After a full day of walking downhill, the forest thinned to clumps, giving them a dizzying view down into the valley. White clouds drifted across two hundred miles of forest, fields, and rivers that stretched all the way to the edge of a blue-green sea. Knots of red and brown houses clustered around gray stone towers at the center of towns — some forts, some churches.

The sight of home filled Nath with jealous rage. Once past the Teeth, any army could sweep from one end of the country to the other in a month. It did not matter who was king — him, his father, or even the dead baby. The King of Ammar was all that kept the country free of Nynomath. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. It was good Ammarish steel he’d taken from the man Eva killed with the bear. That alone made him believe her when she’d said the attack had not truly come from mages.

Who then? Nath wondered.

Anryniel had taken his most quarrelsome vassals with him to the Emperor's court, hoping to pair them off with lesser houses to placate their ambitions. At least a thousand men had sailed with the king in early spring. Many of them had headed straight home the day that Anryniel died, but even the swiftest vessel carrying them would be at sea another month. That left perhaps nine thousand men of fighting age in Ammar and just a half dozen lords to govern them. Nath’s expedition had been done swiftly and in secret with just the men of Mobuck — a small, proud province now governed by Griffy.

Nath lengthened his stride to catch up to his cousin. Eva hiked behind them at a steady pace, her golden curls bright against the trees. She hid her fatigue well, but he knew that whatever she’d done with the bear slowed her down. Gruffydd didn’t spare so much as a glance backward even when Nath came within a foot of him.

“What have you seen?” he asked, grasping Griffy’s shoulder to slow him. “Had to be at least a hundred on the camp — but they left nothing behind. Ran into four or five yesterday in good outfit, with no mark on what I got off of them.”

He took out the sword for Griffy to examine. His cousin glanced at the blade and touched his yellow bow. “Could be anyone. Your plan’s about the worst-kept secret at court. You know your mother sent her man Tymon up here to find us? Owain’s scouts brought him to him four days ago. He’s got a letter from the Queen for your eyes only — had me send my swiftest riders to find you.”

“And?” Nath said.

“And as far as I’m supposed to know, nobody’s found the king yet.” Griffy grumbled.

Nath felt the lie stretch between them. Griffy might go along with his deception for a little while, but Nath couldn’t count on him to keep a secret for long. Especially not from his aunt, Queen Neith-Anne. Their mothers talked of their sons as often as they did spinning or embroidery. He didn’t like to think his own mother might have given him away with gossip, but Nath had barely much more experience with intrigue as he did with women. Everything was easier in books.

He slowed his pace until Eva caught up to him. She stepped so lightly across the ground, he thought she fairly floated. Yet her face was tight with fatigue when he looked at it. Nath almost reached for her hand, then, but she pointed it at the horizon before he could. He traced the line she made in the air to where a thin plume of smoke curled above the treeline.

“It’s not far, Nath, keep going,” Eva said. “And don’t worry. He is not your traitor. I will tell you when I see him.”

Nath couldn’t help but scoff. He’d planned to comfort her and instead she’d beat him to it. He walked on without taking her hand.

The house Gruffydd led them to had once been a church with a long, wide hall built around the rounded tower. The slatted roof had fallen in on one side, and the timber walls sagged against the uneven stone. The overgrown courtyard to the south of the hall teemed with men moving between horses hitched the rusted iron gates. The fountain at its center pulsed water from the shapeless lump of a forgotten saint. Nath went straight to it for a drink and to rinse his face.

“Got a bed in there?” Nath asked Gruffydd.

“Might have to share it with me,” Gruffydd said. He threw Eva another look while she drank from the fountain, then pulled Nath aside. “There’s three rooms at the back. Strongbox in the big one. Little one’s for the pantry. The one that locks is for sleeping off the whiskey. We could put your ladyship in there, if it suits. Or maybe she’d prefer a kennel?”

Nath scowled. “Watch your mouth — I owe her my life. Lost over a hundred men up there. I’d hate to hang a few down here if they can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“If you go around cutting off every lech’s hand, Nath, you’ll maim half your army.” Griffy looped an arm around Nath’s shoulder as if to shield him from the men who tended horses in the courtyard. Nath was suddenly glad of the mud Eva had made him rub onto his tabard. With a week’s stubble on his chin and his hair matted, no one would know at first glance that he was their king. “Tymon’s men are too old for much trouble, but Owain’s lot are dumb and hungry. Fine fat mess Ryn left us with. He could have at least asked Lord Kenon to stay behind to keep the peace up north.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

They ducked beneath the slanted beam that had been a doorway into a room stripped of grass and vine. The worn floorboards squeaked under the boots of a dozen men gathered in the hall around the hearth built into the stone column at its center. A fire blazed beneath an iron pot. Nath saw three women with braided hair walking between the men, passing out bowls full of rich-smelling stew. The cozy scene grated on his nerves. It looked more like a hunting party than a patrol. He almost raised his voice to shout at his men, get them on their feet and out into the hills to search for their comrades.

He muttered his rage to Gruffydd instead, “What is this? You’re supposed to be scouting terrain, not starting a woodland brothel.”

“I did scout,” Gruffydd argued. “There’s a village a day away from here, fifty houses and a pub. They sent the women out to look after us. That one there with the freckles is a witch — she makes soap. Would your lady like some?”

“Oh, fuck off. I made you Duke of Mobuck so you could milk cows. Not village girls,” Nath hissed. “Stop spending money on women and witches. We’ll need it for raising arms at Thornhaven.”

He searched for the rooms at the back of the house. He recognized Rhys Tommasi, one of Gruffydd’s family vassals, sitting on a stool outside the door to guard the coffers. He gave a curt nod to Rhys and left Gruffydd to tell his man the king traveled in secret while he stepped inside. Ironbound boxes sat in a neat row by the wall and four racks held sets of armor beside an orderly row of swords. Nath recognized Griffy’s favorite travel set of folding leather chairs and a collapsible table, inherited from their maternal uncle, Duke Vaerganc. A map rolled out across the top of the tap lay beside a writing set complete with glass jars of ink and sealing wax.

Nath grimaced. No bed.

A soft sound by the window drew his attention. Someone had hung a thick blanket where the missing glass should have kept the cold out. He pushed it to one side and looked down to find Eva staring up at him. The back of the house faced more forest. The long shadows of afternoon fell across the place where she stood. When she raised a finger to her lips, Nath realized she meant to stay there and listen to whatever was said. She hitched the wolf pelt up around her shoulders pressed herself close to the wall.

Nath frowned. I should find a proper cloak for her… And good shoes. Even thinking of what clothes he might give to her brought to mind the sight of her naked.

The rattle of steel at the door made Nath turn. Gruffydd came into the room, followed by two men he recognized from King Alieus’s war council. Owain ap Orsid was a wide man with a hairline that reached the top of his head. Beside him stood the silver-haired Tymon Mayred, whose spindly legs splayed wide from decades in the saddle. Neither had been a favorite of Alieus, but with so many men dead or captured and still to be ransomed, these were the last lords standing who saw the crown placed on Nath’s head.

He put his back to the window. Conscious of Eva listening outside, he addressed the lords before either of them could address him as Majesty: “We’re not alone out here, my lords. Someone is looking for the king. They’ve already got his army — they may even think they have him. Best to let them think that a while longer.”

Owain and Tymon exchanged a look. Nath struggled to work out what it meant. A fourth son didn’t have a place in the throne room, watching the councils. Emmond had always sat to their father’s left while they were growing up. When he died, Anryniel had the chair removed and kept his hunting dogs by the throne instead.

Owain spoke first. He was Nath’s first tutor in arms court, back when he had two working arms. He’d been the first to notice that the fourth prince held his practice sword on the wrong side and meted out most of the punishments whenever Nath dropped his sword.

“Easy, lad, you’ve had a fright.” The one-armed man went to the edge of the table where a tin pitcher sat beside a set of matched cups. He set and poured a glass steadily, as skilled with his left as he’d been with his right. “Here, drink something for your nerves. A night’s rest indoors will sort you out.”

Nath ignored the cup held out to him.

“Why should you worry about me?” he demanded. He tried to make his voice sound big and loud like Ryn’s. “There’s two hundred men and horses lost somewhere out there. Two of your scouts with them. Attacked and taken…”

Outside the window, Nath heard a sound like nails scraped over iron. He bit off what he’d been about to say — mount up, ride out! It dawned on him that Eva wanted him to wait and see what these men said to him. He drummed his fingers against the his hand against the folding table to keep himself from talking.

For an awkward moment, nobody spoke. Then Gruffydd got up from his chair and came to stand over the map. He rested his knuckles to either side of it while he studied the whorls of ink.

“If mages took them, there’ll be a ransom sent to the nearest church,” Griffy said. He looked up at Nath and raised his eyebrows. “That would be Thornhaven. That’s where you wanted to go, Nath? Offer a purse to every man that joins us?”

“There is no time for that,” Tymon grumbled. “The first snow clogs the pass up north. The second strands us at the horseshoe…”

“If you’re cold, old man, you could go on back to Thornhaven,” Owain said. “Send a message to the Queen Mother. She’ll be worried about her son.”

Nath gritted his teeth. That would be the end of his brilliant campaign. Hiding behind his mother’s skirts at the border. What would Eva think of him, then?

She’ll know that I am the King of Ammar, then.

No matter how he tried to hide it, his crown would be with him always. Even if he jumped from the window and ran off with Eva into the woods at that very moment -- he would always be Anathas, fourth son of Alieus. She would find out eventually. Nath believed she was the smartest person he had ever met.

He heard the scratch outside the window again. Nath’s heart jumped at the thought of her out there, listening to him, while he fought to keep this secret from her. He snatched up a marker from the pile by the map and slammed it down over a small black square drawn closest to the mountains. “To Thornhaven. At first light. Let the Winze take the hindmost!”