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38
CALDORYN
"What wasthat?" Vessorian seethes. "I thought her very purpose was to beget an heir."
"Her purpose is to stop the lords from making me their stud. An heir would be a nice bonus, but it can wait."
I let Folia stretch her legs, speeding up, if only to leave Vess's grousing behind.
He's right, as usual. My excuses are wearing thin. I'm no longer using her as an example, making a point, degrading her, or impregnating her. What am I doing with her, then? All I know is, I don't have any intention of stopping. And who would begrudge me one indulgence without any reason, after all these years of serving Nyxar? It doesn't go against the kingdom's interest—at least, as long as she doesn't kill me.
We’re less than ten miles from the border when we reach a charming village at the edge of nearing hills. I slow to a spot, frowning as my eyes take in the sign announcing Welcome to Lower Eastview.
From the distance, I can see about a hundred handsome houses, some larger than others. Most are lit up in the early evening. I hear music and laughter from a large house. A party? Maybe it’s just a pub.
I shake my head. “This isn’t right.” Enja was clear: Lower Eastview is the next target. “It’s too small, too cheerful.”
“It’s not unlike my old village. Maybe a little smaller, but not by much.”
Another time, I would have asked about where she grew up. I want to know everything about the woman who’s fast becoming my obsession.
Vessorian isn’t burdened by curiosity. “Exactly. Smaller. How long ago was your place destroyed?”
Shoulders tight, she lifts her chin. “Three years.”
“And every time, the king has gone for a larger and larger territory.” Lark shakes her head, agreeing with me. “The last one we have on record had over five thousand inhabitants. This is a serious downgrade.”
“How sure are we of Enja?” Alrion asks.
“Certain.” I don’t hesitate.
Rhea rolls her eyes. “I would have said that abouthimlast week.”
She’s still annoyed with Alrion.
“Enja was born in the south—she survived one of the earlier attacks, before we protected our borders. Trust me when I say she’ll never fall for the bullshit your king is selling.” I frown. “But she could have been duped all the same.”
If someone figured out she was working for me, they could have fed her what they wanted her to hear.
“We could have arrived early,” Lark admits, “but it’s likely the attack’s going to happen elsewhere. For the last few months, whenever we’ve had word of an attack, we moved the armies out of the way and tried to intercept the king. He could have worked that out. Changed his tactics.”
I don’t like any of this.
“What would be your most probable next move?” I ask Lark.
I have my own speculations, but there’s a reason she’s my general. Her mind will calculate every single option and weigh the most likely ones in the time it takes me to blink.
“They’re trailing the armies. They’ll attack close to our location again.”
“Rhea, Sorsha, and others were tasked to watch the disposition of the armies, and warn the tower about every movement,” Alrion volunteers. “It’s likely they know where you sent the forces.”
Shit.
“I split them,” I growl, frustrated. I wasn’t imagining this exact situation, but I figured keeping my soldiers in one front wasn’t smart. But now I have no clue which way to go. “Lark?”
“They—” She winces. “I don’t know. They’ll likely follow the battalion headed east, as it’s larger and staying closer to the border, but taking on a smaller force might the most logical move, depending on the king’s own troops. Historically, he keeps the numbers down when he drains people, to avoid having too many witnesses. There’s a chance he might only have a dozen or so warriors, in which case he’ll go further inland, near our smaller battalion. It’s forty-seven, fifty-three.”
“We’ll split up too, in that case.” I don’t like needing to make this move. We’re already five against the king’s men—all eye witnesses report just a few warriors clad in black. I have complete confidence in every single one of my companion’s abilities, and each is worth dozens of foot soldiers, but there’s no doubt that the southern king also handpicked his team. Facing them twelve to five was one thing. Twelve to two or three? I don’t like it.
