“Some of them,” the Queen countered. “Any progress on the defectors?”
Her general pressed her lips together. “Not in the way we want. Some have left the nobles’ militia, but they haven't returned to us.”
“Perhaps they're afraid.”
Trishve surveyed the formations working in the miserable weather. “We've made it clear there will be no punishment for, hmm, brief absences amongst the first-year recruits.”
Desertion was what her general had called it. While true, the soldiers had been misled, threatened, and confused by the nobles. Militia and army were not the same. The Queen did not burn homes to ensure enlistment.
Unfortunately, how her nobles managed their land was not entirely up to her.
The Queen turned to the hall. “Make a list of the worst offenders. I’ll take care of it.”
Trishve inclined her head.
They discussed the military movements of their neighbors while they walked to the general’s strategy room. She squeezed water out of her hair. War hadn't started quite yet. Not with the heavy rains and oncoming winter – but in spring, the Queen would ride to war.
As would her Escorts. The map in the strategy room was like a chess game on a terrible scale. The general to the north. Anais would take the south with her nobles. Vern would hold the palace. Perhaps Octavius would accept a post to the west, if necessary.
There was no plan if all four nations attacked.
But perhaps she shouldn't borrow trouble. Trade to the west had essentially ceased. Yet it was far from a declaration of war. Akerami was open to negotiation, though Prince Balak was due home any day.
The continued silence from the south was ominous. There had been no escalation in border skirmishes. Laureline’s spies reported no additional troop movements.
And who knew what the Queen of the eastern mountains was planning?
She dried herself with a towel and changed into oiled leathers. Training with the rebels was good for morale. She was certainly in no mood to sit in the Great Hall.
“Thank you, General.” The Queen finished strapping on a sword. “Will you join me in the training yard?”
Trishve waved at a stack of scrolls on her desk. “If you're still there in a few hours, I'm sure I'll need a break. Strength and luck, my Queen.”
“Duty and honor, General.”
As she exited the room, a servant rushed toward her. Jerome stepped into the young man's path.
The servant bowed and presented a folded white letter. “It's for the Queen,” he said breathlessly.
Her captain accepted the note. An invitation to tea, probably. She always ignored them. The nobles kept trying anyway.
But this time, Jerome handed her the note. She frowned.
Stamped on the back was the Kipos crest.
The elegant script on the thick parchment raised the hair on her neck. Her claws punctured the paper.
She carefully refolded the note. “Captain, gather the Escorts to the nobles' apartments. Lady Satryani's quarters. Immediately.”
Queen Anais,
I hope for the pleasure of your company this dreary afternoon. A singular toy has come into my possession – a shadow the Night Courts would envy.
Toys are so easily broken. Especially those who have been mended before.
Your servant,
Duchess Satryani Kipos
