Darnessa also watched from nearby, wearing the sharp look Sage associated with sizing people up. Sage drifted over to stand beside her.
“Are those the wagons?” Sage pointed to the plain carts pulled alongside one another. “I thought they’d be fancier.” The ten or so wagon drivers and attendants wore simple clothing—brown breeches and vests over white linen shirts.
“They’ll dress them up tomorrow,” said Darnessa. “Have you ever seen soldiers before?”
“Not to remember.” Soldiers posted west of the mountains stayed mostly in Tasmet and had frequent clashes with Kimisara. While Uncle William may have sworn fealty and carried a sword, these men lived that vow in a way her uncle never had to. Sage shivered with the thought of what their blades may have already experienced.
“That’s the captain there, with the gold on his collar.” Darnessa gestured to a rider with dark hair. His features were handsome, at least from this distance, his bearing proud. The matchmaker eyed her sideways. “General Quinn’s son. Quite a catch.”
No doubt.
General Quinn had married the sister of the previous queen. Those weddings and several others at the time had pulled the richest families in Aristel into a tight alliance, which proved critical in defeating Kimisara’s last major attempt to invade a few years later. The more she learned about matching, the more Sage suspected the nation was held together by it.
She frowned as the young man directed some of the handling. “Do you think his father sent him to the Corcordium to be matched? He can’t be old enough.”
“I’m not sure. He won’t be eligible for three years.”
“Bit long for an engagement,” said Sage. “Should I bother putting him in the book?”
Darnessa nodded. “It’s rare for soldiers to come close enough for us to size them up. Go ahead and make pages for each officer.”
Just then a bell tolled, announcing the noon meal. The Baron of Galarick had provided the ladies their own room for dining and entertaining themselves, but Sage was loath to join them. “I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll just grab a bit in the kitchens and eat in the library, if you don’t mind.”
“As long as you actually eat. You’re too thin.” Darnessa squeezed Sage’s arm.
Sage twisted away. She was so used to the matchmaker judging people, it was hard to tell whether she was being critical or motherly, and neither made her comfortable. “I will.”
Darnessa left her alone, and Sage watched the soldiers for a few more minutes, feeling a strange envy. The men below all moved and acted with a sense of purpose, whereas she always felt lost. True, the matchmaker kept her busy, and true, Sage sometimes enjoyed her work even though she would never admit it, yet Darnessa wasn’t much different from Uncle William in the way Sage was bound to her. The soldiers were also bound to the commands of others, but it was by their choice, and they all played an important role in every mission, if not the fate of the nation.
Sage tapped a rhythm on the wooden rail in front of her. She was good at teaching; perhaps Darnessa could recommend her to a wealthy family—not this year, but maybe at the next Concordium. The matchmaker would probably retire then, and Sage would be old enough for people to take her seriously. Depending on who hired her, she might be able to have her own home.
She’d taken this job out of desperation and questioned it often despite Darnessa’s assurance that she was suited for it. Now she saw it was the best decision she’d made in a long time. It was a step toward freedom.
Sage smiled and set off to find her ledger. She had work to do.
12
DUKE MORROW D’AMIRAN watched the sunset from the northwest tower of the massive stone fortress, his back to the hazy, narrow Tegann Pass. Spring had struggled to take hold of the landscape this year. Only the scattered evergreens produced any color on the slopes, which rose sharply behind him like a granite curtain.
His pale-blue eyes followed the man striding boldly across the drawbridge, pausing as the portcullis was raised to let him in. The Kimisar’s clothing was as colorless as the land, the edges of him indistinct against the background. D’Amiran stroked his blackened beard as he searched the shadowy woods for signs of the other Kimisar he knew were out there. Only one was visible, and after a few seconds the duke realized he was looking at a fallen tree rather than a soldier in wait. It disturbed him to see the Kimisar were so efficient at hiding, though as they were his allies now, he should be pleased.
This alliance was distasteful, but Kimisara’s desperation made for more agreeable terms. At the moment the southern nation wanted only food, though once it was back on its feet, he had little doubt Kimisara would return to nibbling away at the Tasmet province, if not mounting another full campaign to take it back. They could have it as far as he was concerned; only the rich deposits of copper to the south were worth keeping. The dukedom belonged to his family as a reward for his father’s service in the Great War forty years ago, but it was almost an insult. While it seemed grand on paper, the land was drab, rocky, and barren. As a child raised in Mondelea, he’d taken one look at the fortress and land that was to be his new home and wept.
He’d expected his father to be angry over those tears, but he’d only taken him aside and explained it was nothing compared to the centuries of humiliation his family had already survived after being ousted from the throne by the Devlin family. This place was only a stepping-stone to taking back what was rightfully theirs. I may not see the day, he said. But you will.
His father had been right about the first part. The Spirit had claimed him eleven years later, and Morrow suffered several setbacks as both he and his younger brother were prevented from advancing through military ranks—Rewel had failed to even make lieutenant. Blocked by the rising star of General Pendleton Quinn, the king’s new pet, on the battlefield and in marriage. But if the duke had learned anything in his forty-three years, it was that not all battles were won in direct ways. Sometimes they were achieved, as with the steady rise and fall of the ocean tide he watched in his youth, benign and reliable—useful, even—until one day it tore away the side of a cliff.
The tide was coming in. He only needed to be patient a little longer.
Footsteps behind him called D’Amiran’s attention to his guest’s arrival on the tower platform. Two guards flanked the foreigner as he met their nobleman for the first time. Neither the mistrust of his host nor the grandeur of his surroundings appeared to unsettle him. He stood with his arms crossed and his feet planted, the rough weave of his cloak hanging off his broad shoulders to his knees.