The Traitor’s Ruin

by Erin Beaty

  Alex sank to his knees and pressed his palms into his eyes. “How can I be fit for shoveling shit, let alone command,” he whispered, “when I know I’d let every one of you die if she was in trouble?”

  He’d finally said it out loud. Because it was the truth.

  Cass knelt in front of him. “Alex,” he said quietly. “It’s not weakness to love someone that much.”

  “Then what is it?” Alex sobbed.

  “I don’t know.” Cass pulled Alex’s head into his shoulder, holding him tightly as he wept. “But it’s not weak.”

  48

  NICHOLAS WAS WAITING in Sage’s tent, reading through her Casmuni notes by candlelight when she returned. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Just because you’re a prince doesn’t give you the right to go through my things, Highness.”

  He looked up. “Nicholas.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “After what we’ve been through, I think you’ve earned the right to call me by my given name.” He shifted to face her. “I also owe you an apology. I never acted like it, but Mother told me to follow your instructions as if they were her own. I never understood why until now.”

  “None of that matters anymore.” Sage dropped wearily onto her cot. “The captain is sending me back. You, too, probably.”

  “How can he do that?” the prince said, sweeping his hand over her ledger. “Doesn’t he know what you have here?”

  Sage looked down at her hands. “It’s more complicated than that. I’ve broken a dozen promises, and I undermined him as a leader in front of everyone. No apology will ever be enough. Frankly, I don’t deserve his forgiveness.”

  “He still loves you, you know.”

  She glanced up in surprise. “You know about us?”

  “Everyone knows, Sage.” Nicholas grinned impishly. “Well, maybe not everyone. Just those of us with eyes.”

  Sage smiled a little before shaking her head. “I’m not sure love is enough to fix this.”

  “You didn’t do any of it to hurt him. If he can’t see that, he’s an idiot. I’ll tell him that, if you like.”

  She snorted. “I’ll pass.”

  “It’s an open-ended offer, so let me know if you change your mind.” Nicholas stood and stretched. “With that, I think I’ll go to bed. Never thought I’d look forward to sleeping on dirt and grass again. I’ve got sand in places I can’t explain.”

  “Nicholas.” She waited for him to pause. “Thanks. For everything.”

  He saluted her. “Good night, Mistress Sage.”

  When the prince was gone, Sage dragged herself to the table and sat staring at her ledger. She’d leave it for Alex. He wouldn’t be too proud to use the information. After several minutes of leafing through pages, unable to focus on any of the words, she flipped the book shut. The small trunk at her feet was open, and Sage leaned down and shifted the contents around until she found what she wanted.

  She hadn’t taken the letter on the desert journey, not wanting to risk ruining it. Now she spread it out beneath the candle and read the words she’d missed, but this time they only spoke of something she’d lost, perhaps forever.

  During the day I miss your laughter and your wit and your smiles and the sharpness of your mind. In the evenings I think more of your kisses, sighs, and understanding ways. Then some nights I lie awake consumed with thoughts of the day I can love you in every way. On nights like this, my hunger for you overwhelms me. I can dwell for hours on the taste of your mouth and the scent of your hair and the touch of your skin.

  “Sage?” came a voice from outside the tent. “It’s Cass. Can we talk?”

  She folded the letter and shoved it in the ledger, then wiped her eyes. “Yes, come in.”

  Casseck ducked inside and hunched over comically, his blond hair brushing the ceiling. He gestured to her cot. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Casseck eased down onto the bed and folded his hands awkwardly. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Haven’t we all.”

  “Did Alex send you?”

  “No, he’s asleep. He’d probably be furious if he knew I was here.” Cass stared at the ground. “Look, Sage, I’m not going to take a side in this. You’ve hurt him pretty bad, but I know you wouldn’t have done what you did without a damn good reason. He’s just not been thinking clearly lately. I think you should know why.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do you know what happened at Tegann after the night you escaped?”

  “Clare said everyone thought I’d been caught.”

  “That was later in the day, Sage. For the first couple hours, Alex thought you were dead.” Casseck took a deep breath. “You don’t know what it did to him. I’ve been his friend for twelve years, and I’d never seen him lose control, not like that.”

  Sage had. She’d held Alex as he cried over Charlie’s death through the night, wiping his face after every time he was sick. Had he been like that over her?

  She looked into Casseck’s eyes and realized that was exactly what had happened.

  “But then we learned you might actually be alive,” Cass continued. “We started everything early, though it was riskier. Alex searched the whole keep for you. By the time he got to the duke’s rooms, they were the only place left you could’ve been.”

  Sage felt all the blood drain from her face. Alex, climbing down a rope from the top of the keep and kicking in the window, knowing Charlie was in there and suspecting she was, too.

  “He thinks I don’t know, but he has nightmares all the time,” Cass whispered. “Especially since seeing you again. It wasn’t until today that I realized what they were about.”

  But Sage understood. “They’re about choosing between me and Charlie.”

  Casseck nodded. “And choosing between you and me. Or you and any of the men he commands.”

  Alex hadn’t tried to stop her from coming, confined her to the camp, and kept her at arm’s length to protect her, he was trying to protect himself. She’d been too wrapped up in using her own mission to get back at him for last year to see it. But then, as now, it wasn’t about trust. It was about the one threat to Alex’s ability to lead men into death.

  Her.

  And then she’d snuck into the desert mission and made his worst nightmare into reality.

  Sweet Spirit, what had she done?

  “I have to go,” she whispered. “It’s the only way he can do his job.”

  “Maybe, yes, but I also think we need you now.” Cass shook his head in disbelief. “Did you really learn to speak Casmuni?”

  Sage smiled weakly. “Not well. Just enough to be understood.”

  “Still impressive.”

  “Thanks.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Cass, are we broken beyond repair?”

  Casseck sighed. “I don’t know. If it weren’t for Charlie, I’d say you two could get through this, but—” He broke off, cocking his head to the side.

  She heard it, too. Shouting. People calling for arms. There was growing light outside the tent walls. Sage leapt to her feet the same time Cass did, and when he ducked to keep from hitting the ceiling, their heads nearly collided. She let him run out ahead of her and skidded to a halt behind him when he stopped.

  Henry went running past and Casseck grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

  “We just got a runner from Sergeant Carter, sir,” the squire said. “He’s engaged a hostile force about a mile east of here. Captain’s called everyone to march.”

  Alex was striding around several yards away, wearing light armor and buckling his sword belt as he shouted orders.

  “Casmuni?” said Casseck.

  “No,” said Sage and Henry at the same time. “Kimisar.”

  49

  NICHOLAS JOGGED TOWARD Alex through the chaos, leading Surry, already saddled and wearing her armored breastplate. “I have your horse, sir!” he called. “The other squires are get
ting the rest for the lieutenants.”

  As soon as the prince was close enough, Alex put a hand on his shoulder and used it to help him mount. Nicholas handed him the reins and saluted before running off again. From Surry’s back, Alex surveyed the activity with satisfaction. Organization was taking over; the Norsari were forming into lines and the rest of the officers would be mounted within a few minutes. He found Sage weaving through the ranks with a makeshift oxbow on her shoulders, balancing two buckets of water on either side from which men were taking last-minute drinks. Good thinking.

  Units were calling out their readiness, and Casseck came trotting up to him on his own dun-colored stallion. “All ready and accounted for, sir!”

  “Fourth platoon will stay behind to guard the camp,” Alex said. “Have them spread out along the perimeter.” Cass passed the order, and Lieutenant Gramwell’s men fell out, most frowning in disappointment, though Gram looked exhausted and relieved.

  The night was pitch black with no moon. “Have the squad leaders get torches,” Alex ordered. “We’ll need all the light we can carry if we’re going to get there in time.” Three precious minutes went by. When Casseck signaled they were ready, Alex didn’t hesitate. “Move out!” he bellowed.

  The first platoon plunged into the woods, following the wide path along the river. Alex swung Surry around to look for Sage again. She stood watching on the other side of the marchers. Their eyes met.

  “Stay here,” he mouthed across the stream of men between them before turning and kicking his horse into a run.

  * * *

  The Norsari ran at a trot, making good time on the path, and they reached the area of fighting in about a quarter hour. Ash and the Ranger squad stood in a semicircle, facing the forest with their backs to the river. Several held low-burning torches.

  “Thank the Spirit,” Ash said, rushing up to Alex as the Norsari poured around them, taking a defensive stance. “We’re outnumbered, and they’ve been coming at us in waves, pushing us back. We had nowhere left to retreat.”

  Alex looked around at the disheveled and sweaty men. “What are your casualties?”

  “None,” said Ash, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know we dealt a few, but it’s like they were more interested in moving us than fighting us.”

  The runner had said the attackers were Kimisar, but what Ash said made more sense if they were Casmuni, trying to get back to the river or to make way for someone crossing it. Alex shook his head in confusion. What the hell was going on?

  “Here they come!”

  Men appeared out of the trees, dressed in Demoran-style clothing. They ran at the Norsari formation, and then, seeing the increase in numbers, slowed down and began to back off. Many turned and fled. “After them!” Alex shouted.

  The Demorans pursued the attackers through the woods, clashing occasionally, but it was mostly a chase. Alex couldn’t get a solid count on the numbers he was fighting, but the weapons he saw bore no resemblance to the light, curved swords he’d taken from the Casmuni. The Norsari leapfrogged through the trees, passing the torches to keep them in the third ranks so the first two could always see, but their prey kept moving out of the light.

  Something was wrong, he could feel it.

  Ash’s men were bringing up the rear, and Alex dropped back to talk to them. “Who are they?” he asked Ash.

  “I heard Kimisar words being thrown around, but also Demoran.”

  “Where the hell did they come from?”

  Ash jerked a thumb behind him. “Corporal Wilder’s got a theory.”

  “Yes, sir.” A man took a few running steps forward. “I heard a bunch of Kimisar came through Jovan last year, before it was closed up by the army. They raided some and disappeared. I guess with the war on the other side of the mountains, everyone forgot.”

  The idea of Kimisar hiding in Demora for months was chilling. Could they have been trying to escape into Casmun last year?

  And what the hell was this about? Showing up and pushing methodically to the river only to fall back in the same manner? These men seemed intent only on getting and keeping the Norsari’s attention.

  He hadn’t seen a single casualty, nor had he seen the oft-used Kimisar tactic of taking and retreating with hostages.

  It was a diversion.

  Before Alex could say anything, a bright orange fire suddenly lit up the sky in the direction of the Norsari camp.

  The Kimisar were after a hostage.

  Nicholas.

  50

  THE NORSARI WERE gone with a swiftness that left Sage in awe, even after spending weeks with them. Lieutenant Gramwell, whom Alex had ordered to stay behind, dismounted and directed the remaining platoon to take defensive positions. He looked fatigued, and Sage knew many of those who’d marched had just returned from the desert, yet none had hesitated, including Alex.

  In addition to Gramwell’s men, a half-dozen soldiers had remained due to some injury. The lieutenant instructed them to clean up the mess left behind in the rush to arms—weapons racks and crates were overturned and a few tents were down. Fires had been scattered, and several soldiers were assigned to make sure all were out or contained. The remaining horses were skittish in their pens, and Gram handed his mount off to a squire and ordered him to saddle a few more horses in case they were needed.

  Sage shrugged the quarterstaff off her shoulders and set the now-empty buckets on the ground. “What can I do?” she asked him as she rubbed her neck.

  Lieutenant Gramwell looked at her warily, and she didn’t blame him for not quite trusting her now. Finally he said, “There will be wounded. Go ready things in the medical tent.”

  Sage wouldn’t have argued if he’d told her to dig a fresh latrine, but this sounded truly helpful. “Right away, sir.”

  The deserted army camp was an eerie place. Sage shivered and fingered the knife on her belt as she walked between the rows. She hadn’t realized how much noise and activity still went on even in the quietest hours until there was none. A low fire burned in a pit outside the medical and supply tents, and she paused to find and light a lantern before entering the infirmary.

  She hung the light from a hook inside and began opening trunks and laying things out on the tables: bandages, witch hazel, tourniquets, suture needles, thread, splints. She was setting out basins for water when the shadow of someone running past her tent made her look up. Whoever it was stopped near the entrance, but didn’t come in.

  “I’m in here,” she called, thinking he must be looking for her.

  A hand holding a long dagger pushed through the tent flap, followed by a scruffy, gap-toothed man. Sage knew all the Norsari by sight, and this face was not one of them, yet it was familiar. “Who are you?” she asked, taking a step back.

  Somewhere outside there was shouting. The man waved the knife and advanced on her. “You will come with me,” he said in a harsh voice.

  In the better light she recognized the style of his cloak and the royal crest on his collar identifying him as a stablehand. That was where she’d seen him.

  “I said come!”

  Sage seized a porcelain bowl with her right hand and flung it at the man’s wrist, immediately following with one from her left aimed at his head. The dagger went flying from his hand, and the second missile hit his skull with a satisfying thunk. She was already hurling more things at him—scissors, bedpans, wads of dressing—anything she could get her hands on, but she was running out of things to throw.

  With a yell, he lunged for her as she kicked a trunk of medicines between them, knocking his feet out from under him. He fell forward, hitting the tent pole. Sage dove under a table just as the structure came down around them. She scrambled for the side of the tent and crawled under the edge. Once outside, she rolled away and into a crouch, one hand on the hilt of her dagger.

  The man was thrashing wildly under the canvas, screaming. A moment later Sage realized why—the lantern had also fallen and set the tent on fire. The noise was bound to draw his f
riends to the area. Snatching an iron skillet from the rack behind her, she sprinted at the flaming lump and slammed it down on what she thought was the man’s head. With a loud crack the lump flattened and was silent.

  Sage dropped the pan and drew her dagger as she turned in a quick circle, looking around. The area was deserted. Light and noise were coming from the other side of the camp, and she ran toward it, knife in hand.

  51

  A SMALL OPEN area was lit by several torches. About thirty men surrounded a dozen Norsari and three squires, holding them at sword and spear point. Half the Demorans were still armed, if only with knives. Lieutenant Gramwell stood among them, blood streaming down the side of his face. Sage hid behind a tent to watch as six more bleeding and limping Norsari were tossed into the cluster of Demorans. They must have been some of those standing guard.

  “Where is the last boy?” someone said.

  “Lenis and Ullya are looking,” another answered.

  “We only need the prince.” A tall, cloaked man pushed through the Kimisar and addressed the Demorans. Sage caught a glimpse of arms tattooed with swirls that looked strangely familiar. “Give him to us.”

  In response, the Norsari formed a tight circle around the three squires. “Come and take him,” one said.

  Some of the Kimisar looked ready to accept the challenge. Their leader held up a hand. “We will not harm him,” the man said. “You have my word.”

  A couple of the Norsari spat on the ground to show what they thought of his promise, but Sage had already seen enough to know Nicholas was not among the three boys in the middle. They must have hidden him somewhere or gotten him out of the camp. There was nothing she could do against so many, but she needed to get to Alex and tell him what was happening. She backed away and skirted around the circle of light and to the closest pen. Over the backs of several horses prancing around in nervousness, she spotted one that was saddled.

  The gate was on the far side, so Sage sheathed her knife and pried one of the top rails from its post and dragged it aside. On the second rail she only got one side down before the anxious horses began to make for the gap. She smacked the nearest one on the rump and sent it flying out. Others followed, and Sage waited for several to pass before darting into the pen to get to the saddled one. She had her hands on the reins and one foot in a stirrup when something swept her other foot out from under her and dumped her on the ground. The sharp point of a halberd was shoved into her face.