Page 43 of Kingdom of Ash

Ravi growled, at last getting the gist of his brother’s words.

Aedion and Ren swapped glances. The Lord of Allsbrook frowned, but nodded.

“Rest wherever you can find a fire to welcome you, Nox Owen,” Aedion said to the messenger. “We travel at dawn.”

Aedion set out to find Kyllian to convey the order. The tents were a maze of exhausted soldiers, the injured groaning amongst them.

Aedion stopped long enough to greet those men, to offer a hand on the shoulder or a word of reassurance. Some would last the night. Many wouldn’t.

He halted at other fires as well. To commend the fighting done, whether the soldiers hailed from Terrasen or the Wastes or Wendlyn. At a few of them, he even shared in their ales or meals.

Rhoe had taught him that—the art of making his men want to follow him, die for him. But more than that, seeing themasmen, as people with families and friends, who had as much to risk as he did in fighting here. It was no burden, despite the exhaustion creeping over him, to thank them for their courage, their swords.

But it did take time. The sun had fully set, the muddy camp cast in deep shadows amid the fires, by the time he neared Kyllian’s tent.

Elgan, one of the Bane captains, clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, the man’s grizzled face set in a grim smile. “Not a bad first day, whelp,” Elgan grumbled. He’d called Aedion that since those initial daysin the Bane’s ranks, had been one of the first men here to treat him not as a prince who had lost his kingdom, but as a warrior fighting to defend it. Much of his battlefield training, he owed to Elgan. Along with his life, considering the countless times the man’s wisdom and quick sword had saved him.

Aedion grinned at the aging captain. “You fought well, for a grandfather.” The man’s daughter had given birth to a son just this past winter.

Elgan growled. “I’d like to see you wield a sword so well when you’re my age, boy.”

Then he was gone, aiming for a campfire that held several other older commanders and captains. They noticed Aedion’s attention and lifted their mugs in salute.

Aedion only inclined his head, and continued on.

“Aedion.”

He’d know that voice if he were blind.

Lysandra stepped from behind a tent, her face clean despite her muddy clothes.

He halted, finally feeling the weight of the dirt and gore on himself. “What.”

She ignored his tone. “I could fly to Darrow tonight. Give him whatever message you want.”

“He wants us to move the army back to him, and then to Orynth,” Aedion said, making to continue to Kyllian’s tent. “Immediately.”

She stepped in his path. “I can go, tell him this army needs time to rest.”

“Is this some attempt to reenter my good graces?” He was too tired, too weary, to bother beating around the truth.

Her emerald eyes went as cold as the winter night around them. “I don’t give a damn about yourgood graces. I care about this army being worn down with unnecessary movements.”

“How do you even know what was said in the tent?” He knew theanswer as soon as he’d voiced the question. She’d been in some small, unnoticed form. Precisely why so many kingdoms and courts had hunted down and killed any shifters. Unparalleled spies and assassins.

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t want me sitting in on your war councils, then say so.”

He took in her face, her stiff posture. Exhaustion lay heavy on her, her golden skin pale and eyes haunted. He didn’t know where she was staying in this camp. If she even had a tent.

Guilt gnawed on him for a heartbeat. “When, exactly, will our queen make her grand return?”

Her mouth tightened. “Tonight, if you think it wise.”

“To miss the battle and only appear to bask in the glory of victory? I doubt the troops would find that heartening.”

“Then tell me where, and when, and I’ll do it.”

“Just as you blindly obeyed our queen, you’ll now obey me?”

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