Modina cut her off. “They’re as dear to me as daughters. Allie’s father is on a very important mission and I promised I would watch over her until his return. Mercy is—” She hesitated briefly. She had never said it in the girl’s presence before. “She is an orphan, from the north, and one of the first to see the elves attack.”
“Speaking of elves…” Russell continued where his wife had left off.
“Yes, Allie is of elvish descent. Her father saved her from a slave ship bound for Calis.”
“And you’ve got no problem with that?” Russell asked.
“Why would I? Allie is a sweet little girl. We’ve grown quite fond of each other. Haven’t we?” Modina brushed a loose strand of hair behind a pointed ear.
The girl nodded and smiled.
“Her father may have to fight me for her when he gets back.” Modina smiled at them both. “And where have you two mischief-makers been?”
“In the kitchen, playing with Red.”
Modina raised an eyebrow. “With Mr. Rings?”
“They get along fine,” Mercy said. “Although…”
“What?”
Mercy hesitated to speak, so Allie stepped forward. “Mercy is trying to get Red to let Mr. Rings ride on his back. It’s not going so well. Mr. Thinly chased us out after Red knocked over a stack of pans.”
Modina rolled her eyes. “You are a pair of monsters, aren’t you?”
Lena began to cry and put her arms around Russell, who held her.
“What?” Modina asked, going to Lena.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” Russell spoke for her. “The girls—you know—she misses the twins. We almost lost Tad too, didn’t we, boy?”
Tad, who was still looking out the window, turned and nodded. He had not said a word, and the Thaddeus Bothwick Modina remembered had never been quiet.
“We survived all those terrible nights in Dahlgren,” Lena said, sobbing. “But living in Alburn killed my little girls and now—and now…”
“You’re going to be all right,” Modina told her. “I’ll see to that.”
Russell looked at her, nodding appraisingly. “Damned if you ain’t your father’s daughter. Theron would be real proud of you, Thrace. Real proud.”
Renwick had no idea what to do. For the third day in a row, he was confused and uncomfortable. He wanted to return to Amberton Lee, but the empress forbade him. The elven army would be between them now. He tried to resume his castle page duties only to discover he was not wanted, once more due to an edict from the empress. Apparently he had no assigned duties.
He wore a new tunic, far nicer than any he had ever had before. He ate wonderful meals and slept right under Sir Elgar and across from Sir Gilbert of Lyle, in a berth in the knights’ dormitories.
“You’ll get work plenty soon enough, lad,” Elgar told him. He and Sir Gilbert were at the table, engaged in a game of chess that Gilbert was winning easily. “When those elves arrive, you’ll be earning your keep.”
“Hauling buckets of water to the gate for the soldiers,” Renwick said dismally.
“Hauling water?” Elgar questioned. “That’s page work.”
“I am a page.”
“Hah! Is that a page’s bed you sleep in? Is that a page’s tunic? Are you eating page meals? Slopping out the stables? You were a page, but the empress has her eye on you now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are in her favor, and you won’t be hauling no water.”
“But what—”
“Can you handle a blade, boy?” Gilbert asked while sliding a pawn forward and making Elgar shift uneasily in his seat.
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Sir Malness never let me—”
“Malness? Malness was an idiot,” Elgar growled.
“Probably why he broke his neck falling off his horse,” Gilbert said.
“He was drinking,” Renwick pointed out.
“He was an idiot,” Elgar repeated.
“It doesn’t matter,” Gilbert said. “When the fight begins, we’ll need every man who can hold a blade. You might have been a page yesterday, but tomorrow you will be a soldier. And with the eye of the empress on you—fight well, and you may find yourself a knight.”
“Don’t fill his head with too much nonsense,” Elgar said. “He’s not even a squire.”
“I squired for Sir Hadrian.”
“Hadrian isn’t a knight.”
A horn sounded and all three scrambled out of the dormitory and raced past the droves of refugees to the front hall. They pushed out into the courtyard, looking to the guards at the towers.
“What is it?” Elgar called to Benton.
The tower guard heard his voice and turned. “Sir Breckton and the army have returned. The empress has gone to welcome them home.”
“Breckton,” Gilbert said miserably. “Com’on, Elgar, we have a game to finish.”