“Of course.”
They’d all suspected that Izzy was taken for some special purpose none of them could quite predict, but it was more certain that she’d be kept close and not away at the fortress.
The tent flap popped open and Katya stepped in. He’d not seen her in nearly a year as she’d been working in the west of Pyros and reporting what she could about the queen’s movements within King Agnar’s regime. Much to Mikhail’s dislike, as the only female of the Bloodguard—especially wearing the close-fitting black leather garb and gear of a soldier, her dagger harness crossing her chest—she drew the eye. Especially Grant’s, it appeared.
“Captain.” She stopped in front of Mikhail with a tight nod. Pulling back her hood and shaking some of the snow piled on her cloak, her dark rope of a plait fell forward over her shoulder.
Grant crossed his arms and grinned. “Captain, if I’d known you were letting girls in the Bloodguard, I’d be asking to join.”
She tensed and swiveled her head in his direction. “And what makes you think we’d ask you to join—human?”
He put his palm over his heart. “Ouch.”
“Gentlemen,” Mikhail interrupted, trying to hide his grin. “This is Katya Romanov. My sister.”
Grant started, shrugging apologetically to Mikhail. Friedrich chuckled with his gaze to the ground.
“Katya, this is His Grace, Friedrich Volya and his brother, Grant.”
She gave them both a stiff nod of greeting.
“Lady Katya,” said Friedrich, giving her the title she deserved as a nobleman’s daughter.
“Just Katya, please.”
Grant winked. “Charmed.”
Katya narrowed her gaze then pivoted to Mikhail. “Barracks tents are complete. As well as for the horses. This blizzard was unexpected.”
“Indeed.” Mikhail was pleased Katya had returned from Pyros with over a hundred horses as promised. They’d need a strong cavalry to lead the advance. With the troops Lord Rathbone was assembling, they’d have a mighty force. “We’ll give the horses a night’s rest, then push on.”
“Yes, Captain. Any other orders?”
“I want to be sure we have a secure perimeter. Check with Dmitri about patrol duty.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mikhail,” she complained, then remembered herself. “I mean, Captain. He’ll give me the worst shift in the most difficult position.”
“He wants to challenge you.”
“You mean kill me.”
“Mother would kill him if he did.”
She huffed out a sigh. “If only I were so lucky.” Then she turned for the door and exited with a snap of the tent opening, a gust of frigid air sweeping in.
Friedrich turned to Grant. “You may have been charmed by her, but I don’t believe the feeling is mutual, brother.”
“Oh, give her time. Wait till she sees me in action with a blade.”
Mikhail chuckled. “Wait till you see her in action with a blade.”
“She’s good?” he asked.
“Let me put it this way. Gavril is by far the finest assassin with a blade in my entire Guard. Except for her.” Gavril’s skill with the blade had become legendary around the Black Lily camp. “She always bests him. She’d best you as well.”
“Heaven help me.” He clutched at his heart. “I think I’m in love.”
Friedrich and Mikhail laughed, when the tent flap opened again and Dmitri stepped in, shaking the snow off and stepping up to the low-burning fire on stones in the corner. Each of these wartime tents was made with a small, round ventilation flap that opened outward in the corner. The fires set in a dugout hearth and kept burning low to keep the temperature comfortable and even.
“Colder than a witch’s tit out there.” He rubbed his hands together over the fire. “I’ll freeze my stones off if I don’t take a break.”
Vampires could regulate their own body heat but extreme cold and drastic changes in temperature shocked their systems just as they would a human’s.
“Did you see Katya?”
Dmitri looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Aye.”
“Don’t start a row with her. I need everyone level-headed.”
“Who’s starting anything? I just gave her a patrol assignment. Like she asked.”
“Where?”
He waved a hand. “Over on the north peak.”
“Where the wind is blowing hardest.”
He turned, warming his back with a boyish shrug. “She wants to be treated like one of the men. Well, that’s what I’m doing.”
Mikhail sighed, pulling on his leather gloves. Sibling rivalry wasn’t what he needed on his mind right now. “I’ll make the rounds for a while. Did someone take your place on duty?”
“Yeah.” He blew into his cupped hands, heating them. “Gavril took my place at the eastern point of camp.”
Mikhail nodded to Friedrich and Grant. “Get some sleep if you can. We’ll ride hard tomorrow, no matter if this blizzard is still blowing or not.”
He flipped up his hood and headed out. Strangely, there was little snow falling now but a glacial gusting wind whipped the fresh layer into curling torrents. He pulled the kerchief tied around his neck up to his eyes to shield from the sting. There’d been no snow on the ground when they’d left the Grand Forum; the storm sweeping in supernaturally fast.
He froze and looked around, fear sliding down his spine like a trickle of ice. The tents were set in orderly rows. He listened above the screaming wind. Rumblings of men. Laughter. Shuffling of the horses in close quarters. Blades sharpening on whetstones. Nothing out of tune.
He marched directly toward Mina’s tent, stationed at the center of the encampment and surrounded by guards. He shot past the two out front and entered her tent, only to be stunned still by the sight within.
Mina sat on a carpet tossed on the ground by the stone hearth. She had uncoiled her crowning braids and brushed them out. Her hair fell in golden waves, shining by firelight like the rays of the sun.
She turned at the sound of him entering, a frown etched on her brow. “Mikhail.”
Warmth spread through his stiff limbs as she stood and came to him. For their journey, she’d changed from her formal gown and garments back into the dress Sienna had given her. She’d forgone the bodice, apparently readying for bed now in her bare feet. Sienna’s styling suited her well. He found her even more alluring than in her queenly garb.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.
She pressed her head into the crook of his shoulder, her body quivering.
“You’re cold.”
“I can’t seem to get warm enough.” Her voice was half muffled in his cloak. “I feel it even on the inside.”
“Come.” He took her hand in his gloved one and pulled her toward the cot, covered in a bear pelt, the inner lining smoothed and cured to the softness of silk. He knew because it was his pelt. He needed to know she’d be kept warm at night when he couldn’t be there to do the job himself, so he’d made sure the pelt found its way here.