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"If anyone deserves a good feed, it's you, Valentine," he said. "You've kept us in fresh eggs and vegetables for three months."
Moytana saved him from being ordered to attend by appearing. His Wolf patrols were routed or posted, and this bit of Virginia was at peace, though they had intercepted some high-ranking Quislings scuttling north with a couple wagons of clothing and valuables, and Moytana needed orders.
Valentine, hearing that the brigade was still attending to basics despite the festival, went to the commissary and got a sandwich. He found a comfortable stump and watched the partiers depart. Seng led the way with several other officers, some with hardy wives and husbands who'd come along for the march, plus select NCOs and regular soldiers-the wounded or those deserving of special consideration. Music echoed up from the Kentucky hills.
He finished his sandwich. Tasteless, despite the fresh vegetables and mayonnaise.
Duvalier waited for him in his tent. She was reclining in his hammock, her boots off and her bony feet greasy with something that smelled of lanolin and mint. "What's got you down?"
she asked, dropping a Kurian newspaper bearing a headline about a rail accident in Kentucky.
"I was in town," Valentine said. He decided to tell her. Talking might ease the heartache.
Ahn-Kha's loss was real, fresh and raw again like a stripped scab. "I saw a Golden One.
Thought it was Ahn-Kha. It wasn't."
She sat up. "That bites. I-I can't believe it. I heard the stories about him organizing the partisans."
"Ahn-Kha's not the only Grog who could organize a revolt. This one wasn't as well-spoken.
I got about three words out of him," Valentine said. "He's probably wary of strange uniforms."
"This is still a big deal, Val. You helped make it happen. I remember you laboring over reports about Kentucky, when we wintered. You had a stack of papers the size of-well, you remember."
Valentine didn't say anything, willing her to be as miserable as he was.
"In a way, it's still Ahn-Kha's victory. You decided Southern Command could march across Kentucky, what with the Kurians few and far between in the legworm ranch country."
"I know."
"Look, I should just say it: I was an ass to you back then. You were killing yourself looking for Ahn-Kha. I thought you were wasting your time, tried to slap you out of it. Plus we fought about that baby Reaper. Is it doing well? Did you tame it-er, him?"
"Blake's well enough. Growing fast. I don't think anyone but Narcisse could have brought him up."
"Want to talk about Ahn-Kha some more?"
"No," Valentine said. He hated the celebration he was missing. It felt like a dance on the Golden One's grave.
"I've got a bottle," she said, patting one pocket on her long coat. "Want a drink?"
"I ordered everyone in camp searched," Valentine growled.
"If they can't locate someone, it's a lot harder to search them," Duvalier said. "You've got some good guys here, but they're not that good."
He could stand her company. She'd known Ahn-Kha almost as long as he had. "Pour it out. I don't want liquor in the camp. We'll arrange passes soon so people can go into town if they want to get drunk."
"I'll do no such thing. There's no swiping liquor. I had to buy that with some of Karas' funny money."
"Strange that they took his coin. Or did you offer a little personal bonus to get the boozer"
"Fuck off. I've blown a few sentries to get over a bridge or through a fence, but I'm no whore." She angrily shoved the bottle back into the coat.
Valentine retrieved his ten-dollar piece from his pocket. It was crude, and it had nothing more than the word of some jumped-up legworm rancher behind it. Maybe the citizens of Utrecht were swept up by patriotic fervor.
"I sometimes think we fight just to keep from falling in love," Duvalier said.
Valentine almost dropped the coin.
