Gray, Russet, and Pickering were playing pairs as the sun rose.

Fingers of golden sunlight crept across the room, highlighting tiny dust particles hanging in the air.

‘Everyone thought he’d killed you,’ said Russet.

His cheeks were flushed a faded pink, and he’d rolled up his sleeves to reveal his skull and bones tattoos. He spoke as though commenting on the dawn, like he was talking about the redness of the sky.

Gray paused, mid-slide of a card.

Pickering pulled a discrete face at Gray, shaking his head minutely, mouthing no. He sat opposite Gray, his sword within easy reach and his back ramrod straight. His blue eyes were watchful.

Russet caught it.

‘It’s true,’ said Russet. ‘Last time there was a fuss about a prisoner, he slit his throat.’ Russet’s voice was thin around the edges, betraying his calm exterior. ‘Right in front of us. To teach us a lesson, he said. To deprive us all of the prize money, as punishment.’

Gray sat still in his chair. Any time he thought his heart couldn’t beat any harder, he found out - yes - it could.

‘That’s not,’ said Pickering, a little stiffly, ‘entirely true. Stop talking shit, rookie.’

Russet was staring hard at the pile of cards on the table. ‘It was a halfing. Half selkie. Rare. The Augustes pay well for any captured. Some of the men went crazy, thinking they could …’ Russet glanced up, clearing his throat. ‘Anyway, he hasn’t killed you.’

Pickering snorted. ‘He’s not killing him. Are you kidding me?’

‘I’m just saying what everyone’s saying,’ said Russet.

Pickering snorted again. He was going to shake something loose up there. 'Then we run in different circles.'

Russet leaned forward. 'If you'd let me sit with you and Codder during meals-'

'I'm not sitting with Codder during meals,' said Pickering. 'He's always just - there. And you don't go near him. He's dangerous.'

'More dangerous than Major?' said Russet.

Pickering shut his mouth, his blue gaze down on his cards. He cleared his throat.

Eventually, Pickering said, ‘Major went into intimidation mode. Not kill mode. He …’ Pickering glanced at Gray. ‘He’s intimidated everyone here enough that they’ll leave you alone. You don’t touch Major’s payday. And there’s more to the selkie halfling story, I promise you.’

Gray would’ve rather talked about anything else - hell, awkward silence would be better than this topic - and he slid a card across the table.

‘Pair,’ Gray said.

‘Your townsfolk can fight, though, eh?’ said Russet.

‘What?’ said Gray, lifting his gaze sharply.

Pickering pushed the pile of cards Gray had just won across the table, rolling his eyes. ‘Rookie’s got a man-crush on every northern warrior he sees wield an axe.’

‘I’ve never seen northerners fight,’ said Russet. ‘I’ve never seen northerners, never been here before. I’m a southern boy. Clochaint, they’re good.’

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‘Killian hurt them?’ said Gray, clutching the cards.

‘Hurt their pride,’ said Pickering. ‘They’re not used to being bested, eh?’

‘Bested?’ said Gray, his stomach dropping. ‘What did he do?’

‘There were half a dozen of them caught up in the crush after the griffins flew off. They were lucky Darcy wasn’t here. General, too. If General had seen them fight against the Major, they’d be conscripted into the army like that.’

‘Oh,’ said Gray, shifting uncomfortably. ‘I think the Augustes tried that before. It didn’t go well.’

‘They’re brilliant,’ said Russet. ‘Do you think they could teach me some of their moves?’

‘They’re not going to teach you any of their moves,’ said Pickering. ‘Use them on you if you dare ask, maybe.’

‘I’ll ask nicely,’ said Russet.

‘They’ll kill you nicely,’ said Pickering. ‘You know what we did, how we conquered them, eighty years ago?’

‘Yeah,’ said Russet. ‘It was ages ago, they’re over it-’

‘They’re not,’ injected Gray.

‘Right,’ said Pickering, starting to grin. ‘See, rookie?’

‘They won’t kill me,’ said Russet. ‘They’ll be flattered.’ He paused, turning to Gray. ‘Hey, they put their fighting techniques down in books?’

There was a hard rap on the door.

‘Pickering,’ called Killian.

He stalked in wordlessly after Pickering let him in, scrubbing a scarred hand over his face.

Alone.

Gray and Russet exchanged a glance and hastily packed up the cards.

‘Nothing to report, Major,’ said Pickering. ‘It’s been quiet here.’

Killian hung his dark gaze on Pickering. Slowly, he swivelled his gaze to the room, taking in every detail.

The room had been righted and cleaned within an inch of its life. The three of them had worked together, making sure there’d be nothing for Killian to find fault with when he returned. In part, Gray had just wanted the peace of mind that no one was lurking in any small, impossible space, and also because he needed something to do - because sitting doing nothing was a kind of torture for Gray.

But mostly they were all hoping to appease Killian if he happened to return empty handed.

Killian was taking in every detail. He stopped at Gray, who was fumbling to shove the cards back to Pickering. Killian paused, taking in Gray’s appearance.

Gray had used the string from some of the correspondence to tie back his hair. Pickering had lent Gray his sewing kit (tucked in the fold of his army-issue socks), and Gray had done his best to repair the tears in his sweater. He’d washed from the basin again, cleaning himself as thoroughly as he could with a cloth.

‘Clearly.’ Killian’s mouth was a hard line. He turned to Pickering. ’Soldier, what are you doing?’

Pickering was all tension. His blue eyes were watchful. ‘Babysitting, Major.’

’Soldier, what should you be doing?’

Pickering chewed his lip, for the smallest fraction of a second. ‘Guarding, Major.’

Killian jerked his chin at Gray. ‘That’s not one of your little brothers, soldier.’

‘Yes, Major.’

‘That’s not one of your little brothers, either,’ said Killian, gesturing at Russet. ‘That’s a colleague.’

‘Yes, Major,’ said Pickering.

‘I have no place for a soft soldier on my team,’ said Killian.

‘I,’ said Pickering, ‘I understand, Major.’

‘Toughen up, and do it fast.’

‘Yes, Major.’

‘Dismissed,’ Killian muttered to Pickering. ‘Go get your breakfast. Rookie, you too.’

Killian went straight to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. The shower started.

Pickering straightened his uniform, pulled a face at Gray, and hightailed it out of there with Russet at his heels.

Gray sat rigidly at the table. Seconds crawled by.

Killian stayed so long in the shower that Gray wondered if he could risk picking the lock on his weapon’s chest with Frostvine's hair slide. He'd picked off the pearls and it would do nicely ...

When Killian emerged, steam billowed out of the door behind him.

He was perfectly dressed in his uniform. He deftly armed himself with his various knives and daggers from his weapons chest. He said, his voice tightly clipped, ‘You cultivating friendships with my men, kid?’