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She sighed, closed her eyes – ignored his snort – and shouted out a mental call to Amelia.
The grass rustled, and when she opened her eyes, Amelia stood across from them – dressed for battle.
“Oh,” Tessa said, startled. Amelia had told them her party would be marching soon, but was surprised all the same by the dyed red horsehair tail on Amelia’s helmet as she unbuckled it and tucked it under one arm. Her hair beneath was plaited tightly to her scalp to keep it out of the way. “You’ve left already.”
“Not quite.” Amelia’s smile was small and regretful. “At dawn. I’m…” She gestured to her armor. “Rushing around, trying to make sure we haven’t forgotten anything.”
“We’ll go, then. I don’t want to hold you up.”
Amelia shook her head. “I can take five minutes. I’m sitting on a rain barrel, currently.” She glanced down at herself. “Gods, but armor is heavy.”
“Lia, you should get some sleep. Surely someone else can do the checking. Or you can do it later,” Tessa suggested, but Amelia shook her head.
“I tried to sleep, and I couldn’t. The yard here sounds like a festival: one last night before we move, and I think my army’s trying to drink all the wine, rather than carry it.”
Tessa’s stomach turned at the thought. “Oh no. They’ll feel terrible in the morning.”
Náli – forgotten at her side – snorted. “Try telling them that.” He added, “Hello to you as well, Lady Amelia.”
“Hello, brat,” Amelia said, tone dry, expression touched with fondness. “You know, you remind me of my friend Reggie. The two of you would get on like a house afire.”
Náli’s lip curled. “Reggie?”
“Not Reggie L’Espoir?” Tessa said on a gasp, and Amelia grinned and nodded. “Oh, you’re right! I knew he seemed familiar! You’re just like Reggie,” Tessa said, turning to him, and found his expression had grown more disgusted. “Don’t worry: it’s a good thing.”
“Mostly,” Amelia said.
“He’s blond as well, though a few shades darker, and was once the finest tourney night in the east. He never lost a joust. He felled much larger men, just as you do in sword contests.”
His gaze narrowed, but he seemed somewhat mollified.
“And he’s very pretty as well,” Tessa said.
Amelia countered, “He’s a pretentious shit. Just like you.”
Náli’s gaze shifted between the two of them, and he took a deep, long-suffering breath. “I see how it is. I teach you of magic, I bring you here to this place–”
Amelia chuckled.
“ – and you treat with all the respect due a stray dog. ‘Help us, Náli. Lie quietly and take ourabuse, Náli.’”
“You’ve never lied quietly a day in your life,” Amelia accused.
Slowly, deliberately, Náli lifted a pale hand and pressed the back of it to his forehead, head tilting back in dramatic display.
Tessa burst into giggles, the kind that made her chest feel light and fuzzy.
Amelia grinned. “Pretentiousshit,” she reiterated, and finally earned a grin from him.
They took a moment to enjoy a bit of levity, as if by unspoken agreement. Laughter, Tessa feared, would be in short supply in the weeks and months to come, so she let hers peter out naturally, as it would.
When they’d settled, Amelia grew serious. “I went out this morning. Yesterday morning, I suppose. One last scouting trip.” Her expression was apologetic. “I looked for your army, but I couldn’t find it on the horizon. We can’t wait anymore, Tessie.”
“I know,” Tessa said, and she did. “The Inglewood is vast. We might be another week getting to you.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” She reached into an interior pocket and came out with a folded paper that she opened to reveal a map. “If you hadn’t come to me, I would have come to you: I’ve talked with the others, at length, and we’re not so sure you should try to catch us. Edward thinks a pincher maneuver might serve us better, and I agree.” She stepped in close, and Tessa and Náli each took a corner of the map to keep the breeze from refolding it. “See here: the main road runs straight to the Crownlands, the widest, flattest, easiest route, doubtless heavily fortified by the Sels at this point, and used as their main means of travel deeper into the continent. But the old logging road…” She traced the thin line of it, from the northernmost tip of the Inglewood, it cut a diagonal path across Chartres, a rocky and arid duchy, which flooded from the snowmelt in spring, and grew only the hardiest of vegetation. It boasted one chateau, and was considered a territory, rather than a proper duchy, its baron old and sickly, most of its residents sure-footed mountain goats.
“No one uses that road anymore,” Tessa said, catching on, pulse quickening.
