Chapter Thirty-One

“Stop.” Duncan batted Roland’s hands away from his throat. “Hand me those damn bars, and stop choking me.”

Roland opened his hand, his eyes as round as saucers. “Did you just say damn, sir?”

Duncan sucked blood off his thumb where the first bar had pricked him. His head pounded as if he had not gagged down a cup of willow bark tea. At the thought of willow bark tea, his stomach gave a sudden upward lurch. He pressed the heel of his hand to his sternum. His head pounded like a bonfire drum. Ashes. He hated alcohol.

His cadet had the nerve to grin. “You did. You said damn.”

“Perhaps.” Rotating his head with great care, Duncan pinned the cadet with a blazing stare. “I am out-of-sorts this morning, and I am familiar with the use of the word.”

The lad shrugged and muttered, “Next you’ll be using contractions.”

Roland’s insolence was not worth comment. Duncan concentrated his failing patience on affixing the final gold bar to his high collar. With any luck at all, it was the last time he would ever wear the damnable, yes damnable, things.

“Since you don’t need help dressing, sir, I’ll just fetch your breakfast.”

“Please no. I cannot stomach the thought.” Duncan shuddered. “I don’t want breakfast. I want—Faelan in my bed, in my life—the twins. Find them for me, please.”

The boy grinned. “You said don’t.”

“Roland.”

“Yes sir. I’m going.”

****

“Lannie? Are you crying?”

“Go away, Quinn.”

“Uh-uh. My little sister’s crying. I can’t walk away from that. I’m counting to ten then I’m coming in. So blow your nose. One. Two—”

“Just come in since you’re going to anyway. Nobody listens to me. Not you or him.”

The mattress sagged under Quinn’s weight, his hand skimmed her shoulder, comforting her as he had done for as long as she could remember.

“Tell bubba what terrible the Field Marshal did this time, apart from turning our Nicholas into an overdone shish kebab, defeating our army, and taking our uncle prisoner.”

“Apart from that.” Faelan gave a sad soggy little laugh and slumped against the bed frame with all the drama of an angst-ridden teenager smarting over her first crush. She ought to be ashamed, but somehow, she wasn’t.

Faelan opened her hand. Quinn studied the waded piece of paper on her palm with raised eyebrows.

“Read it.”

Smoothing the wrinkled paper out against his knee, Quinn bent his head over the note, his lips moved. After a moment, he glanced up and met his sister’s red-rimmed eyes.

“It gives you free run of his camp. When did he give you this?”

“Yesterday afternoon. There was a rumor going around saying he was dying from his change—”

“I’ve always heard one can’t shift into a form far larger or smaller than one’s natural size. His was a hell of a change.”

A little smile tickled the side of her mouth. “Yes, but you and I don’t get sick when we change. It sounded abnormal to me.”

“We don’t fall out of the sky either.”

Ignoring her brother’s comment, Faelan forged on. “I went to see him.”

“Ooh. I know that look. You did more than see him.”

Faelan felt blood rush to her cheeks.

“Are you blushing? You are blushing.” Quinn clapped his hands. “You’re really gone on this fellow, aren’t you?”

There was no use denying it. Quinn could literally smell a lie.

Quinn glanced down at the paper still spread out on his knee. “He cares for you too, or he wouldn’t have written this. It gives you the same freedom of movement his soldiers have.”

“He says he loves me.”

“And that’s a problem why, exactly? Do you think he’s insincere, because I’ll challenge him if you want me to? Not that a wolf can whip a dragon’s ass or anything.”

“He’s not a shifter.” Faelan fiddled with the edge of her blanket.

“I saw him. Remember?”

“Just take my word for it. Duncan’s not a shifter. He thinks he’s sincere. Yesterday, he asked me to go home with him to meet his family. I just can’t.”

“Why?” Quinn’s brow furrowed. “You’re losing me. You love the man. He loves you. Is there somebody waiting back in the desert I don’t know about?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Faelan took a deep breath, sat up straight, and met her brother’s gaze. “Do you remember your first love?”

Quinn smiled and closed his eyes. “Betty Gannon.”

“Looking back, do you wish you’d married her instead of Camilla?”

Quinn shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. I’m Duncan’s Betty Gannon. Here, he’s a soldier far from home, and I’m a soldier far from home. We’re equals. Back in the real world, he’s the son of a wealthy powerful family. His family expects him to marry a woman of breeding and property. He’s not going to want a half illiterate nomad seven years his senior shackling him with promises made during wartime. I’d be an embarrassment.”

“How do you know? Did you ask him? The man is a career soldier. Maybe he’s not all that concerned with what his family wants.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours. But this drivel you’re spouting is nothing but pride turned inside out.”

Faelan paced the length of her tent. “I’m not going to the surrender ceremony. He’ll just be too beautiful and…and perfect. I’ll weaken. I’ve said goodbye, and I don’t want to see him again.”

Quinn caught his sister in mid-pace, hugged her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Suit yourself, little sister, but I’m not the one being stupid.”

****

Sun stabbed Duncan’s eyes, merciless after the gloom inside his tent, ratcheting up his aching head to new plateaus of misery.

Where in blazes was Roland with the twins? A man couldn’t find a bit of magic anywhere when he really needed it. He squeezed his eyes shut and massaged his temples.

“Are you about to sick-up?”

Startled, Duncan’s head snapped to the side.

He had not heard Captain Fawr come up beside him. Dangerous that. The captain’s sense of humor being what it was, a man could get hurt. Duncan always made a point of knowing his captain’s whereabouts.

“I have already performed that charming ritual this morning, sir. A bad head is the extent of my misery.”

Kree eyed him doubtfully. “Are you sure? Because you look like carrion.”

Thank you for the visual. Duncan swallowed the lump rising in his throat and reminded himself he loved this man. “I sent for the twins. I will be back at one-hundred percent in short order.”

The captain blew out a disapproving puff of air. “Magic. You wouldn’t need that shit if you dipped your toes into debauchery a little more often. It’s these once-in-a-blue-moon binges that do you in. Your blood doesn’t build up a tolerance.”

“So you have said, sir, countless times.”

Captain Fawr’s heavy hand came to rest on Duncan’s shoulder effectively pinning him in place, although the man made no real attempt to hold him.

“And so I’m apt to keep saying. If you can drink it, eat it, smoke it, or snort it to get high, chances are I have at one time or another and look at me. You don’t see me tiptoeing around all red-eyed and pasty-faced this morning, do you?”

Duncan shook his head with utmost care. “For the love of mercy, sir, spare me any more tales of your misspent youth. I am sure they are instructive. Nevertheless, I beg you— Ah, look. Here are the twins.”

****

Everyone who could walk went to witness the surrender. Faelan stayed behind determined to forget this lush green land just as she had determined to forget a certain beautiful field marshal. Her heart ached with loss but sooner begun sooner done.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go across? Aren’t you even a little curious to know what’s to become of us? What if he shifts into that big fire-breathing thing again and roasts us all as he did poor Mister Nicholas.”

Faelan smiled as she wrapped packing rags around a small clay pitcher. Poor Martha, missing the surrender must be killing her.

“He won’t. And I already know what’s to become of us.”

Her maid peered up at her. “You do?”

“Day after tomorrow The Glorious Army of the Descendants will march back to Eremos under the watchful eye of the Ionian Infantry.”

Martha dropped the laundry she’d been fiddling with. “That’s all? He’s just packing us all home?”

“Not all of us.” Faelan took a deep breath. “Uncle Ari and the chief-men will go to Elhar to face trial. The officers who helped Nicholas raid the Allied camp will swear an oath of allegiance to the Great Ladies or hang. The rest of us must take an oath not to take up arms against Kingdom nations. Then the infantry will escort us back to the desert and our lives will go on as before.”

Her maid pushed a pile of clothes aside and sat on the edge of her cot. “How do you know?”

“Duncan read the terms of surrender to me yesterday.”

“Why?”

There was a good question. Faelan chewed her lower lip a minute considering how to answer. He actually changed the terms for her. “He wanted my opinion. He wanted to be sure I thought his terms merciful.”

Martha snatched up a tunic and folded it neatly. Her maid never went long without something to busy her hands. “Strange man.” Laying the folded garment aside, Martha reached for another.

Wonderful man. Faelan sighed. “Yes, he is. I’m not likely to meet another like him.”

“All the more reason to go across to the ceremony then, ain’t it, precious?”