“You lost men. I’d like to replace them.” Finishing the last of her wine, Davin leaned forward to refill her goblet. With her legs still propped on the table, she struggled to reach the wickerwork jug until Lucius graciously nudged it toward her. Rewarding him with a genuine grin, she reclined once more. “I know I said that my men were there to give you information, not keep the peace, but this changes things. You’ll need every spare sword you can find to defeat the counts. So the Low Crown will keep Ansiri from burning down while you’re gone.”
Leo’s eyes widened. It was a generous offer, especially coming from Davin, and not one he’d lightly decline. He glanced at Cirilla. Her expression was guarded, but at his look, she nodded.
“Thank you,” he said, turning back to Davin. “I appreciate it.”
She shrugged, draining yet another goblet of wine.
“Least I can do,” she said.
It was then that Summers cleared his throat. The man’s face flushed slightly at the interruption.
“Yes?” Leo asked.
“My apologies, Your Excellency,” Summers said. Reaching into the breast of his uniform jacket, he produced a small stack of folded parchment, bound with a white, silk ribbon. “But speaking of spare swords, the Baron and I have a proposal. Obviously, you are free to—”
“Let me see,” Leo said, gesturing impatiently. He pushed his plate aside, unwrapped the parcel, and spread the pages out before him. “What’s this proposal?”
“A diversion,” Lucius said. The elf rose, making his way to Leo’s side. He indicated several spots on the pages, fingers alternating between a roster of conscripted battalions and a rough sketch of the Isles. “We know that Quinn’s forces are only a few weeks from Ansiri. Presumably, the other counts are a similar distance. And judging by the way they’ve been conscripting near every man they can find, they plan to overwhelm us with their numbers.”
“That’s right,” Summers interrupted. The man wasn’t quite scowling, though he clearly did not appreciate Lucius’ decision to preempt his explanation. He too moved to Leo’s side, squeezing delicately in between him and Cirilla. “Which means it’s unlikely that they’ve left any significant numbers to defend the northern cities and plantations. They’re marching south with everything they have. So, while they’re distracted, the baron and I propose taking a separate detachment north, by sea. We’ll sever their supply lines, harass them where we can, and cut off any retreat.”
Leo glanced between the two.
“How many?” he asked.
Summers hesitated, swallowing nervously. Lucius, on the other hand, merely sighed.
“Two thousand,” the elf said.
“Two thousand,” Leo echoed. He exhaled an uneasy sigh as he studied the map. “You said Quinn could be here in a fortnight, and you want to borrow almost a fifth of our army?”
“I do,” Lucius said. He crossed his arms and grimaced. “I know how it sounds, Leo. Trust me, I do. But it makes sense. Our army is well-motivated thanks to your promise of freedom, but it’s still undertrained and underequipped. The counts grow stronger with each passing day. The only real advantage we have is the fleet. So unless we can use it to make them desperate and provoke them into attacking before they’re ready, we may as well flee to Sutherpoint tonight.”
Leo stood and began to pace. He could feel every eye in the room watching him. But for once, the gravity of his considerations meant that he barely noticed the observers.
He glanced at Cirilla. Her face was just as impassive and unreadable as before. But then, almost imperceptibly, she shrugged.
“How soon will you leave?” Leo asked.
Summers and Lucius shared a look. Only this time, it was Summers who broke the silence.
“We can sail on the morning tide,” he said. “Only about a third of the fleet is anchored at the moment, but that’ll be enough to transport two thousand.”
“I can be ready by morning,” Lucius agreed. “The quartermasters won’t be happy about it, but they’ll live. Since there shouldn’t be much fighting, I’ll take some of the newer conscripts. That way, at least you’ll have soldiers who know how to hold a sword or spear without hurting the elf beside them.”
“How generous,” Leo muttered. He’d intended the words for himself, but Lucius grinned and bowed anyway.
Elves.
Chapter Eleven
Leo waited until the morning to break the news to Cirilla.
“I’m leaving Ansiri,” he announced. “I’m going to stay with the army until we march.”
Cirilla had spent the morning lounging in bed, reading her leather-bound book by the light of morning. But at Leo’s words she sat bolt upright, her face pale and her book forgotten.
“What?” she demanded. “When did you decide this?”
“Last night,” he said. “I’m sorry. But it’s necessary. I can’t simply arrive the night before a battle and expect them to follow me.”
“Yes, you could,” she snapped. Folding her arms, she turned and studiously avoided looking at him. “You’re the Duke. And their master. It’s their duty.”
“Cirilla…” Smiling sadly, Leo made his way to her side. She turned the opposite direction as he approached but did not resist as he drew her gently into his arms and against his chest. “You know I wouldn’t go unless it was absolutely necessary.”
His wife grumbled but relaxed inside his embrace. They remained that way for a long time. Then, peeling back the blankets, she stood and wrapped her arms around him as well.
“It feels different this time,” she said.
Leo sighed, nodding. There was no need to ask what she meant. The last time he’d left Ansiri it had been at the head of a fleet, confidently sailing to crush a supposedly understrength foe. There had been fear and tense moments, of course, but victory had rarely been an uncertain thing. Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware that the odds were against him. At best, he had an even chance.
And they both knew it.
“Everything will be fine,” he lied. “Summers and Lucius know what they’re doing. The counts will be desperate and half-starved by the time the fighting starts. Who knows? They might even surrender without a fight.”
Cirilla snorted, her breath warm against his neck. “That’ll be the day,” she mumbled.
“Besides, this may help quiet things in Ansiri, at least a little.”
“Oh?” Cirilla stiffened against him. Leo thought she was evaluating his words but she soon drew back and fixed him with a curious half-frown. “How do you imagine that will happen?”
“I’m hardly a popular Duke,” he reminded her, grinning hesitantly. “A few of the commoners might have appreciated what I did to the nobles, but dismissing the aldermen? I’m almost surprised no one’s tried to burn down the Ministry. But once they hear that I’ve left the city, there’d be no point in trying. I’m the one they hate. That will leave you free to rule in my stead, mostly unopposed.”
“That’s… true,” she conceded. It should have been an encouraging thought, but Cirilla’s frown deepened. “But what about you? They’ll call you a coward. And a Duke no one respects can hardly be called a Duke at all.”
Leo shrugged. “I’ve been called worse,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. Coward or not, they’ll have no choice but to bend the knee once I return. I’ll have an army and a crown. That’s all that matters.”
“All that matters?” Cirilla teased, quirking a brow.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. Be safe.” Again, Cirilla hesitated. “And… come see me before you leave.”
Leo grinned. Taking her hand, he bowed low and kissed her knuckles.
“As Your Excellency wishes,” he said.
Despite the suddenness with which he’d announced his intentions, Leo found that the actual preparations for his departure took far, far longer than they had a few months prior. He’d ventured out into the hall outside their chambers
, intending to flag down the first servant he spotted. But no sooner had he done so than remembrance sparked a fresh pang of guilt.
How many times had he relied upon Brigit or Delia to fetch his rapier, pack his belongings, or produce a thick, woolen overcoat before venturing out his front door? As much as he’d appreciated them, he’d still taken them for granted. And now, he would never get the chance to express that appreciation.
Leo barely saw the face of the servant to whom he gave his instructions. All he knew was that, once he had, the craving for familiar companionship burned in his chest like a hot iron.
Fortunately, that desire coincided perfectly with his duty, for once.
He found Karran at one of her usual spots, just around the corner from his chamber door. Though he’d avoided including her in the formal rotation of his guards, and while she could technically wander the Ministry as she pleased, the ambrosian had taken to training or standing guard within earshot of his most frequently visited spots. The instinct had only intensified since the assault earlier that week. And although Leo suspected that her devotion was motivated by more than just the desire to protect him, he wasn’t about to object.
“Karran,” he called.
She spun, her amber-colored eyes instantly alert and her claws curling readily. But then, upon noticing his wan smile, the ambrosian straightened and trotted toward him. The claws on her feet clicked audibly against the stone.
“Pack your things,” he instructed. “I’m heading to the garrison. I assume you’d like to come with me?”
Karran grinned. Her fangs would have looked ominous under different circumstances, but she’d been with him too long for Leo to fear them.
Soon? she signed with a brisk, open-handed gesture.
He nodded and mimicked the move but slower and with a closed fist.
Soon.
Leo knew from experience that where Karran went, Sann was almost certainly to follow. He spotted her only a few seconds later, crouched stealthily near the top of a broad staircase. And, with a jerk of his head, he called her over.
Her response was immediate and dramatic. Flaring her wings with an audible snap, and spooking a nearby guard in the process, the drakonid launched herself toward him. She landed in a crouch, folding her wings at her back and rising in a manner that could nearly have been called suggestive.
“Mate,” she said, inspecting him with narrowed eyes. “You desssire me? It hasss been nine daysss sssince—”
“Not now,” he interrupted a tad hastily. “But soon, perhaps. I’m heading to the garrison, and I’d like you to join me. Do you have anything you need to bring?”
“Bring?” Sann echoed. She squinted thoughtfully, her tail lashing from side to side, then shook her head. “No. I need nothing. Only food and my mate.”
“Good.” Leo fought the urge to squirm as the drakonid’s gaze lingered uncomfortably below his waist. “I, uh—make sure you remain close to my chambers. We’ll leave as soon as everyone’s ready, and I don’t want to waste time looking for you.”
“I ssshall,” Sann said. Thankfully, she did not seem offended by his words. “For my mate, I ssshall mak-k-ke myssself easssy to find.”
Uncertain how best to respond, Leo contented himself with a nod.
To Leo’s surprise, it was Nyssa who proved the most difficult to track down. He checked her room and, finding it empty, the room shared by Atarah and Fanette as well. Neither proved fruitful. Nor did his conversation with the captain of the guard. The man assured Leo that none of the trow had been assigned duties and went so far as to show him the assignment roster. True to his word, their names did not appear.
When he finally located them, the solution proved so obvious that he felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner. Even before he reached the training hall, he could already hear the muffled grunts and sharp clattering of wooden weapons emanating from the gap between door and threshold.
He entered quietly, distracted by a host of unwelcome thoughts.
The room was empty apart from the trow. And although Nyssa spotted him immediately, followed a split-second later by her students, none of the three halted. And so, Leo folded his arms to observe.
All three of the trow were soaked with sweat, their limbs trembling with exertion. From their appearance, they must have been practicing continuously for quite some time. But despite their transparent weariness, none gave any indication of stopping. The sisters came at Nyssa from every conceivable angle, slashing, feinting, and jabbing with their wasters. And although their efforts occasionally succeeded—Leo watched as Fanette turned a parried downstroke into a clever swipe that landed near the hip—there was an uncommon ferocity to Nyssa’s movements.
Leo had seen it once before, firsthand, when one of the late Count Terras’ men had cut down her anathki. Her rage had made for a stunning spectacle, though he’d been too distracted at the time to appreciate the skill involved. But now, he could feel his heart begin to race just watching her. The only problem was the implication.
“Nyssa,” he said.
The three trow froze. Nyssa, eyes still glued to the wooden blade she’d raised to parry, slowly turned to face him.
“Yes?” she asked.
“We’re leaving for the garrison. Will you be ready?”
She nodded. There was something about the way she did it that felt off to Leo—a hint of disappointment, perhaps?—but she promptly lowered her sword and handed it to Atarah. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she made her way toward him.
“We?” she asked softly.
“Karran and Sann are coming to,” he said.
“Ah, okay. I thought—” Nyssa shook her head and adopted a weary smile. “Never mind. Do I have time to bathe first?”
“As long as you’re quick. I’d like to leave within the hour so we can be there in time for dinner. Do you think you can manage that?”
Nyssa’s smile grew.
“Of course,” she said. “Unless you’re thinking of joining me?”
He rolled his eyes. “I hadn’t planned on it,” he said. “Why waste my chance now? Gods know I’ll need some way to pass the time once we reach the garrison.”
“We’re going to war, Leo,” Nyssa said. It was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
***
It was nearly midday by the time Leo and his entourage were ready to leave. The organized chaos of packing while scarfing down a quick, one-handed bite to eat was such that it wasn’t until he returned to his chambers to retrieve his rapier that Leo remembered Cirilla’s request.
He found her sitting in the corner. The same book from that morning rested in her lap but she wasn’t reading it. Instead, she stared ahead blankly and did not stir until Leo moved past the threshold.
“You’re really going then?” she asked.
Leo nodded woodenly, uncertain whether or not he ought to approach. Eventually, he did, settling down on the edge of the bed and studying her with a complicated smile.
“I am,” he said. “I’ve already spoken to Conrad and a few of the officers. They understand that they’re to obey you in my absence.”
Cirilla snorted, not that Leo could blame her. The conversations were ceremonial at best and pointless at worst. The Ministry’s personnel knew full well who held the power behind the throne.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, after a moment, she sighed and glanced down at the closed book in her lap. “I asked you to come and see me, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Leo agreed. He cocked his head, confused by his wife’s sudden reticence. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Not wrong. I just… don’t know quite how to begin.”
“At the beginning?” he teased. He’d hoped to earn a smile or a roll of her eyes, but Cirilla merely sighed again.
“Fine. A few weeks ago you said that I wouldn’t have to raise this child alone. And I plan on holding you to that. So let
’s just suppose that, hypothetically, this war takes longer than anyone expects. You chase Count Grey and the others across the steppes for six months, and I’m forced to deliver alone. What would… that is, do you have any opinions on a name?”
“A name?” Leo said, taken aback. He laughed, flustered and unable to say why. “Uh, I can’t say I’ve given it much thought. Did… do you have any thoughts?”
“A few,” she said. “But I’d like to hear yours. Just… just in case?”
There was no need for her to elaborate. It was obvious that she was not worried about the war dragging on for months. But, all the same, Leo appreciated the delicate euphemism.
“I’m not partial to anything,” he said, shrugging. “If you were going to force me, I suppose I’d pick Henri. It was my grandfather’s name, after all. But I wouldn’t be offended if—”
“Henri,” Cirilla interrupted. She grinned, glancing down. Though it was still far too soon for her to begin showing, it was readily apparent where her thoughts had gone. “It’s such an old-fashioned name.”
“I know. Like I said, I—”
“No, no. I like it.” Peering at him, Cirilla’s eyes twinkled knowingly. “It’s a good name for a Duke. But what if it’s a girl?”
“Brigit,” he said.
His lack of hesitation must have caught her unprepared. For a second, Cirilla stared at him in surprise. Then her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“You want to name our daughter after your mistress?” There was a touch of humor to her words but also a dry edge.
“After my friend,” he corrected.
Cirilla grumbled and folded her arms. But even before she spoke, Leo could tell that he’d won.
“Oh, very well,” she sighed. “It’s not as though I can argue with a ghost. I suppose I’ll just have to hope we have a son.”
Leo grinned, rising and making his way toward her. He stooped then, lifting his wife’s chin and kissing her gently on the lips.
Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4) Page 11