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“My apologies,” Andry began, dipping his brow.
The Treckish groom did the same, bobbing his sandy head. He smiled toothily. “Yes?”
“Where is everyone? The soldiers? Prince Oscovko?”
The groom blinked. “Oh!” he answered with a heavy accent, laughing in a kind way. “They’re asleep, sir! After all the drinking, they won’t be awake for hours.”
“Of course,” Andry muttered, forcing a tight smile in thanks.
With a long, embittered sigh, Andry grabbed the reins of his horse and stalked away, leading the stocky beast back to the stable. He kicked stones across the yard, sending them skittering like the servants.
He returned to the great hall of the keep to find most of the tables empty, but for Corayne and Charlie in the far corner. Both wore new fur cloaks as well, their bags piled on the floor beside them. They bent over paperwork and plain breakfasts, picking at hard bread and stew. Corayne ate without complaint, but Charlie pulled a face as he spooned through the gray liquid in his bowl.
“Pay up,” Corayne said as Andry took a seat, sliding onto the bench next to her.
Charlie’s scowl deepened and he flipped a coin through the air. The copper metal flashed, landing in Corayne’s outstretched palm. She pocketed it with a satisfied smirk.
Andry glanced between them. “What’s the bet?” he said, wrinkling his nose as a servant put a bowl of the stew in front of him. It looked less than appetizing.
“I bet you’d be ready first,” Corayne answered, tearing her bread in half. She dropped the larger piece into Andry’s bowl. “First one ready to save the realm.”
Charlie snorted into his breakfast. He eyed Andry over the rim of his stew. “First one ready to die for it.”
The squire clenched his jaw. He knew the joke was meant to be harmless, but it stung anyway.
“I’m hardly the first,” Andry said darkly, tucking into the meal. It wasn’t terrible, more tasteless than anything. The vegetables were cooked beyond recognition, bled of all color and flavor. He wished for his collection of herbs tucked away in his saddlebags, left with his horse in its stall.
Pity twitched across Corayne’s face.
Andry dropped his gaze. He told himself not to feel ashamed, not to regret his own survival. Part of him knew the guilt was foolish. But he felt it anyway.
“We should already be on the road,” he grumbled. “Time is of the essence, and every minute is a waste of opportunity.” His voice caught. “Of the lives already gone.”
And those still hanging in the balance. My mother. And us too.
He swallowed hard, forcing down a gulp of food. It did little to hide his frustration.
“You’re right, Andry,” Corayne said, folding her arms. “I suppose that’s the trade-off. We have an army now, but we aren’t in charge.”
“That’s a generous use of the wordarmy,” Charlie said with a smirk. “More like a pack of scavengers.”
Andry did not disagree. Next to the knights and legions of Galland, the Treckish war band seemed no better than the wolves on their flag. He sighed, shaking his head at the empty castle hall.
“I’d trade all of them for Isadere’s soldiers,” he said, remembering the Falcons and the Dragons. Both guardian forces were elite, deadly, and most of all dedicated. “I wonder if the King of Ibal has decided to fight.”
At that, Corayne and Charlie traded knowing glances, their lips pulling into equal smirks.
The squire eyed them both. “What?”
Charlie leaned back against his chair, looking smug. “Even if Ibal does not fight, perhaps others will.”
“Madrence is fallen,” Andry sputtered. He remembered the letter as well as any of them, and Oscovko’s face while he read it. The fear plainly displayed for all to see. “King Robart is probably dead. But even if he’s alive, he can’t hope to form an alliance of anyone now....”
Charlie shrugged his shoulders. His eyes flicked down to the stack of parchment. “King Robart isn’t the one asking.”
“What are these?” Andry said, grabbing for the papers laid outon the tabletop. The ink was dry, the seals cooled to perfection. He studied the pages, eyes whirring. “More writs of passage...?”
He felt his jaw drop as understanding dawned.
