Odd, that.
Sage walked around the wagon and waited her turn to climb in. With the rain, none of the ladies wanted to be close to the open back, so she took a seat nearest the rear gate, across from Clare.
Once the caravan started moving, Sage felt her suspicions that the soldiers expected something were on target. They started at noises and constantly scanned the trees along the side of the road. After about an hour of travel, a dog bolted off into the forest, and the caravan drew to an abrupt halt. The hound vanished into the brush, and every man stopped and waited.
Sage leaned outside to look. Carter stood on his bench seat, crossbow in the crook of his right arm. It might mean nothing except he’d learned to use both it and the sword with his right because most everyone else did, but somehow she doubted it. Why pretend to be left-handed with her?
He stared into the woods like the rest of the soldiers, an intense look of concentration on his face. She surveyed the trees but saw nothing. When she glanced back at Carter, she found him watching her.
He wasn’t smiling.
Sage ducked back under the wagon cover. Clare started from her doze and looked questioningly at her, and Sage shrugged back. The other ladies were oblivious, however, and complained at the delay. After several minutes the dog came trotting back like nothing was wrong, and the soldiers relaxed a little. Lieutenant Casseck rode down the line, telling all the men they’d responded well to the drill. Judging from the lingering anxiety on every face, it hadn’t been a drill at all.
Captain Quinn rode up beside their wagon, and Sage peeked around again to observe him, as he rarely came this close. She’d never seen him do anything resembling actual work, either. He carried himself as proud as royalty; she expected he’d been just as coddled his whole life as the actual prince. After speaking quietly to Carter, Quinn handed him something—a rolled scrap of parchment. Carter opened the note and frowned at it.
Sage leaned back out of sight, mind racing, hardly noticing the wagons were moving again. Maybe it was a diagram. Or maybe he’d learned enough to read what was written. He’d advanced pretty quickly.
Or maybe he already knew how to read.
It was silly to assume he could read based on a few seconds’ glance, but in combination with the signs he was right-handed, it left a bad taste in her mouth. Why lie about such things? What did it gain, other than time with her?
No threats materialized over the rest of the morning, and the light rain kept them from stopping to rest and stretch as usual. They arrived at Underwood an hour past noon, well ahead of schedule, and the riders’ faces showed their relief. The high walls of the crossroad fortress offered security from whatever was out there. Underwood marked the border between Crescera and Tasmet, but Tasmet had been part of Demora for over a generation now. Surely they didn’t feel threatened.
Sage wanted to ask Lieutenant Casseck about the soldiers’ alertness and reaction—and perhaps slip in a sly remark about Ash Carter’s reading progress—but before she could get his attention, he and the other officers disappeared. She pushed between a line of soldiers carrying trunks and weapons to the barracks. They all made way for her, but she couldn’t see Casseck’s blond head over theirs. Even Carter had vanished, leaving their page to tend to the horses from his wagon. The boy looked too small for such a job, but he handled it with competence.
She considered him for moment. A page’s job was to attend to officers’ needs, so he would know them well. She changed directions to bump into him as he led the horses away. “Hello, young fellow,” she said. “Have you been with us all this time?”
He stopped walking and bowed. “Yes, my lady. Good afternoon, Lady Sagerra.”
“You know my name, good sir,” she teased, “but I don’t know yours.”
“Charlie Quinn, my lady.”
It was almost too good to be true. “Are you related to Captain Quinn?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “He’s my brother.”
Sage put on an impressed face. “I’ve heard so much about him; you must be proud to be his page.” The boy glowed, and guilt settled in her stomach like a stone. It didn’t sit well with her to manipulate a child, but she was getting a little desperate.
“I haven’t had lunch, have you?” she asked, and Charlie shook his head. “After you’re done with the horses, would you like to have lunch with me in the garden? I plan on taking my meal out there, as the rain looks to be stopping.”
“I’d be honored, my lady.”
Her mouth twisted in what she hoped was a smile. “No, Master Quinn, the honor is mine.”
21
THE RELIEF OF arriving at Underwood was short-lived.
“Two more.” Quinn tossed a message on the table in the barracks meeting room. “Two more of those damn Kimisar squads.” He closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to think.
“The forward picket hasn’t reported anything new,” Casseck pointed out as he scanned the scrap of paper and passed it on.
“The forward picket hasn’t reported at all,” snapped Quinn. Damn, he was testy. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “No couriers since Galarick, and no messages waiting for us here.”
“So send a courier of our own,” said Rob.
“We could hole up here and signal with red blaze,” suggested Gramwell. Every army unit carried packets of powder that when burned made red smoke, calling all forces within sight to their aid. “The Kimisar could never take this place with seventy men.”
“Unless there are more Kimisar squads out there,” muttered Rob.
Gramwell disagreed. “They’d need hundreds to breach these walls. If there were that many, surely we’d know it.”
“We can’t stay here,” said Quinn. “Underwood is loyal to the duke, and no one is near enough to see the signal. The Kimisar our scouts saw have all been heading east, so maybe they don’t even care about us. If they find out Rob is with us, though, that could change. The general will realize he’s not heard from us and investigate, if he hasn’t already, so right now we should focus on getting word of the gathering army to Tennegol. I think there’s no question that the D’Amirans are planning something, but they’re waiting.”
The prince frowned. “For what?”
“What happens during the Concordium?” said Quinn. “Fat, rich noblemen from every corner of Demora leave their lands and go to the capital wearing as much gold as they can carry and escorted by their finest troops. They travel even slower than us, so most left over a month ago; any that had to cross the mountains went north and around through Mondelea.”