Page 14 of A Court of Truth and Thorns
“Are you all right?” he whispers.
“Fine.”
He turns toward Wil. “This is a large camp. Looks like one of the forward divisions. The commander will be a lesser general.”
“Is this a good thing?” Wil whispers back.
“Yes. It will be simpler to have decisions made with a ranking officer in charge. It also means military rules will be observed to the letter.” Trace’s gaze returns to me and stays, waiting for something.
“And one of those rules frowns upon women taking up arms, doesn’t it?” I guess, quickly adding a bit more boyishswagger to my stride. The last thing I need is to be separated out. Trace nods, his eyes leaving me immediately. As if it would kill him to speak to me more than necessity demanded.
Lieutenant Copa stops before a large tent. The guards posted outside snap to attention, touching their weapons and hearts. Copa excuses himself from us and ducks inside. Left without their commander, the other soldiers circle us in one silent, coordinated movement.
“General Hewe will see you now,” Copa says, emerging from the tent. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but I must ask you to leave your weapons outside.”
Despite his perfectly polite tone, I know there is nothing apologetic in the request. Just as I know that, though we’ve been permitted to keep our swords until now, one of Copa’s elite warriors would have had a blade at the throat of anyone reaching for steel. I surrender my sword; Trace, Luca, and Wil do the same.
Trace leans down toward me, his heat mixing with mine. “Your throwing knives too.” I give my head a minuscule shake.No. Not my blades.Trace growls softly. “They know you have them.” Indeed, raising my eyes, I see several of the soldiers waiting on something. Copa smiles politely. Gritting my teeth, I unstrap the vambrace. Taking it off leaves me feeling naked.
“Thank you,” says Copa crisply. “This way, please. Your injured companion may remain on the litter. I’ve sent for a medic and I give you my word that no ill will befall the girl while you are inside.”
Luca hesitates but there is little choice. With Wil leading the way, we enter the general’s tent. Large and well lit, the space is set up for holding counsel. Maps cover the canvas walls, a table holds wine and is surrounded by matching chairs, and a clerk sits ready with pen and ink in the corner.
General Hewe rises from behind hisdesk. For an instant,I’m thrown back to Firehorn’s study on my first day in the palace. Thick with muscle, General Hewe has a mustache, intelligent eyes, and the weight of many lives plain on his shoulders. His light hair is swept back from his face like Trace’s and his uniform is cut finely, though lacking any embellishment. “Your Highness Prince William Firehorn.” The general bows with no hint of mockery or surprise. Either he figures us for crazed imbeciles not worth contradicting, or detailed reports of the events in Delta have reached his desk a while ago. “Welcome to Camp Vanguard. Please allow me to extend my deepest condolences for your father’s death and my outrage at the takeover of your rightful throne by an imposter.”
Well, that conveniently takes care of the entire opening speech we prepared for Wil, who swallows and seems to shrink into himself without moving a muscle. “Thank you, sir,” he manages after a moment.
Hewe sits, motioning for us to do the same. “You appear startled, Your Highness,” he says with a tilt of his head. “What welcome did you expect when you set course toward my forces?”
“I expected you to require some proof beyond my word that I am who I claim,” Wil blurts. Blushing, he shifts his weight in his chair. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, sir.”
General Hewe lets out a deep, booming laugh. “I like your bluntness, Your Highness. It is refreshing when dealing with the ruling class, if I might be so bold as to say so. Before you believe me too daft, allow me to return your bluntness with my own. First, however,” the general snaps his fingers, summoning a footman to pour us wine, “allow us to indulge in a bottle that I’ve been waiting for an excuse to open. The grapes come from a small vineyard east of here and are picked just as the frost settles. I hope it suites your palette.”
I watch the amber liquid burble delicately into my glass and take a slow sip, catching the clean, sweet taste that marks potent alcohol beneath. The wine is no accident. Especially on our empty stomachs.
Luca drains his cup dry in one gulp. Wil wraps his hands around the goblet but keeps it on the table, though I’d wager his hesitation has more to do with fear of shaking hands than with consideration of the alcohol’s effects.
General Hewe takes an indulgent sip and looks around the table. “I promised to explain,” he says, picking up his former train of thought. “As you are doubtless aware, an Everett delegation was in Delta proper when the coup started. I am pleased to report that they arrived safely at Camp Vanguard two days ago. Their description of the members of the Dansil royal family were collected as a matter of principle.”
Raza.I dare not look at Trace, but sitting beside him, I feel the loosening of his shoulders and the slow, relieved exhale of held breath.
“Envoy Jajack should be joining us any moment.” General Hewe watches Wil’s face as he speaks. “In fact, I believe I hear him now.”
As if on cue—perhaps deliberately so—the tent flap flies back to admit the envoy’s familiar face. Everyone smiles politely, commencing a triangulated evaluation of Jajack watching us, Hewe watching Jajack, and us watching everyone together.
“Your Highness,” Jajack says after a moment with a bow to Wil, “I am pleased to see you well. How might we be of service?”
Wil pushes the wine aside, his jaw tightening. For a heartbeat, he stares into Jajack’s eyes so intently that I’m certain his mind is elsewhere. But then Wil swallows and draws himself to full height. “The day before Bahir’s attack, youcame to an agreement with my father. I believe leaked news of this agreement precipitated the coup. I now ask for Everett’s help in reclaiming my throne in order to honor the agreement made before my father’s death.”
I stiffen, looking between my companions, who seem as ill-informed as I am of the situation. Even Trace stares at Wil with widened eyes.
Jajack smiles thinly. “The situation has changed so greatly, Your Highness, that His Majesty King Owain must evaluate the request himself. I will have a dispatch sent at once.”
“Why are we entertaining this lot?” demands a familiar voice a moment before its owner storms into the general’s tent with a host of bewildered soldiers at her heels. “Should they not be in a cage somewhere?” Raza finishes, coming to a full stop beside the general.
At least, I believe the girl standing before me is Raza. With one eye and half her face hidden behind a bandage, it’s hard to recognize the once-gorgeous princess in this wounded, furious creature. The perfect posture and flowing gait are also gone, replaced with hunched shoulders and painfully forced bravado. Her hands, nails broken and bitten to the quick, fold into fists at her hips.
Trace’s sharp intake of breath is covered only by the scrape of chairs as the room rises to its feet. Tension crackles like lightning.
