“Who was it you heard all this from?”
Beka knew better than to hesitate in speaking out against the sergeant, regardless of what she owed him; she owed Klia far more. “It was one of Anri’s sergeants, a man named Werneus.”
“Have one of your trusted riders bring him to me, but don’t tell Werneus where he’s being taken. And you stay with your squadron. I don’t want you associated with this, or Nyal.”
“Werneus is likely to guess why, since it was me who spoke to him about it.”
“That can’t be helped. You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, Commander.” With a final salute, Beka took her leave.
Myrhini had known Klia a long time and could tell when her friend was angry, even with the princess doing her best to hide it.
“It could just be an overabundance of loyalty, Klia.”
“One that could get me executed. And Danos?” Her anger was clearly tinged with hurt.
“I’ve never had cause to doubt him. Maybe you should bring this to the queen yourself.”
“I will, when I have more proof. Seregil and Alec are working on it in Rhiminee, thank the Four. And Thero, of course.”
“Of course.” Grinning, Myrhini clasped her friend’s shoulder and gave her a friendly shake. “Then you have the best of the best working in your favor.”
“I just hope they work quickly.”
Beka found her husband at a watch fire with some of Danos’s riders.
“Nyal, a word?” she said, stepping into the firelight.
This elicited, as always, a fair amount of ribbing and whistling, but they were used to it and took it with good humor.
The Aurenfaie waved and grinned over his shoulder, but waited until they were away from the light to slip an arm around her waist. “Talia,” he whispered in his own language, “I looked for you but couldn’t find you. Someone said you’d been called to the commander’s tent.”
“Yes. We need to talk.” She kissed him as they walked across the trampled battlefield toward a stand of trees near the edge of the encampment. Beka skirted it, checking for nearby pickets, then led him into the trees and told him all that had passed between her and Klia.
“I’ve heard muttering, but nothing treasonous,” Nyal told her.
“Be especially careful around Danos and his troop,” she warned. “Bring anything the slightest bit suspicious to Klia at once.”
“I’m always careful, talia.” Nyal took her in his arms and kissed her again. He was tall for a ’faie, and her head was level with his shoulder. He smelled of leather and horses, as she did herself.
Beka ran her fingers through his long hair, chuckling at the tangles there. He did the same with her thick red hair, and the feeling of those long fingers caressing her scalp sent a shiver of need through her. It had been weeks since they’d found the time to be alone together. Time was short and life was uncertain. She didn’t want to waste such a rare moment, and neither did he. She wore a pessary as a matter of course, as all the female soldiers did-not only so they could indulge in pleasure without getting a round belly, but in case of rape in the field. The little hank of wool soaked in oil worked well. In the shadow of the trees, moving only as much clothing as was absolutely necessary, they made hurried, silent love, groaning into each other’s mouths as they came together.
Sergeant Werneus looked suitably uneasy as he ducked under Klia’s tent flap and went down on one knee before her. “You sent for me, Commander?”
Myrhini stepped behind him, guarding the door.
“Yes,” said Klia. “At attention, rider.”
Werneus, a grizzled warrior at least two decades her senior, stood stiffly, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on a spot just over her shoulder.
“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors, Sergeant. Rumors involving me.”
Werneus said nothing, but she caught a flash of alarm in his eyes.
“Speak, Sergeant!” she ordered.
“It’s just soldiers’ talk, Commander.”
“About what?”
A muscle flexed in the man’s stubbled jaw. “Just talk, Commander, about what it might be like if you was in charge of the regiment, that’s all.”
“Just the regiment?” Klia narrowed her eyes. “I heard that some might want me to be queen.”
The man went paler still under the scruff and grime. “That’d be talking treason against Queen Phoria, Commander!”
“You were heard, man.”
Werneus stiffened. “There’s talk, but it’s only wishful thinking, Commander. All the riders love you. We’d follow you to Bilairy’s gate.”
“And would you follow General Moraus?”
“Yes, Commander!”
Klia regarded him in silence for a moment. Her gut told her this was an honest man. “You know that mutiny and inciting mutiny are hanging offenses, don’t you?”
To the man’s credit, he met her eye squarely. “ ’Course I do, Commander. I swear by the Flame, it’s just talk!”
“And who’s doing the talking? Out with it, man!”
“Some of the other riders, Commander.”
“Names, Sergeant!” Myrhini barked.
“Rethus, Morson, Sorian…”
“And?” snapped Myrhini.
“And Callin, but he’s just a boy. He don’t mean any harm, just takes in the older riders’ talk.”
“That doesn’t excuse him, Sergeant. But none of your officers?”
“No, Commander, by the Flame I’ve heard nothing of the sort from any one of them. They’re as loyal as summer’s turning is long.”
“We’ll see about that. I want you to go back to your friends and tell them what we’ve said here. I will hang anyone talking mutiny against the queen or our general. Is that clear?”
“As springwater, Commander.” Werneus saluted, fist to heart.
Klia nodded and Myrhini dismissed the shaken soldier.
“What do you think?” asked Myrhini.
“Summon the others he named.”
One by one the riders appeared, and each told the same story as Werneus, young Callin in tears. It was only the mutterings of loyal soldiers who idolized their commander. She’d deal with that in the morning. Which left Danos to worry about.
CHAPTER 18. Brader
STARVING on the road had been hard on the whole company, but their stunning degree of success here in Rhiminee carried its own burdens. Atre had hired scrim painters and a few servants, but he’d also set up a grueling performance schedule. Brader saw his family more onstage than he did in their quarters. Atre was in great demand among the nobles, too, and often disappeared after the night’s performance to entertain at private parties.
On the days the theater was dark, Brader took his wife and children away to find various amusements about the city-anything to get them away from the crowded house and the demands of the theater. In the markets they found necessities for the company, like pigments and cloth, toys, puppet and mummer’s shows to amuse the children, and dressmakers for Merina. The long months of deprivation had been hard on her, and he was happy to buy her the pretty things that made her so happy. Good food and a proper roof over their heads had put the roses back in her cheeks and the children’s, too. He didn’t ever want them to suffer like that again. If only Atre could be content here, and live quietly. Sometimes Brader wished he could pack up his family and leave the company, setting up somewhere to herd cattle, as he had as a boy, before Atre had lured him away to this traveling life. How many years had it been? He’d lost count. He’d forgotten what his mother’s face looked like.
He’d had other wives and other children, and walked away when he had to, but Merina was different; leaving her and
the children would be like cutting out his own heart. And so he couldn’t leave Atre, either-the man his children called uncle, as others had before.
Returning from such a day out, Brader found Atre in the room with the bucolic murals that might have served as a salon in the past, but was now a practice space. He was helping the twins with their tumbling skills, and laughing with them as they flipped backward and walked on their hands in their loose-fitting leggings and tunics. They were playing mischievous spirits in the play opening the following week. They adored Atre and lived for his praise.