the whole scenario out on a large table in the king’s sitting room with his father’s maps and figurines—Bear, Mountain Lion, Shark, Tiger—and guessed at the numbers. He had his father’s estimates of the other kingdoms’ resources in the records he found in the library, but Ferdinand did not know how many enemy soldiers sat at the borders, staring down Koldo’s regiments. Or how many had been present at the wedding of Domingu and Inés. Defection was possible, too—these men had offered their lives to fight for King Domingu and King Akil, not the woman who had poisoned their wine and slit the throat of anyone who did not bend the knee.
