“AndIwaswonderingifIcouldgowithyou,” she said quickly.
Alex shook his head. “Sage, we already discussed this.”
Like hell they’d discussed it. “But I can keep up, and I won’t be in the way. Please?”
“You won’t be in the way because you won’t be there.”
“But—”
“I said no.” Alex went back to writing. “You’re not to leave the camp. Do not ask again.”
Sage hadn’t expected him to say yes, but the curt rejection still stung. She left without another word, and went two rows over to watch and wait. It was late, and most in the camp were down for the night. Alex was the only officer still awake. After ten minutes, the lantern in the command tent moved. Alex came out, the light in one hand and Sage’s packet of letters in the other. She edged behind a wall of canvas and waited until he was settled in his own tent for several minutes before creeping back.
The key to a convincing deception, as Sage had learned last year, was to be honest wherever possible. Not only did it reduce the number of lies one had to keep track of, the vulnerability that often came with truth generated empathy in those being deceived. Her letters to Clare were genuine in observation and feeling, even when it came to describing her frustration with Alex and being trapped within the camp perimeter. Part of her hoped he would actually listen to her complaints. The best decoys weren’t fake all by themselves.
Inside the dark command tent, Sage dropped to her knees and felt around for the satchel. Alex had moved the courier’s bag when he added his last letters and removed hers, but it wasn’t far from where she’d last seen it. Quickly, she stuffed the bag’s contents into her tunic, then located Alex’s commander’s seal and tucked it in her sleeve. After a quick listen for anyone nearby, she slipped back out and walked casually to her own tent.
She had to hurry. Not only did she have to read everything in the dozen small packets and reseal them, she had to add what was relevant to her already thick report to the queen. Then she had to return everything to the command tent and leave the satchel a little fuller. Hopefully Alex wouldn’t notice the extra contents when he replaced her letters in the morning. So far he hadn’t.
30
THE NORSARI DID indeed move south. They traveled so swiftly that Huzar had trouble keeping up, but he also lost time seeking out several Kimisar in the region. His tactic of scattering the soldiers had paid off—all were alive and accounted for, and he was able to assemble a nebulous reconnaissance picture along the way. The most helpful information came from the men who knew the area. Demora had doubled its roaming detachments since he’d left a trail south last summer. That would make what Huzar planned trickier, but ironically, the increased movement of Demoran troops would enable him to better cover the tracks of his own force.
When the Norsari began to set up what looked like a permanent camp, Huzar ordered his second-in-command to draw the rest of the men together by the next fading quarter moon. The Demorans would be focused on training for the next few weeks, but the longer Huzar waited, the more the Kimisar risked discovery. Also the more likely the Norsari would be ready to respond, which meant certain death for his men.
Huzar found a hot spring high in the hills west of the Norsari camp and made his observations from there. The area smelled foul due to the sulfur vents in the rocks, but that meant it was less likely to be diligently patrolled, and without the spring he wouldn’t have been able to bear the cold, fireless nights. His biggest challenge was boredom. The days were long when all he could do was wait and watch. As with everything men did, there was a pattern to be exploited. All he needed to do was find it.
The more he observed, the more urgently he wanted to act. Every day the Norsari below grew stronger. Quinn was rather clever to have put his camp where he did—the variety of landscapes made for excellent training. Huzar watched groups of them leave the main camp for days at a time, always going east into the marsh—perhaps as far as the Beskan Gorge—or south across the river, though they hadn’t appeared to venture beyond the trees and into Casmun. Once they came toward him in the west, but never too close for comfort. The stench was his ally. He’d have to remember to bathe or they would smell him coming.
Huzar had several options brewing in his mind. The Kimisar were outnumbered not quite two to one, and his men hadn’t worked together in months. They weren’t nearly cohesive enough to take on those kinds of odds, especially against Norsari. Though it was risky, Huzar planned to divide his men and attack in a way that drew most of the Norsari away from the camp. The squires would be left behind with a smaller force, the prince among them.
Once they had the boy, Captain Quinn might be willing and able to arrange Huzar’s passage himself. His father was the commander on the other side, so he’d certainly know who to talk to over there.
The Kimisar could be home by midsummer.
Home.
31
ALEX SAT IN a rowboat, drifting with the current. The day was cool and breezy, but sweat oozed from every pore on his body. He shivered violently with cold and fear, waiting for what he knew was coming. Shouts and crashes echoed off the rocks around him, growing louder as he approached a bend in the river. He gripped his sword in his right hand while the left steered the boat with an oar.
Almost there.
But he knew what he would see. He saw it every night.
The clash of swords drew his attention to the left bank, where Casseck battled three Kimisar, his back to Alex. Though Cass fought well, he was losing ground, and he’d retreated within a few steps of the river. He had nowhere to go.
Alex directed the boat to help him. He could get there in time, except—
A hoarse cry came from the opposite bank, and Alex turned to see Sage struggling with Duke D’Amiran. It was no use, though—her hands were tied, her face bloody and bruised, a knife held to her throat.
Charlie’s small body lay at her feet, his blood staining the sand.
*
Alex forced his eyes open and jerked to a sitting position on his cot, gasping. He swung his legs down and put his head between his knees and took several deep breaths, trying not to be sick. It was one of the few times he’d managed to wake up before the dream got worse, but he knew from experience he couldn’t go back to sleep or it would pick up where it left off.
Sometimes Sage and Charlie were reversed. Sometimes it was Gramwell or Tanner or another of his men fighting on the other side. But the choice was always the same.
He always chose the same side, yet it never mattered—everyone ended up dead.
Except him.
32
THE SIXTH DISPATCH had left two mornings ago, and Sage was beginning work on the seventh. It was hard to believe she’d been here for that long—and had so little to show for it. Each day that passed made her more antsy. Alex was obviously looking for something with all his patrols, but no one else seemed to know what he was finding, if anything. Without a sense of where to start, Sage had very little to investigate or report to Her Majesty. Most of her writing was to Clare, discussing what she’d learned from studying her copy of the trade agreements. A courier from the capital was expected any day now, and Sage was eager to hear what her friend had concluded in her own examination.
Also, she felt like she was being watched.