LITMIR.BIZ

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from his face. Tara stepped forward, alarmed, and Mace swallowed and straightened in his chair.

      ‘It seems we are to be graced with royalty,’ he said. ‘The princes Janis and Rivil are coming to inspect the Rank, the forts, the supplies, the trade routes and anything else they can think of.’

      Tara raised her eyebrows. ‘The princes? Why?’

      Mace sighed. ‘The king’s health is not as robust as it once was,’ he said.

      Tara kept her face neutral. That’s an understatement.

      ‘This may be the start of the princes assuming more control to ease the king’s burdens. Janis is capable, more than capable, but distant. It’s hard for men to be inspired to die in his name if he’s an enigma to them. Rastoth in his day could inspire anyone to do anything. Janis needs to learn to do the same.’

      ‘The West’s definitely the right place to start then,’ Tara said, ignoring the churning in her stomach. ‘We’re more loyal than the other Ranks as it is. West is best, after all,’ she added with a grin. Everyone said it.

      ‘I think that will be up to the princes to decide,’ Mace said and Tara’s smile faded. ‘They’re the future of this kingdom, Captain. Janis will be king and Rivil the Commander of the Ranks, so they need to see us at our absolute best.’

      ‘Future commander?’ Tara asked. ‘Surely that will be you, General.’

      Mace folded his hands on the desk. ‘Me, Captain? While I admire your loyalty, I have no desire to be Commander of the Ranks. I am content with my position as general of the West. Which of course is entirely dependent on the princes’ assessment of my command. They’ll be here in a week. They’ll have my quarters, so I want you in charge of making sure they’re fitted out as best we can and my stuff is moved into the barracks.’

      ‘Colonel Abbas’s room—’ Tara began.

      ‘You know what would happen if I turfed Abbas out of his quarters?’ Mace asked.

      ‘Good point, sir. Well, my quarters then.’ Despite her words, Tara didn’t much want a repeat of the fourteen months she’d spent in the barracks with the rest of the soldiers, even if they had made her one of the dirtiest fighters in the Rank. There wasn’t anything Tara wouldn’t use as a weapon, and there wasn’t a body part Tara wouldn’t target if it’d get a fat fucker with rape on his mind off her. Still, Mace was the general and she was a captain.

      ‘The barracks, please, Captain. If it’s good enough for the men, it’s good enough for me.’

      ‘As you say, General.’ Best get it said, then. ‘Sir, about the princes, would you prefer it if I took out a long recon?’

      Mace stared at her for a second. ‘Captain Carter, you are a bloody good officer first, if a little … hasty, and a woman second. You didn’t get this far by hiding from your superiors, or hiding your’ – he gestured vaguely and Tara’s face warmed – ‘female attributes. You’re up for rotation in two years: better get used to strangers having an opinion on you soldiering. Until then, I’ll vouch for you personally.’

      Tara’s face warmed again, with gratitude this time. ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘How many Hundreds are patrolling?’ he said and Tara pictured the barracks, the kitchens, the drill grounds inside and outside the forts.

      She grimaced. ‘Seven, sir, with the Wolves out of action. It’ll put a stretch on us to get all four forts inspection-ready with that many men out.’

      ‘Best get busy then, eh, Captain?’ He jerked a thumb at the door. ‘Get your arse on to the wallwalk and flag the news to the other forts. I want this place hopping in an hour. Spick and span, Carter, spick and span. We’ve royalty coming.’

      ‘Yes, sir,’ Tara said and saluted. Princes Janis and Rivil. Do I even have a dress I can fit into these days? Do I even know how to wear one?

       GALTAS

       Eleventh moon, seventeenth year of the reign of King Rastoth

       South Harbour dock, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

      Galtas watched the loading of the royal barge with little interest, his mind on other things. He’d argued against Crys’s inclusion in the trip, especially against him leading the honour guard, offering to do it himself in the end. Rivil had helpfully pointed out Galtas held no formal rank. Galtas had equally helpfully pointed out they could hire a private guard as so many other nobles did, and he could lead that. Last thing he needed was that inquisitive little shit poking his nose in.

      Then Janis broke in and said Palace Rank was the only appropriate guard for princes. Galtas hawked and spat into the calm waters of the harbour at the memory, at Janis’s utter dismissal of him. Appropriate. Oh, Janis was all about that, wasn’t he? Appearance was everything. He wondered what went on underneath that dour, faithful, self-righteous exterior. What perversions Janis must keep hidden to protect his reputation. Galtas didn’t doubt he had them, but years of prying had never revealed so much as a whore or a bastard or an unexplained death. It was impossible.

      ‘Careful with that,’ a voice snapped and Galtas jerked back into the real world and scowled down the dock. Tailorson was directing the loading. The captain waved his arm, then leapt from the dock into the barge to catch the swinging cargo and help lower it to the deck.

      Galtas fingered the pouch of poison hanging from his belt and spat again. Quite the little hero. Gods, he was almost as insufferable as Janis, and significantly closer to Rivil than the heir would ever be, despite outward appearances.

      There were plans to be safeguarded and an inquisitive soldier was an unnecessary risk. Galtas touched the poison pouch again, checked the position of the sun, and then made his way to the Ship Tavern on the edge of the water outside the city.

      Many plans, and many ways they could go wrong already, without Rivil being distracted by his new pet soldier. He took a table in a quiet corner and put his back to the wall, sipping at the ale the girl brought. If those plans came to fruition, he’d never have to bow and scrape to the likes of Janis again, or put up with shits like Tailorson.

      He drank and waited, eyeing each new customer and wondering if his contact would be on time. Waiting was the hard part.

       THE BLESSED ONE

       Eleventh moon, year 994 since the Exile of the Red Gods

       Longhouse, Eagle Height, Gilgoras Mountains

      Lanta seethed. She’d felt Rillirin’s presence, she’d seen into their stinking excuse for a village, and then Corvus had slaughtered all he could find and the rest had fled. Her humiliation cut deep and she knew the Red Gods were displeased. She was displeased.

      ‘We are no closer to finding Liris’s killer,’ Lanta hissed. Corvus twitched, but had no answer. She could hear the enamel squeaking on her teeth, they were so tightly clenched. He’d left a band of five led by Edwin and Valan scouring the forests for Rillirin and ordered the rest back to Eagle Height, and when she’d argued against it, he’d suggested she stay and search herself. The mockery in his face when she’d declined had been plain. ‘Rillirin could be anywhere by now.’

      ‘We’ll find my sister when the gods will it,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll learn everything she has to say.’ He’d a fondness for quoting the gods’ will at her, as if he even knew what that was. A fondness for ignoring her, for ignoring the gods too when it suited him.

      Lanta feared nothing, not even death – death would simply bring her into the gods’ very presence, to sit with

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