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A woman stepped forward. She wore a sober brown skirt and jacket, fitted with a second cutaway sleeve on her left arm in the same green fabric and silver braid worn by the Amazon Corps. Her black skin was remarkably unlined considering her hair was half gone to silver.

“Proud Diana! You must be Tara Bell’s child. Even with that hair and coloring, I would know you to be hers.”

“Doctor Asante,” Camjiata said, “I would like to introduce to you Catherine Bell Barahal.”

She took my hands between hers and stared for the longest time in a way that made me dreadfully uncomfortable. Her dark eyes shone with unshed tears.

“You knew my mother?”

“I loved your mother very dearly, Catherine Bell Barahal. Besides that, I midwifed you into the world. Tara was weak from her terrible injuries. I trusted no one else to make sure she came through the ordeal alive. It was a frightful day.” Her fingers tightened on mine. “Not that your life was ever at issue, for you came out squalling like so many cats fighting in an alley.”

“You were there when I was born?” I repeated stupidly.

“Quite the noisiest newborn I have ever heard.” She chuckled, then sobered. “I am glad to see you well, little cat, for I never heard of what became of you after Tara and Daniel fled.”

“Yet now is not the time of speak of such things, Doctor,” Camjiata murmured.

“Anyone would think you were trying not to anger Drake,” I said in a low voice.

He casually stepped on my foot to silence me, then smilingly introduced me to his command staff, soldierly men with self-assured expressions. The one-eyed innkeeper was in reality the infamous Marshal Aualos, called by the Romans “the butcher of Zena.” Captain Tira entered with a cadre of Amazons who arrayed themselves along the wall as the command staff took their places. Camjiata sat me at his left hand and Drake to his right. By the number of glances at the red-garbed youths and by Drake’s smirking expression, I could tell the fire mage made everyone uncomfortable.

When wine was poured, Camjiata toasted the gathering.

“Here we have Captain Tara Bell’s child, come to join our cause.”

“And my bed,” said Drake with a laugh. “Where is that cold mage, Cat? The one you claimed was dead, when in fact you spirited him away in order to keep him safe from me? Now you are come to spy for him.”

“I came here to ask for help,” I said. “He’s being held prisoner.”

“Which must explain why we have seen him riding with the Coalition forces. He quite spoiled my efforts to burn down the mage House in Lemovis. Do you think we’re fools, Cat?”

Again, Camjiata’s foot pressed on mine, unseen beneath the table.

It was a good thing he was seated between us.

“I think you are not in possession of all the facts,” I retorted. “His family and indeed his home village is being held hostage for his behavior. He supports the general’s legal code, but if he does not serve the mansa, they will all be put to death.”

Drake’s blue eyes sparked as a tendril of fire laced from him into one of the catch-fires. “If the general would release me to ride west, I would be happy to rid Four Moons House of its chain on Andevai Diarisso by burning the House to the ground. Then he need not be held hostage. Anyway, your excuses stink like lies. You can’t possibly expect me to believe he was born into a rabble of unwashed, illiterate slaves. Or that he would risk his power and rank to help such people.”

As he gloated, hoping to needle me into a burst of rash action, I watched the others. Marshal Aualos wore the blank mask of a man suppressing his feelings. Others—hardened soldiers!—looked nervous, as if they feared the whole chamber might roar into flames. Only Lady Angeline appeared unruffled. I admired the calm way she demolished her leek soup. I wondered if she, like Drake, found it so very unbelievable that a powerful cold mage could be born in a humble village.

Camjiata sighed. “Given that we have a war on, I thought we might discuss our plans. I believe that is the usual business of a command staff.”

“In front of her?” Drake objected. “When she will certainly steal away into the night and spill every word she hears back to the mages?”

“The mages who tried to kill me, do you mean?” I retorted. “Truly, you have no idea of my history, to think I might ever wish to aid them!”

“I know something of your history, Maestra.” Marshal Aualos broke in as if making a flanking movement to turn the tide of a skirmish. He had the breadth of a man gone stout with age but still packed with muscle, well prepared for soldiering. “Your mother was one of the best soldiers I ever served with. She was tall, like you, but heftier, very strong. Absolutely up to the mark in every way. But of course the Amazons always had to be better than the men just to prove they were fit for the task. Most folk in Europa say women ought not be engaged in war.”

“If a war is being fought, surely women are engaged whether they wish to be or not. The only difference is whether they can defend themselves.”

He smiled. “Spoken like your mother.”

His words pleased me. “Thank you. As it happens, I read the words in my father’s journals. The ones he wrote when he was collecting intelligence for his family in the service of the general’s first war.” I pressed my own boot atop Camjiata’s rather harder than I needed to. He did not flinch.

“We may hope the daughter will prove as valuable as the father.” Camjiata slid a glance at me that cut like a surgeon’s scalpel. “As it happens, I left the journals at the Hassi Barahal house, in Gadir, with Daniel’s next of kin. Yet some Hassi Barahals travel with the army, among my clerks and intelligencers. I’m sure my chief of intelligence will have some idea of how to make use of you.”

Frowning, I stared at my plate. The moment of choice was upon me. Did I admire Camjiata’s legal code more than I distrusted him? Did I stand with the radicals? Yes, I did.

I captured his gaze. “The Coalition army is camped outside Lutetia, under the command of Lord Marius of the Tarrant clan. A Roman army is marching north via Senones along the Liyonum Road, three legions in all plus a fourth already with the Coalition. Hard to see how you can defeat such an allied force.”

“It is always hard to see victory if one does not have vision.” His nod made me think he spoke in code, warning me, but he smiled impartially around the table. “My thanks, Cat. Your timely arrival and this intelligence gives us just the advantage we need at this juncture. Let us consider what this means. This army has the discipline and speed to reach Lutetia in two days’ march. Our army is smaller than the combined alliance of Coalition and Romans. But if we reach Lutetia before the Romans do—something they won’t expect we can manage—we can defeat the Coalition and immediately turn to face the Romans as they come up from the south. That gives us the advantage in both battles. Once we win Lutetia, I will proclaim the Declaration of Rights on the very steps of the prince’s palace, where it was first proclaimed twenty-two years ago. My proclamation of a new and more expansive legal code will embolden many a prudent Gallic lord to abandon the Coalition and join our cause, just as it will rally the guilds and laborers and all those trapped by clientage to our side. Justice will be the reward gained by all.”

“Now that I think of it,” Drake said, “I haven’t asked for any prize of war to this date, have I? All I want is the cold mage. I need him alive so he can acknowledge my long-awaited victory.” He sipped at his wine with a musing smile. “People do feel envy when they must admit that another is better than they are. As your husband will soon discover.”