"All right," he said, in a tone that made her want to hit him. "I just want to thank him for saving that captain today. I felt… I had a chance to grab his hand, and I missed. If Gries hadn't pulled him from the wash…" She shuddered.
Jenoe smiled indulgently, his expression softening. "I understand." He gestured in the direction of the Fairlea camp. "By all means. Go. Talk to him."
She started toward the army of Fairlea, following a circuitous route past soldiers and small campfires. And before she was halfway there, she regretted her decision to go. She didn't know this man. From all that Enly had told her, she gathered that he couldn't be trusted. On the other hand, he had seemed genuinely good-natured when they were introduced earlier in the day, and he had saved the young captain from Waterstone seemingly without regard for his own safety.
And he's very handsome.
She grinned to herself. Once again, as she had during her conversation with Enly that morning, she wondered how much of what Qalsyn's lord heir had told her was born of his jealousy and his fear that she'd be drawn to Gries. Was that why she had offered to deliver her father's message in person?
Because she was attracted to the man? Or because she wanted to make Enly think that she was attracted to him?
She paused. She hadn't seen Enly in some time, since watching him cross the wash. Where could he have gone? The men around her were from his company, but she didn't see him anywhere.
"Have you seen Captain Tolm?" she asked a young soldier, who sat with his friends pulling feathers from three quail they had apparently just killed. The man stood. "No, Captain."
Tirnya frowned. "Well, when you see him next, please tell him that the marshal would like him to join us for supper."
"Of course, Captain."
Tirnya nodded to the man and his companions and moved on.
Before long, she had crossed into the Fairlea camp, though had it not been for the different uniforms she might not have known. The sounds were just the same-pockets of laughter, quiet conversations, a few young voices raised in song-and in the torchlight and glow of fires the faces weren't all that different from those of the men in Qalsyn's companies.
Tirnya asked one of the soldiers where she could find Captain Ballidyne, and he pointed her to the center of the camp. She stared in the direction he indicated, straining to see in the darkness. Seeing no tent like those erected for the two marshals, she smiled weakly at the man and made her way to the heart of the northern army.
Tirnya spotted him from a distance. He stood a good deal taller than any of the men around him, and his yellow hair seemed to shine with firelight. She had to admit that her heart beat just a bit faster at the sight of him, and she chided herself, feeling more like a schoolgirl than an army captain.
Stepping past the men around him and into the glow of his campfire, she said, "Excuse me."
All of them had been laughing at something, but they fell silent at the sound of her voice, and every pair of eyes turned in her direction.
"Captain Onjaef," Gries said, a smile on his face. "Welcome."
"Thank you, Captain Ballidyne. Forgive me for intruding, but my father would like you to join him for supper."
"I'd be honored."
She nodded. "Good." She stood there for a few moments, unsure of what she ought to say next, and wishing once more that she'd let her father send a messenger.
"Perhaps I could escort you back to your camp now," Gries finally said. "If that's all right."
"Yes, of course."
He had a small white scar high on his right cheek and another on the same side of his face, just by his temple. She knew scars like that. She had several herself.
Tirnya realized she was staring at him, and glanced away.
"Jondel, you'll be in command while I'm gone," Gries said to one of the men. "Not that there should be much need, but just in case."
"Yes, Captain."
He faced Tirnya again, smiling once more. "Shall we?"
She turned and began walking back to the Qalsyn army with Gries beside her. Neither of them spoke at first, and the silence soon began to grow awkward. At last, Tirnya said the first thing that came into her head.
"You must leave yourself open to thrusts when you attack with your sword hand."
"What?"
Again she blushed, and again she was grateful for the darkness.
"The scars on your face. Those are from battle tournaments, aren't they?"
"Yes, they are."
She heard amusement in his voice.
"I thought so," she went on. "They're both on the right side of your face, so I'm guessing that you have a tendency to leave yourself unguarded when you attack."
"I did, when I was younger. Those scars are several years old. It's been some time since I was bloodied in a tournament."
Tirnya smiled inwardly. There, at least, was the arrogance Enly had warned her about. "I see," she said.
"You think I'm boasting."
"No," she said. "I know you are."
Gries laughed. "I deserved that."
"I have scars, too," she told him. "Plenty of them, including one from this year."
"Let me guess. From Enly?"
She nodded. "I'm afraid so." She glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead, his straight nose and strong chin silhouetted against the pale glow of the camp. "You and he have fought, haven't you?"
"Once, a long time ago. We fought to a draw."
"That's what he told me."
He looked at her. "And you didn't believe him?"
"It's not that," she said. "But the Tolms are… they're very proud. And he seemed rather defensive about your match when I asked him about it."
"Neither of us could have been more than fifteen or sixteen at the time. He was the quicker swordsman, and he was probably more skilled, too. I was stronger and had a longer reach." He shrugged slightly, a strangely small gesture for such a large man. "It made for a good match."
They walked in silence for a few moments.
Then Tirnya said, "Thank you for saving that man today."
"You're welcome. He was one of yours? I thought he was from Waterstone."
"He was. But I had a chance to grab his hand, and I missed."
Gries chuckled. "Good thing, too."
"Excuse me?"
"Forgive me, Captain, but he weighed more than you do. If he'd gotten hold of you, he would have pulled you after him, and I'd have had to save both of you."
Tirnya opened her mouth, closed it again. She didn't know what to say, although in that moment she was furious enough to say just about anything.
"I've angered you."
"You're damn right you have."
"I didn't mean to. I was just saying-"
"You were calling me weak, and implying that I was foolish to have tried to save that man."
"That's not-"
"I'm a warrior in the army of Qalsyn, and for three years running I've fought Enly in the final match of our Harvest Tournament. Yes, he's beaten me, but no one else has. I took an arrow in the chest just over a turn ago, and still I've led my company this far. Before long I'll lead them into battle. You look at me and assume that I must be weak, that I must need the protection of a man. I don't. If I'd gotten hold of that soldier, I wouldn't have let go and I wouldn't have been swept downstream with him. Believe me; don't believe me. I couldn't care less."
She quickened her pace, intending to leave him there.
"I do believe you," he called to her. "I'm sorry for what I said."
Tirnya slowed again, then stopped. She didn't look at him, not even when he halted just beside her.
"I didn't mean to offend you."
She said nothing. She wasn't ready to forgive him just yet.
"You were wounded?"
Tirnya nodded. "Road brigands. We were on patrol and we tracked them to a small clearing in the wood south of Qalsyn. Part of my company got there before I did. I rode into the middle of a skirmish and was hit almost immediately."
"Sounds like you're lucky to be alive."
"I am. Two of my men died," she said. She looked up at him. His face was bathed in the warm light of fires and torches. "I'm a captain in the army of Stelpana, just as you are. I deserve to be spoken to in a manner that befits that rank."