by Erin Beaty
“I don’t know what the convent will do while you’re gone,” Darnessa muttered as she squinted at the page, but Sage knew she didn’t mind the lessons she taught to the orphans in her spare time. “How did it go with Jacqueline’s brother?”
“Fairly well,” Sage answered. “We went for a walk, and I got him talking about himself pretty quickly. Considerate and attentive, though a bit vacant. I made a joke and it went right over his head.” He was a bit of a flirt, too, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think he was attracted to her. Young men were eager to impress any girl who flattered them, and she’d grown used to turning that to her advantage. “Overall a nice young man. If she wasn’t already coming with us to the capital, I’d say he might be a good match for Lady Tamara.”
“No, but when we get back from Tennegol, I’ll be ready when he comes knocking for his match,” Darnessa said.
“Something he said makes me think maybe his parents have a match planned for him down in Tasmet.”
Darnessa frowned. “Are you sure? Something that big should have gone through me.”
“It sounded like an agreement between families.” Sage had a special section in her book for those matches. Tasmet, like Crescera, was a province of Demora, though it was still adjusting to being part of the country. Matchmakers had been established there for less than forty years—not quite two full generations, but as Tasmet nobility were mostly transplanted from other regions of Demora after it was ceded by Kimisara in the Great War, the practice had taken hold quickly. Every year a higher percentage of the general population used matchmakers. In another forty years, Tasmet would be like the rest of the country in that only the poorest—and most scandalous—marriages were self-arranged.
“Another one? This is getting out of hand.” Darnessa swung her feet down to the floor and sat up straight, shaking her head and grumbling. “It’s not just the loss in my planning. If it doesn’t work out well, people might think I put them together.”
Father had always said those in power feared losing it, but Darnessa’s anger didn’t feel like vanity to Sage. If she’d learned anything over the winter, it was that the matchmaking guild had high standards and tight control. Even a whisper of matching for personal gain was dealt with swiftly, and as the head of Crescera’s guild, Darnessa took her leadership role very seriously.
“I don’t know what’s going on lately,” continued the matchmaker. “But I’m glad it’s a Concordium year. We’ll be able to compare notes and see if it’s part of a bigger trend.”
“He didn’t seem too enthused about the girl.” That was truth, but Sage had offered it to make Darnessa feel better.
The matchmaker relaxed a little. “Hopefully that’s a sign he’d rather have me find him a wife. We’ll pair him up after we return. I’ll get Jacqueline what they want, and the family will come back to me.”
Sage bent over her work again, marveling at the power her employer wielded so casually. Yet in all her travels, in all the people she’d met, the matchmaker hadn’t found anyone for herself. In five months, Sage had never detected any bitterness on the subject, though, which gave her the courage to finally ask, “Why did you never marry, Darnessa?”
“Same as you,” Darnessa answered with a conspiratorial wink. “My standards are too high.”
9
ON CHAPEL DAYS, camp routines were reduced to a minimum, giving the soldiers a chance to rest or catch up on duties. Captain Quinn usually set aside an hour or two to spend with Charlie, but since he hadn’t seen his brother in almost three weeks, this time he promised him the whole afternoon. He used it as an excuse to avoid people, too. Every hearty slap on the back or congratulations Quinn received over last week’s ambush felt like a punch to the gut—he didn’t deserve to be celebrated.
Charlie, as usual, wanted to practice some sort of skill for at least part of their time. The page was still in the early stages of swordsmanship, which was to say, he was helping the blacksmiths make, repair, and maintain blades for a year. As a firm believer in the process, Quinn wouldn’t interfere by giving actual fighting lessons no matter how much his brother begged. An informal archery competition was developing on one side of the camp, so Quinn talked Charlie into knife throwing as far away from everyone else as possible.
For his age and size, Charlie was already adept at hitting the target, so Quinn wanted him to work on greater distances. Charlie balked at first. “But I want to draw faster and smoother. You can do it like lightning.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow at his brother, wincing a little as his forehead wrinkled. The sutures had come out yesterday, and the warm April sun made the scab itch and burn. “Which do you think is more useful in battle, hitting your target from farther away or looking pretty while you miss?”
Charlie gave a resigned sigh and took three more steps back. Quinn smothered a smile. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d been in Charlie’s shoes.
After several rounds of throwing and another range increase, they were pulling their daggers from the target wall when Charlie turned to him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“No, why?”
Charlie shrugged as he worked to free a blade stuck between two planks of the wall. “You seem distracted. And you missed four times. You never miss.”
“Most people wouldn’t call this missing,” Quinn said, tapping the hilt of a dagger stuck three inches from the center of the painted target.
“You would.”
Quinn tried to act like nothing was wrong. “Everyone has off days.”
They’d walked back to the range line before Charlie spoke again. “When we passed Captain Hargrove earlier he said something, and you made a face.”
Charlie was too observant for his own good sometimes. “What kind of face did I make?”
The boy didn’t look at him as he set the practice daggers on top of a barrel. “You looked embarrassed.”
“I don’t like people making such a fuss over me just doing my job; you know that.”
Charlie picked a knife, then set his feet and focused on the target. “It’s not that. You’ve been unhappy since you came back.”
Charlie knew how to keep a secret, but it wasn’t the fear his brother would tell all the other pages about his failure that kept Quinn from explaining. Nor was it because he didn’t want to lose Charlie’s admiration—his brother thought too highly of him already, and he should know Quinn wasn’t perfect. No, it was because Quinn hadn’t figured out how to make this right. Until he did, he would carry it himself.
At that moment Charlie yelped as he was lifted off his feet by Ash Carter, who’d snuck up behind them. Quinn was glad Ash had chosen to grab the page, as he’d been so distracted himself he’d not seen the sergeant approach. His friend could just have easily taken him by surprise.
“Dereliction of duty, soldier!” shouted Ash, throwing Charlie over his shoulder and spinning in a circle. “You must be on guard at all times!” He set a laughing Charlie on his feet and held his shoulders so the page wouldn’t fall over. “Sweet Spirit, you’re getting big. How’ve you been, kid?”
“Good. Squire Palomar said he would put me on the duty roll soon,” said Charlie with a proud grin.
“So I heard,” said Ash. “Show me what you’ve got here.” The sergeant gestured to the knives and the target. When Charlie’s attention was focused away, Ash’s dark eyes sought Quinn’s own with a meaningful look. Something was up.
They waited for Charlie to throw the six practice blades plus the one he carried on his belt. Then Ash and Quinn offered their own daggers for him to throw. With nine knives to remove from the target, the pair would have a few minutes to talk privately while Charlie retrieved them.
“You and I have been called to the general’s tent tomorrow morning,” said Ash quietly as soon as Charlie was out of earshot.
Quinn folded his arms to cover the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d managed to avoid his father for the last few days and hadn’t pushed for another assignment.
“What about?”
“Don’t know,” said Ash, focusing downrange.
“Maybe he wants you to put on lieutenant.”
“Perhaps, but I doubt it. He knows why I don’t want it.”
That didn’t mean the reason would always be accepted. Quinn wondered if the general felt Ash having greater authority in their rider company would strengthen it. Maybe his father wanted the calming presence Ash brought to everything. Ash’s rank didn’t matter to Quinn, though, as long as his friend worked for him.
Ash glanced up at him. “You look worried.”
“After last week’s fiasco, don’t you think I should be?”
The sergeant shook his head and looked back to Charlie. “Everyone makes mistakes, Alex,” he said. They had been friends as boys, but Ash so rarely used Quinn’s first name anymore that the captain knew it was to reassure him how deep his trust still went. “You’re still new to being captain. It’s expected.”
Except not everyone was the general’s son, and now his blunders also had bigger consequences. The stakes would only ever get higher. Quinn watched his brother turn back to them, struggling to hold all the knives in his small hands. How much longer before Charlie’s life was in his hands? He exhaled heavily. “When is this meeting?”
“An hour after morning muster.” Quinn nodded in acknowledgment. Ash retrieved his dagger from the jumble Charlie carried back to them, then rumpled the boy’s hair before looking back to Quinn. “Don’t be late.”
* * *
The next morning, Quinn reassembled and brushed off his already spotless uniform, cinching his sword belt over his jacket with growing apprehension. Was he being demoted? He’d never heard of such a thing, but his mind had run wild with possibilities long after half carrying Charlie to the pages’ tent, having allowed the boy stay with him and his officers by the campfire late into the night.
Ash Carter waited patiently for him outside the tent Quinn shared with Casseck. When Quinn could delay no longer, he joined the sergeant and the two walked side by side through the camp, taking several shortcuts between the rows of tents. In the past week, more of the permanent structures had come down, meaning the army would start moving very soon. Quinn wasn’t likely to get away from it on his own for a while, though.
At the general’s tent, Quinn paused to watch several other officers stream in. This was a much bigger meeting than he’d realized. Inside, a dozen senior officers gathered around the table laid with maps and reports, and he understood what it was: an intelligence briefing. Relief washed over him as he understood this was actually a good thing.
Quinn and Ash took places in the back, standing with the lower officers. He caught a glimpse of his father at the far end of the tent, writing at a desk. The general’s personal section had the comforts of rank—a wide bed, a wooden cabinet, and a washbasin, but no privacy curtains. An officer was never truly off duty. Quinn had only ever seen the area divided from the rest on the occasions Mother visited.
Major Murray called the meeting to attention, and the general stood and walked over to the table. Once everyone was at ease again, the senior officers took turns reporting on their action in the past week. A Kimisar squad was tracked crossing the border to the east and had been lost in the foothills of the Catrix Mountains. Local villages reported seeing groups of men like the one Quinn intercepted, but no raids, and the men had vanished like smoke. Quinn’s own skirmish was detailed by his battalion commander with no comment on his lack of patience.
The meeting continued with attempts to find a pattern in all the events reported. Quinn wasn’t asked for any insights, nor did he offer any. He cringed inwardly as the consequences of his mistake piled up. Were it not for him, they might be able to do more than speculate.
The only thing to do now was learn from it.
When the discussion was spent, Major Murray picked up a sheaf of papers and began reading orders out loud. Quinn straightened when he heard his name.
“Captain Quinn: you, three officers, and thirty men will leave for Galarick in two days. From there you will escort the brides from Crescera to the capital for this summer’s Concordium. Submit the names of your men by sundown.”
What?
“A ceremonial guard?” he blurted out.
Eyes around the table shifted to him, and the captain on his right smirked, but Quinn focused on his father, who returned his gaze calmly. The parchments describing their orders were passed over, and Ash took them. When the meeting closed and everyone was dismissed, Quinn lingered, waiting for a chance speak to his father alone.
“Too bad my father’s not a general,” Captain Larsen said from beside him. “I’d’ve liked to squire around a bunch of ladies for a few weeks.” He made a show of folding up his orders and tucking them into his jacket. “Well, I’ve got to have fifty men ready to ride by sundown. Pick one out for me, will you, Quinn? I like blondes.” Larsen sauntered out while Quinn glared at his back.
From his side, Ash held up their orders for him to take, but Quinn ignored them. After a few seconds, the sergeant folded the papers—there were several—and cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll tell everyone where we’re going.”
He left Quinn standing alone, clenching and unclenching his fists. The last colonel finished talking with the general and departed, leaving only the two of them in the tent. His father watched him from the table with a map still laid across it. “I know you’re not happy with your mission.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Quinn crossed his arms. “Matchmakers and preening noble girls as far away from danger as possible. It’s a cavalry officer’s dream.”
His father pinned him with a look as sharp as his sword. “You’re not in a position to look down on any assignment right now.”
After several seconds of silence, Quinn dropped his gaze. “And this is how I will learn patience. This is my punishment.”
The general sighed. “Yes and no.”
Quinn looked up. The no interested him.
“In truth, I’m to blame for your mistake. You weren’t included in these meetings before, and you should’ve been. I didn’t want to be seen as favoring you.” His father cleared his throat. “What I’m going to tell you now wasn’t brought up earlier, and I don’t want it spreading through the camp.”
His father had his full attention now.
The general gestured to the map. “My gut says that squad you caught was headed east. I think the D’Amirans are communicating with Kimisara.”
That was quite an accusation, though not outlandish. The D’Amiran family had unified Crescera, Mondelea, Aristel, and the Tenne Valley into the country they called Demora over five hundred years ago, but decades of corrupt and decadent rule led Robert Devlin’s ancestors to overthrow them three hundred years later. While the family wasn’t destroyed, they existed only on the fringes until the Great War forty years ago. With the annexation of Tasmet, a new dukedom was created and awarded to General Falco D’Amiran for his role in wrestling it away from Kimisara. It was only a fraction of their former power, and given their history, many suspected the D’Amirans wouldn’t be satisfied with scraps from the Devlin table.
“Does Uncle Raymond know of your suspicions?” Quinn asked.
His father shook his head. “Not yet. The winter was so bad I wasn’t able to send sensitive dispatches across the mountains—even the south pass at Jovan was blocked until last week. The king is almost completely unaware.”
“So I’m to be the courier of your concerns.” That at least felt important.
“That and more.” The general leaned over to point to the map again. “The bridal caravan will travel through Tegann.”
Duke Morrow D’Amiran’s stronghold. Quinn suddenly knew why Ash had been included in the meeting. “You want us to spy on the duke.”
“Discreetly, yes.”
Quinn wasn’t quite won over. “I don’t have much experience with that kind of spying, just land reconnaissance.”
“Then consider this
your chance to learn something new,” his father said.
Quinn grimaced. Acquiring new skills had always been a top priority. Casseck called it his obsession. Father had framed it that way to trap him.
On the other hand, all the general had to do was issue an order. His father wanted him to embrace the mission, not just obey.
When Quinn didn’t object, the general smiled a little. “Whom do you want to take?”
Quinn folded his arms. “Can’t I just take my officers?”
“I’ve been going back and forth on that,” the general said. “On one hand, I don’t like Robert Devlin out of my sight. On the other, the prince is probably safer away from the border.”
“I won’t tell him you said that.”
The general continued, “Thirty men should be adequate to protect him, especially so deep in Demora, but I don’t want the fuss he’ll create, either.” He paused. “I leave it up to you.”
It may have been a bone thrown to make Quinn feel better, but he took it. “I don’t want to break up what we have, so I’ll take Rob, but give him a false name.”
“Very well, and keep him away from the ladies,” said his father, glancing out the open tent flap. “By the way, you’re taking Charlie, too.”
Quinn threw up his arms. “That just proves you’re sending me away from anything important.”
“Nonsense.” The general eased down into a chair. “You need a page along, and he asked to be assigned to you for his birthday gift. He’s good at his job.”
Yes, Charlie was competent, but Quinn wouldn’t be able to treat his brother like just any other page. It was hard enough giving commands to his closest friends, even orders they didn’t mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead, forgetting the wound and flinching back when pain shot through his temple. “Father, please reconsider. Carting these women around is bad enough. I feel like a nursemaid.”