“How many departed?” asked D’Amiran.
“Four, sir. None appeared to be officers, but they left early without telling anyone.”
“Are all three officers accounted for?”
“We’ve seen only three today,” said the captain. “It’s been confusing, Your Grace. But I’m sure there are four: Quinn, Casseck, Gramwell, and Bathgate. The last hasn’t been seen since yesterday.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Then I suggest you find him.”
54
SAGE FAILED MISERABLY to keep her focus that day. While she blamed her overheated complexion on the warm spring sunshine, in her mind she relived the events of the morning several dozen times, Ash’s words echoing in her head. No one had ever called her beautiful, but there was no doubt in her mind that he meant it.
Once, she even allowed herself to picture the episode in the armory without deception or fear of discovery. Or, she thought wryly, without a box of arrows poking her in the rear. That only made her envision softer alternatives and that inflamed her cheeks even more, until she remembered the danger they all faced. Guilt nagged her, too—what kind of a distraction must she be to Ash?
At dinner she chose a seat where she could watch the officers at their corner table. Robert must be one of them. Ash didn’t want her talking to the officers, especially here at Tegann, implying she would’ve realized who he was. Casseck was so straightforward, he almost seemed incapable of lying, but Gramwell …
The lieutenant’s gaze wandered to Clare every few minutes. He’d ignored a lot of protocol by courting Clare, but no one objected. Before, Sage assumed he was so besotted, he couldn’t help himself, but it made even more sense that no one had stopped him if he was the prince. Yes, it was entirely possible he was actually the prince in disguise.
As if the two had read her mind, Clare excused herself and left through the main doors, toward the gardens. Her admirer quietly followed less than a minute later. He would be gone after tonight, and he probably wanted to say good-bye. She smiled. If any of these women deserved the attention of royalty, it was her friend.
Sage bumped into Charlie on the way back to her room. He held up a bundle of clothing. “My lady, I’m to deliver this to you,” he said.
It must be her clean breeches and shirt. She was glad to have them back. Sage considered asking Charlie about Robert, but that wouldn’t be fair to the boy, and she’d promised Ash to stop asking questions he would answer later. So she simply said, “Thank you. Good night, Little Soldier.”
He bobbed his head and hurried off. Rather than put the bundle in her trunk, Sage pulled it apart, hoping to find a message from Ash. A lump in one of her socks turned out to be a stub of a candle wrapped in a scrap of parchment.
If you trust me with your life, light this candle. When it burns out, meet me in the lower passage in the west barracks.—A
With a trembling hand, Sage lit the wick and nestled it in a holder. It would take less than two hours to burn out, so she changed into her clean breeches and curled up on the bed to wait. She’d toss the note in the fire before she left, but until then she held the scrap in her hand, reading the words over and over. If you trust me with your life …
She did. And tonight she would prove it.
*
Sage slipped around the corner and found him, leaning against the wall opposite the low-burning torch, arms crossed, silent as a shadow. His gaze followed her until she stopped in front of him. “I almost hoped you wouldn’t come,” he said.
He didn’t want her involved because it was dangerous, but Quinn needed her, and so she had an unlikely ally in the captain. She wasn’t doing this for Quinn, though. Her eyes traced the contours of the face she’d come to know so well in the last weeks—from the almost-straight black brows over eyes so dark and deep she could fall into them to the stubble she now knew by feel. “I came because I trust you,” she whispered.
He pressed his lips together as he took her right hand in both of his and inhaled deeply. “Everything changes tomorrow. If you leave now, I will think no less and ask no more of you, and I’ll still do everything I can to protect you from what’s coming.” He turned her hand over and rubbed a thumb along her palm, sending lightning up her arm. “But if you stay, you commit yourself. You become a player we depend on and confide in. There is no middle path or going back. You must decide tonight.”
“You’re a fool if you think I’m leaving,” she said firmly.
He winced. “People will die, Sage. At our hands and theirs. The surest way you can be safe is by not getting involved. That is truth.”
She curled her fingers around his. “I know. I’m not afraid.” But she trembled.
“Will you promise to follow orders, without question or hesitation?” He eyed her with silent meaning.
For him? “Yes,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He sagged slightly and nodded. “Then there’s something I must do first.”
Ash raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, then, clasping her fingers tightly, he led her down the dim corridor to the last door. Without knocking, he pushed it open and ushered her into a windowless barracks room used for storage. Candles set in the stone wall illuminated a jumble of wooden chairs, tables, and cots piled on one side, and a stack of straw mattresses lay in the corner. Several pallets had been pulled to the middle of the open space and stacked two high with a large blanket over them. The implication stunned her—it was so unexpected, so unlike what she believed about him—her mind only registered denial.
She heard Ash bolt the door and remove his leather jacket, felt his hands on her shoulders as he turned her around to face him. He stroked her cheek with one hand while the other reached for his belt. “My sweet, innocent Sage,” he whispered, and still her thoughts could gain no traction.
There was the snap of a release from his belt, and though she continued to meet his eyes, she saw a sheathed dagger in the hand he raised between them.
“Tonight I must teach you how to kill a man.”
55
SAGE REACHED FOR the knife, and he rotated the handle to make her grip it with her thumb at the end of the hilt. “Hold it like this.”
She’d wielded a knife before; Father had taught her years ago, but this was different. The way she now held it, with the blade extending from the small side of her hand, was useless for anything but stabbing and slashing. She swallowed. “I’m ready.”
“Are you?”