by Erin Beaty
“Time for what?” said Ash.
Quinn wore a wicked grin as he brushed dirt off his black jacket. “Time to welcome your new friends to Demora.”
6
THE ATTACK STARTED from ahead of the travelers, Quinn and his men taking advantage of the rocky landscape and a bend in the road to make noise that echoed around, confusing their prey. The strangers unfolded their pikes and dropped into a military formation to repel the riders coming at them, but ricocheting sound masked the second group, which was closing in from behind. By the time the strangers realized what was happening, the low sun obscured their view of the rear attackers. Half the group attempted to turn and face the new threat.
It was their first mistake.
Two of the foreigners went down with crossbow shots, but the other two archers held their aim, better as a constant threat than a couple more wounds. The riders passed on both sides and swept around, dismounting while the group struggled to reorient themselves. Before they’d fully recovered, the riders closed in on foot.
Quinn created the widest hole in the defense by grabbing the end of one pike with his left hand and sweeping up with his sword, shattering another right at the hinge. With his arm high in the air, he was exposed, but Casseck came into the opening and took out the only man who could have struck a blow, not that he’d had time to realize his momentary advantage. The captain grinned over the success of the move and focused on the next threat.
Prince Robert to his right drove his sword into the gut of one of the Kimisar, and Quinn moved to his side, ready for what he knew was coming. Rob staggered back, eyes wide. Without looking away from his cousin, Quinn slashed and blocked the weapons coming at both of them.
“Rob!” he yelled. “On your right!”
The prince recovered and pulled his sword from the body in front of him, but he was too slow for the weapon coming at him. Quinn had already switched his sword to his left hand to grab the dagger on his waist. In one move, he drew the knife and sent it into the neck of Rob’s attacker. With the sword in his left, he deflected a swinging pike, but not fast enough, and while he didn’t feel the wound, he couldn’t ignore the blood pouring into his left eye. He swung around to cover his weak side and switch sword hands again, but the man who’d wounded him collapsed with a spear in his back.
Ash Carter stepped up on the man at Quinn’s feet to wrench the spear free. The man groaned, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
Quinn looked around with one eye. The fight was over.
Ash raised an eyebrow at Quinn. “You’re bleeding.”
Quinn wiped his left eye and looked at his friend. “So are you.”
The sergeant swept bloody black hair away from his forehead. “I’ll live.” He looked to his brother. “Are you all right, Rob?”
Robert’s complexion had gone a pasty green. “No.”
Quinn stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “You hurt?”
“No,” Rob gasped. “I’m just … going to be sick.”
Ash appeared under Rob’s other arm, propping him up. “Let’s go for a walk.” He led his brother away. Though Ash was significantly shorter, Rob leaned on him heavily.
Quinn watched them go before turning back to the pile of bodies. Rob’s first taste of combat wasn’t quite as glorious as the prince expected, but it never was. Quinn felt no amusement, only sympathy. Lieutenant Casseck offered him a pungent-smelling rag, and he wiped his face and forehead.
“That’ll have to be sewn up,” Cass said, squinting at the cut.
“Later,” said Quinn. “I want to talk to the survivors.”
“I don’t think there are any.” Casseck shook his head. “It’s like they didn’t even try once they saw our numbers.”
Quinn frowned. “Explains why it was over so quick.” He walked over to the man Ash had speared. “What about this one?” Quinn pushed his sword under the man’s chin to make him lift his face. “Why are you here?” he asked him in Kimisar.
The man raised up on his arms to look at Quinn and grinned as he whispered something Quinn couldn’t hear.
Quinn squatted beside him, looking for hidden weapons before leaning closer, keeping his sword a few inches under the man’s throat, and now angled upward. “What was that?” he asked.
“Go to hell,” the man said, throwing his arms wide. His weight came down on the point of Quinn’s sword, impaling him through the neck. Blood gushed over Quinn’s hand, and he swore and released the weapon, but it was too late.
Quinn rolled the shuddering body over with his foot and pulled his sword free. He searched the dying man’s face for a clue as to why he’d done such a thing, but the dark eyes only stared blankly as an expanding pool of red formed on the gravel road beneath him. Quinn had seen death before, had dealt it plenty of times, but there was something horrifying about a man who took his own life. He shivered and drew his left thumb diagonally across his chest, whispering, “Spirit, shield me,” as several men around him did the same.
He was more careful as he prodded the rest of the bodies for signs of life, but none still breathed, meaning he had no prisoners for questioning.
Damn.
7
THE ROCKY LANDSCAPE made burying the Kimisar bodies time-consuming, but Quinn insisted on doing that rather than burning them or leaving them to rot. His company returned to the main army camp five days later, where word of their confrontation had already been carried by courier. Quinn tried not to smile too much as heads turned and faces gathered to greet them. No one could doubt he’d deserved his promotion now.
Quinn led his company down the wide path between rows of wooden shelters set up for storage and smithing through the winter. Within a few weeks, they’d all be dismantled and the army itself would begin to move like a bear awakening from hibernation. The stables were already half down with cavalry patrols active. He drew his brown mare to a halt outside the structure and signaled for everyone to dismount.
A small body crashed into him as his feet touched the ground. “Alex!”
Quinn gave his younger brother a squeeze, glad he was surrounded enough that only his friends could see him. “Hey there, Charlie.”
The page stepped back, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, sir. I forgot.” He brought his hand to his forehead in a proper salute, which the captain solemnly returned.
When Quinn lowered his hand, he brought it down on Charlie’s dark hair. “You’re getting shaggy, kid.”
Charlie grinned, revealing he’d lost another tooth in the last two weeks. He’d turned nine last month, but to Quinn he’d always be the wide-eyed toddler who followed him around when he visited their home in Cambria. As he’d joined the army before Charlie was born, Quinn had been almost a mythical figure for the majority of Charlie’s life. “I heard you were in a battle,” said Charlie. “Were you hurt?”
“Just a scratch.” Quinn lifted his own over-long hair and tipped his head so Charlie could see the stitches over his eye. Cass had done a good job and the swelling was down, but it still itched like hell. “You should see Ash’s. Much more impressive.”
Charlie looked around for the other faces he knew before seeming to remember he had a purpose. “I’m here to take Surry for you, sir. You’re requested in the general’s tent for debriefing.”
Quinn nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach. Reporting after a patrol was standard for a commander, whether or not he’d seen action, but this would be his first. He handed the reins over to his brother and patted the mare on the neck before pulling a small bundle from his saddle. “Take my bags to my tent when you’re done brushing her down.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quinn straightened his uniform as he turned away, brushing road dust off his black leather jacket. He caught Casseck’s eye, and his second-in-command nodded in acknowledgment that he would take over until Quinn returned from his meeting. As he headed for the general’s tent, rising over the others several rows away, Quinn tried to strike a balance in h
is pace. He didn’t want to look too eager, but he didn’t want to keep his superiors waiting, either.
The sentry outside the tent saluted, and Quinn returned it as he ducked inside. He kept his hand up, rendering the gesture to the officers gathered around the wide table. His immediate superior, Major Edgecomb, was there as expected, and the regimental commander stood beside him. The general looked up from his seat, his close-clipped gray beard and hair looking as though they were made of iron themselves. Behind him stood his staff officer, Major Murray, and another man Quinn didn’t know.
“Captain Alexander Quinn reporting as ordered, sir,” Quinn said.
“At ease, Captain,” the general said. “We’d like to hear your account now.”
No pleasantries or congratulations on a successful engagement with the enemy. Quinn didn’t know that he expected much, but the five stern faces were a little unnerving. He cleared his throat and approached the table, which had a map laid out on it. Without flourish, he described his company’s arrival on station and how they discovered the trail of men headed north and then east.
“We tracked them for two days. They set sentries in the evening and appeared to have a hierarchy. Before attacking, I sent Sergeant Carter to intercept them and make close contact.” Quinn unrolled the bundle he had with him and laid several silver medallions and a roll of parchment on the table. “We recovered these from the bodies, and this map, which is too vague to determine anything from.”
The general looked up sharply. “You make it sound as though you made your decision to attack before making contact.”
“Well, yes, sir,” Quinn said. “But I obviously would have called it off—”
“Describe the attack, please.”
Quinn swallowed. “We ambushed them here.” He pointed to the spot on the map. “I used a scissor sweep, taking advantage of the angle of the sun—”
“What time was it?” Major Edgecomb interrupted.
“About an hour before sunset, sir.”
All eyes went back to the map, and Quinn felt he’d made a mistake, though he couldn’t see how … unless this was about Robert. The general must be upset Quinn had put the crown prince in danger, but he’d conceded months ago when Quinn had requested his cousin as one of his lieutenants, saying that keeping Robert away from action made him look weak. With winter weather cutting off communication with the capital, it was doubtful King Raymond knew of his son’s new duties, and it was the general who would have to answer to the king and council if something happened to the prince.
Quinn cleared his throat. “There were only three injuries. All minor. Prince Robert wasn’t among them—”
“Yes, we know,” Edgecomb snapped. His eyes drifted to the general, who frowned back.
The unknown officer picked up a medallion and traced the raised design of Kimisara’s four-pointed star with his thumb. “You have no prisoners for questioning.”
It was a statement, not a question. Quinn knew better than to make excuses. “The survivor killed himself. It’s not something I’d ever seen before, but yes, sir, I failed in that respect.”
Every man shifted uncomfortably.
The general seemed to make a decision. “I would speak to the captain alone.”
Sweet Spirit, this was bad.
The four other officers saluted and disappeared. After several seconds of silence, the general sat back in his chair and looked up at him. “This was our first potential raid in months. You can understand my disappointment.”
Quinn silently cursed the dead Kimisar. “Sir, a man who wants to die will find a way.”
“The suicide is secondary. Your primary mistake was timing.”
“Timing, sir?” Heat rushed to his face. “The ambush was perfect.”
The general shook his head in exasperation. “I’m not talking about your tactics—those are fine. You attacked too soon.”
“Sir, we tracked them for days. We knew who they were, and their weapons proved they were hostile. There was nothing left to learn.”
“Think, Captain.” The general leaned forward and tapped his forefinger on a junction on the map. “A few more hours and they would’ve been at Arrowhead Crossroad. We’d have a better idea of whether they were headed north or east. We’d know if they were splitting up or meeting someone. As it is we know nothing. Because you couldn’t wait to take them down.”
Quinn reddened and said nothing in his defense.
The general sat back again. “You’re in a command position now. These aren’t mistakes you can afford to make.” His voice gradually became less harsh. “You must see the bigger picture. Acting quickly has its merits, but so does patience. It’s a delicate balance, and not everyone who walks it makes the best decision every time.”
Quinn looked down at his feet, trying not to sink into himself.
“Son,” General Quinn said, “you must learn patience.”
8
SAGE SQUINTED THROUGH the peephole that looked into the bathing room. In the last five months, she’d learned to judge quite a bit through that hole, once she got over the sense of voyeurism.
“Well, what do you think?” asked the matchmaker.
Sage leaned back and made a face. “I don’t like her. She’s spoiled, rude, and overbearing.”
Darnessa rolled her eyes. “I can count the number of girls you’ve liked on one hand. She’s a Concordium candidate—of course she’s a spoiled brat. Have you learned nothing?”
Sage sighed and began listing her observations. “Graceful and poised when she knows she’s being watched. Thinks every man will fall in love with her if she flashes those big blue eyes. Servants detest and fear her. She’s cruel when displeased, which is often.”
Darnessa nodded. “Good. I see the same things. What about her looks?”
“Pleasing figure. Tightens her bodice too much, though; she looks like she’d spill out of it if she bent over too far.” Sage suppressed a smile. “Her face still has some youthful roundness to it. She’ll thin out in the next few years. Complexion is pretty good, except she styles her hair to cover some pockmarks on the forehead. She’s not naturally that blond, but she looks better than the false red of that girl last month.”
“Anything else?”
“Clubfoot.”
That surprised the matchmaker. “Really?”
Sage nodded. “Hides it with a special shoe. I imagine dancing is somewhat painful.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s the reason for the showy cleavage. When she can’t keep up, she can use the hill scenery to keep suitors hypnotized.”
Darnessa snorted in laughter and gestured for Sage to pull the heavy blanket over the peephole.
Sage tugged the weaving down and turned back. “Perhaps that’s why she’s so short-tempered. She’s afraid someone’ll find out and ruin her chance at getting in.” She frowned. The girl had probably been told her entire life that a high marriage was all she was good for. And since the Concordium was held only every five years, at nineteen she had only one chance at getting in.
Darnessa rolled her eyes. “You’re better at this than you realize.”
Sage shrugged. “It’s just figuring out motivations. Sometimes it’s interesting.” She tipped a thumb at the wall behind her. “They’re almost done in there. How do I look?” She lifted her arms over her simple but pretty dress.
“You look very sweet.” Darnessa reached out to tuck away a strand of Sage’s hair. Sage stiffened a little, but didn’t lean away as she had in the first few months of the job. “Now get back there and be ready.”
Sage lingered in the kitchen until the front bell rang. Then she waited a few more minutes before slipping out the back door into the warm April sunshine. The younger brother of the girl in Darnessa’s parlor leaned against the family’s carriage, tossing his cap in the air. Sage cleared her mind and began making a mental list.
A sword was belted at his waist. Right-handed.
As she walked closer, the polished gleam of the me
tal hilt caught the sun and nearly blinded her. The scabbard was equally flawless. Rarely used. The boy was only seventeen, though, and under his very rich family’s thumb, so he could be forgiven for not having found himself quite yet.
His embroidered tunic and white linen shirt were neat to the point of fussiness, and he looked a bit uncomfortable in them. The polished but worn boots and tanned face told her he enjoyed being outdoors. Her heart lightened considerably. He had some potential, at least in conversation.
He looked up as she approached, straightening and settling his feathered cap on his sun-kissed blond hair. Sage put on her best smile.
* * *
Darnessa walked into the kitchen, toweling her wet hair. “You can write Lady Jacqueline down as coming with us to the capital,” she said. “We’ll find her a rich count who hates dancing.”
Sage didn’t look up from her seat at the table, where she wrote notes in a large, leather-bound book. “They certainly waited until the last minute to have her evaluated.”
Her employer shrugged. “With her pedigree, she was pretty much a given, and it’s a long way to travel twice. Her family will stay with relatives nearby until we leave next month. They’re looking over the contract now.”
“Why don’t any of the families come with the brides?” asked Sage, searching for a page she wanted. “That’s a lot of trust they put in you to make a match without them.”
Darnessa lowered herself into a chair and propped her feet up. “We banned them from the Concordium generations ago. The crowding and backdoor attempts to arrange matches defeated the entire purpose.” She pointed and flexed her feet as she spoke, working the soreness out from the fancy shoes she wore for interviews. “Have you finished the letter to General Quinn about our escort?”
“Not yet,” Sage said. “We only got that last confirmation this morning, so I wasn’t able to write out all our planned stops until today. I was waiting for your decision on Jacqueline, too. I thought I’d include all the names. Better too much information than too little.” She tossed the draft of her letter across the table for Darnessa’s approval. “Sister Fernham is expecting me in an hour, so I’ll finish it tonight.”
