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Presley had never seen Grigory look so exhausted. He knew Grigory wasn’t getting nearly enough sleep and was doing more physical labor than he had done in years. In a perfect world, Presley would take him home immediately to Docent Lane, tuck him into bed, and hold him until he fell asleep. Well, there might be a little more than cuddling before he falls asleep.
But this was far from a perfect world. If perfection were possible, they would be enjoying the break between semesters, the two of them either sleeping in at their house in Presidium, or perhaps on vacation. Yes, Presley would have begged a few days off from work entirely, and they could have rented a house in Teperum. That would be perfect. Just himself and Grigory in a hot bath, relaxing, nothing more troubling than whether they would go to a concert or spend the night in.
Instead, they were standing in a muddy field at dusk outside the southeast wall of Leornian with Sir Alfred discussing the depth of the pits where volunteers from the city were burying stakes designed the thwart a cavalry charge. Almost like a hot bath in Teperum.
“How many more do you think we will have time to dig?” asked Alfred, tugging at the edge of his jacket.
Grigory straightened up from where he’d been squatting, staring into one of his deathtraps. “We could ring this entire area. No ‘ring’ is the wrong word.” He rubbed his eyes. “I am sorry. I am tired and my Myrcian is suffering. Line. We could line this side of the wall if we did not need to also be seen doing the same where the enemy expects us to be preparing. But I would say half again as many as we already have. Soon we will need people inside helping, too.”
The three stood in silence, inspecting the incredible amount of work that had already been accomplished. Even in the gloom of the coming night, Presley thought it looked impressive. Pits had been dug in irregular intervals for as far as the eye could see in the twilight. Only some had stakes thus far, though. Grigory had said they did not have the time to fill them all, but that a wide enough trench was more than enough to slow down even the best cavalry.
“Yes. Good, good,” Sir Alfred said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. He had been skittish and distracted all day, and also had the marks of a man who could do with a few weeks in Teperum and a hot bath. He had dark circles under his eyes and jumped at sudden sounds, which in a busy military camp, happened with frequency. And then when someone asked him about Princess Elwyn, he nearly ran away, or so it seemed to Presley.
I hope nothing is wrong on that front. Queen Rohesia is right—if Alfred were to marry Elwyn, no one could object to him becoming captain general. Except Lawrence, of course. But hopefully no one will listen to him.
“Pardon me, sirs,” Miles Richards called, jogging up. “The colonel’s compliments, and he says someone has arrived in camp he believes you will all wish to see.”
Presley exchanged looks with Grigory and Alfred. The colonel had better have a very good sense of who we want to see. If he’s bothering us because some lady, bored with the siege, has come out to tour the camp and wants to meet the famous Professor Sobol, I will be seriously displeased.
“Any idea who it is?” Presley asked.
“I did not see her closely,” Miles answered.
A bored woman. Fantastic.
When they arrived at the colonel’s tent, however, the man bowed and excused himself, telling them to use his tent for as long as they required. Presley looked askance at the man’s retreating back and then led the way inside. When he saw Intira sitting there, covered in mud, he finally understood. Of course, other than Queen Rohesia, they had never said to anyone, “By the by, Domina Stylianos is a spy,” but many people had surely guessed. Especially any of the men who regularly had duty outside the city and saw Intira coming and going.
“I doubt there has ever been a pig as filthy as I am right now,” she said, and then took a long drink from a waterskin. Presley guessed it contained something stronger than water.
“Other than the mud, are you well?” Presley asked, hoping she wasn’t bringing more bad news from another trip to meet her contact.
“I’m well, but we have a problem.” She screwed up her face at Miles. “What are the chances of a lady getting a bath and clean clothes in this camp?”
“I’m certain I can find clothes, my lady. But hot water and a tub....” Miles paused, obviously not wishing to complete the thought and disappoint her.
“There’s a stream just inside the tree line about thirty yards east of here,” Grigory said. “But maybe only a Loshadnarodski likes a stream in December.”
“No, I’ll take it,” Intira sighed, pulling a clump of mud from the ends of her long, coppery hair. “So, Miles, if you would find me a change of clothes and bring them back here, I would appreciate it.”
Miles bowed and took his leave. Intira beckoned Presley, Grigory, and Alfred closer. “What do you know about me?” she asked Alfred.
“Well, um, that you’re the daughter of the Empire’s most successful shipping magnate—”
“And that I’m a spy,” she cut him off.
“I have suspected you might be doing something other than sightseeing on your rides.”
Intira chuckled. “Yes, you’re very clever. Here’s the important thing, which I’m telling you because these two trust you, and so does the queen. You surely have heard we’ve got a contact in Broderick’s camp. Well, one of my main jobs here is meeting with him. He managed to get us that information about the enemy plans. But unfortunately, he was only able to do so by using magy I supplied him.”
And here, Intira rolled up the sleeve of her filthy tunic to reveal all of her prosthetic arm, including the leather and metal harness that held it onto her stump. She started undoing it swiftly with practiced ease. “This arm is magysk, made for me by Servius Faustinus, who I’m sure you’ve heard of.”
“Of course,” Alfred said, quite impressed, “I even met him when—”
“Yes, yes. The man gets around,” she said. “The important thing for everyone here to know is that this arm contains a number of magysk weapons anyone can use if they know the proper spell. I gave one of these to my man in Broderick’s camp. He was forced to use it. Unfortunately, even though Jorunn Unset wasn’t on the spot when he used it, she returned before the magy dissipated and sensed it.”
“Did she recognize Faustinus’s magy?” Grigory asked.
Intira finished pulling her arm off and rested it on the bed. “She didn’t say so, which means we can’t be sure one way or the other. But either way, it’s not good for us or my informant.”
That was an understatement. If Jorunn thinks, well, knows that Faustinus is involved in the war, she, and worse yet, Diernemynster, might decide to come into the war on Broderick’s side. Dammit.
“Long story short,” Intira continued, “I think Jorunn is following me now.” She pointed to a teardrop-shaped yellow stone near the elbow of the arm. “This one detects magy, and it’s been glowing on and off all afternoon. I didn’t see her, but she can make herself invisible if she wants. That’s why I nearly killed myself getting back here as fast as I could.”
“At least you are safe now,” Grigory said comfortingly.
“Yes and no. I think all of us, and especially you, my lord chief of staff,” she nodded at Alfred, “need to think about what we’ll do if a hillichmagnar joins the fight against us openly. But we can discuss all the gloriously awful implications when I get back from my dip in the stream.” Intira leaned close to Grigory. “Another one of those jewels on my arm has drying and warming spells. I’m no Loshadnarodski.” She grinned and slapped him on the shoulder on her way out of the tent.
“Well, that really wasn’t what I was expecting when I came out to inspect the defenses,” Alfred said. “She’s quite something,” he added, staring at her prosthetic.
“And you still don’t know all of it,” Presley chuckled.
The three of them stepped back outside of the tent to inspect some more of the stake pits before they entirely lost the light. Miles bowed to them with his arms full of clothes as they passed. I think that man would find water in the desert. Somehow, he always manages.
After walking about another twenty yards, they stopped so Grigory and Alfred could speak with the men finishing up their work for the day. Presley scanned the camp and the tree line to get an idea of how many men were now out here and in what formation and how he might best keep them supplied. But when he turned to the south, at the top of a little hillock, he saw a lone figure on a horse.
“Alfred, is that hillock our ground or Broderick’s?”
Alfred squinted and shook his head. “It’s rather no man’s land. I wonder who—”
The colonel’s tent they had just left burst into flames. People screamed, and at least one person who had kept his head called for a water bucket line down to the stream. The stream! Intira! Is she safe? Did her arm somehow malfunction and set one of those spells off?
But then Presley’s eye was drawn back to rider—a small figure on a great horse, almost swallowed up in a long robe. The rider had a direct line of sight to the tent and did not seem to have reacted at all to the sudden fire in the middle of their camp. As he watched, the figure extended a slim, pale arm toward the flames, fingers stretched, as if trying to feel the warmth.
“It’s Jorunn,” said Presley.
“What?” Alfred asked, snapping out of his surprise.
“Jorunn. She set the tent on fire. That’s her up there.”
“Miles!” Grigory said, sprinting now to the tent.
“Fuck,” Presley added, but before he could run after Grigory, Alfred spoke.
“I need a horse. I’m going after her.”
Presley grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you mad? She’s a hillichmagnar. Look what she just did to a tent. What could she do to you? And by the time you caught up to her, you’d be behind the Gramiren line. She wouldn’t even need magy to kill you.”
“But Miles.” Alfred clenched his jaw as he glanced at the completely engulfed tent. “This is an attack on our camp. We can’t let it stand.”
“We will for now,” Presley said. “We need to get back to the Bocburg and tell the queen and Caedmon everything. As soon as we put out the fire and find Miles and Intira.”
“And her arm.” Alfred screwed up his face at the thought.
“Indeed.”
***
IT TOOK LONGER TO PUT out the fire than anyone thought it should, but Grigory said that magysk fires often burned longer. Presley could see the melancholy cross his face, surely driven by memories of the hillichmagnar Daryna Olekovna who had helped him escape his homeland so he could spend his life with Presley.
When they could dig through the wreckage of the tent, they found Miles’s charred body. He was near Intira’s arm, which appeared blackened, but intact. The leather harness had been completely burned away, but what really worried Intira was if Caedmon would be able to make the necessary magysk repairs.
As Intira shivered in a blanket, since she could not work the drying spell, they hurried back to their rooms on Docent Lane. (Alfred said he would run ahead to the Bocburg and share the news.) They didn’t speak on the ride, but once they had the door closed and Presley had built a small fire in the stove, Intira had much to say.
“That fucking dolt,” she seethed. “I should have never given him a magysk weapon. Literally, I only told him one thing—don’t use it when Jorunn is in camp, as in living in camp. Out for a fucking stroll wasn’t what I meant.”
“So you agree that was Lady Jorunn I saw on the hill, and she was specifically targeting magy she had felt in Broderick’s camp?” Presley asked.
“That’s exactly what I think.” Intira had changed out of her muddy tunic and trousers and now had on a thick wool dress. With one hand, she awkwardly pulled on warm wool socks. Leaning closer to the stove to dry her hair, she continued. “She knows it’s Faustinus’s magy, and she came to our camp to do her best to end it.”
“But before your bath, you said your informant did not know if Jorunn sensed that it was Faustinus’s magy,” Grigory pointed out.
“She might not have said it out loud, but I think we know for sure now. Fuck.” She ran her fingers through a tangle in her hair. “I can’t believe he did this to us.”
“Do you think Jorunn will report this to Diernemynster?” Presley asked, putting his worries out in the open for everyone.
“She probably sent a bird before she ever rode over to our camp,” Intira said.
“Will Caedmon continue to help the Sigors if Diernemynster comes out for Broderick?”
None of them spoke for a time, this being their worst fear. Although, which do you fear more—all Diernemynster supporting Broderick, or losing Caedmon? Even when he’s not fighting, he’s arguably the most important person in the Sigor camp. No one has more experience, obviously, but also no one is as wise and calm. Without him, little Edwin’s chances of ever becoming king will be over, and my homeland will be ruled by а murderer without morals.
“We should probably head up to the Bocburg,” Presley said.
“Get a bag for my arm, and let’s go.”
Once they arrived at the Bocburg, they found that Alfred had already reported the incident to Caedmon, Queen Rohesia, and Lawrence. In his typical fashion, Lawrence was ranting about the fact Jorunn had used magy to kill one of his men, while Caedmon refused to do anything useful. Caedmon had to remind Lawrence that this informant in Broderick’s camp had used magy first to kill someone, which struck Lawrence as supremely unimportant.
Eventually, Queen Rohesia steered Lawrence and Alfred out of the royal suite with the suggestion they prepare for supper. Once only the queen, Caedmon, Grigory, Intira, and Presley remained, it was all much more civilized.
“Is the arm badly damaged?” Caedmon asked Intira.
She held out the bag to him. “I don’t know. You tell me.”
He pulled the limb out and began his examination. The queen gestured the rest of them over to the table while the hillichmagnar did his work.
“A glass of wine?” she asked. “You have all had quite a day.”
They gratefully accepted and settled in to wait.
About ten minutes later, Caedmon joined them, but declined the wine. “As a prosthetic, your arm is well intact. However, the magy that allowed you to use it like a real, healthy limb will need many repairs, if I may refer to spellwork in that manner.”
“You’re the hillichmagnar,” said Intira. “I think you’re allowed to refer to it however you want.”
Caedmon almost grinned. “That I could likely do in a day without leaving myself too tired to defend the royal family, which I regard as my primary duty.”
“Of course,” Intira replied with a polite nod to the queen. “But what about the rest of the spells?”
“Those will take longer. Magysk weaponry has never been a specialty of mine. Faustinus supplied directions for repairs I could make on the prosthetic as an arm, not for the individual weapons.”
“But you can fix them?”
“A bit at a time. But with the attack coming, I fear leaving myself open to another’s magy. Or even a concerted mundane attack on King Edwin.”
Presley squirmed in his chair, which caught Caedmon’s attention. He raised a bushy eyebrow, and Presley could not avoid asking his question. “Do you think it likely Jorunn will use her magy in battle? Will Diernemynster condone or even possibly support her in fighting for Broderick? And if they do....”
“What will I do?” Caedmon said, finishing the thought. “I will not abandon King Edwin as a counselor as long as he and his regent wish to have me. But without direct permission from Diernemynster, I will not employ magy in a way likely to kill anyone save in defense of the royal family.”
“And Jorunn?” Presley asked again. “Does she know Faustinus made the arm and the weapons in it?”
“Oh, certainly.” Caedmon looked at Intira. “She set fire to the tent when she sensed the magy of the arm. I fear she hoped to kill you. It is sadly too late to save the young Mr. Richards, but I have already put a concealment spell on the arm so that Jorunn cannot trace it again.”
Intira picked up her wineglass with the one hand she still had. “Well, that’s good to know.” And she sank back in her chair, looked confused for a moment, set the glass down, and then scratched her nose.