Around them seethed a sea of dun-colored uniforms just like her own, save the markings of rank. It was nearly all Wien House, nearly all Arden with just a splash of Mystwerk black here and there. No Temple white at all. Which was probably a good thing.
“Is everything on the table?” Lila said, looking around for more takers. “All right, then. You ready?” she said, looking across the table at Tourant.
The commander nodded, his face shiny with sweat, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his ale.
“Hey, now,” Lila said, grinning. “No worries. I’ll cover your tab out of my winnings.”
He flushed russet. “Go!” he said, tipping back his head, gulping noisily.
Lila shook back her hair, opened her throat, and poured the ale down. She thunked down her glass moments before Tourant did. “You lose,” she said, scooping up her share of the money, leaving enough on the table to cover the drinks. This was timely, at least. She’d been thinking she’d need some traveling money.
Tourant slammed his hands down on the table, going white with fury. Funny how he could change colors like that.
“You—you—you—” Turning away, he scooped up a fresh tankard, drew off some ale from a smallish keg, then thrust it into Lila’s face. “Try this one. Lieutenant Rochefort brought it all the way from Ardenscourt.”
“Did he, now? Does he have his own brewery? Raising a little money for the war effort?” Lila accepted the tankard with the exaggerated care of someone who’s a bit lushy already. Peering into it, she saw a muddy brown brew, with a rather musty nose to it. Not as top-shelf as she’d expected.
She looked up to find Tourant watching her. “Where is this Lieutenant Rochefort, anyway?” she said. “I’m eager to meet him.”
“He’ll be here,” Tourant said. “Soon. He had some business to attend to.” He gestured toward the ale. “What do you think?”
Lila made a show of gulping some down, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “It’s quite . . . complex, isn’t it?” she said.
“Indeed,” Tourant said, smirking. “It’s not the usual Tamric swill.” His gaze shifted so that he was looking over Lila’s shoulder. “Here’s Rochefort now. You can thank him in person.”
Lila swung around, coming face-to-face with the newcomer. In contrast to Tourant’s plumage, the visitor’s clothing was finely made but subdued, without the markings of rank. He had a lean, sinuous build and fine-boned, artist’s hands. His skin was pale and unmarked, as if it had never seen sunlight. His eyes were hazel—oddly pale under thick dark lashes, and his hair was the same color as his ale.
Blood and bones, she thought. Destin Karn. What are you doing here?
“Lila Barrowhill, may I introduce Lieutenant Denis Rochefort,” Tourant said, seeming eager to make it a three-way. “Lieutenant, this is Cadet Barrowhill. The one I told you about.” His eye twitched, and Lila realized that Tourant was trying to wink and not quite succeeding.
Lila had been working with Destin Karn for two years now—long enough to know that the younger Karn was a chameleon of a man, who could play any part, who could take on the colors of his surroundings. Just as he was doing at that very moment. She just wasn’t sure who the real Karn was.
Destin’s father, Marin Karn, was commander of the Ardenine army and of the military campaigns against Tamron, Delphi, and the Fells. He was the architect of Arden’s captive mage program, in which they used flashcraft collars to force wizards to fight alongside them. Both Karns were wizards who had found a way to survive and thrive in a land that despised magic. Naturally, they’d managed to avoid taking the collar themselves.
“Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Rochefort,” Lila said, putting on a fierce, brilliant smile that said she wasn’t pleased at all. Setting her ale on the table, she extended her hand. Destin hesitated, as if worried about her intentions, then took it. His palm was smooth, uncalloused, and delivered a definite sting of wizardry. Magic was the weapon he wielded on behalf of his king.
Destin kept hold of her hand, his eyes fixed on Lila. “Tourant was right,” he murmured, his lips twitching with amusement. “You are quite lovely—such an exotic mingling of races. We don’t have officers like you at home.”
Lila bit back the first retort that came to mind. “No,” Lila said, withdrawing her hand. “You don’t.” Destin was having fun at Tourant’s expense—always a good thing—but that didn’t excuse his showing up here like this. She needed to get rid of Tourant, so they could have a heart-to-heart.
“While we’re on the subject of physical gifts,” Lila said loudly, “I must point out Proficient Tourant’s very impressive ass. Nobody fills his breeches like he does. Turn around, Tourant, and give the lieutenant a look.” Lila described a circle in the air with her forefinger and raised her eyebrows.
Horror and rage chased embarrassment across Tourant’s face.
“And did you notice his skin—it’s the color of roasted beets.”
The commander backed away, spluttering, unable to manage a suitable retort.