tide of the war. It was a significant moment, and she read aloud so all those present could hear:
“His Royal Highness Prince Thelonius of Calidor sends his greetings and thanks to King Tzsayn and Queen Cathe-rine of Pitoria for their gracious assistance to his son, Prince Edyon, Prince of Abask. Prince Edyon is to be formally invested in Calia as heir to the throne of Calidor, and King Tzsayn and Queen Catherine are invited to attend the cere-mony and the celebrations that will follow as special guests of honor.”
We’ve asked for a military alliance and they’re inviting us to a party? Catherine took a breath. Surely there will be more about the war. Thelonius is merely beginning with his thanks.
“Prince Edyon has demonstrated to us the power of the purple demon smoke and we thank our Pitorian friends for providing us with an example of this strange substance.”
Good. More thanks, but good.
“We also thank you for your warning about the immi-nent threat from the forces of King Aloysius of Brigant. In Calidor we are constantly aware of our northern neighbor and the threat he poses to our freedom and security. We have prepared our defenses well and will continue to hold firm against him should he attack our borders. Lord Darby has many years of experience fighting the Brigantines, and we are sending him to you as our special emissary to provide advice on how you might deal with our common enemy. I again send you my most grateful thanks, Prince Thelonius of Calidor.”
Special emissary? Advice? And more thanks than I can shake a stick at! Is that all he’s offering?
Catherine let the scroll roll up as she turned her attention back to the men in front of her.
“How many men have you brought with you, Lord Darby?”
Darby looked confused. “Just Albert here. He sees to all my needs, and Prince Thelonius felt we would travel faster without a full military escort.”
Catherine swallowed a sudden burst of anger. This was the Calidorian effort—two old men and a letter of hollow thanks, when she needed men and ships and an offer of alli-ance. What was Thelonius playing at? Edyon had demon-strated the power of the smoke—the letter said as much. How could Thelonius not see the threat? This response was either madness or an insult.
“Well, if you have been sent to provide advice, perhaps you could advise us on the question of ships. We have urgent need of naval support and—”
Lord Darby cleared his throat softly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it has been a very long journey, and I am not as young as your dashing generals. Might we discuss this tomorrow?”
“The war will not wait until tomorrow, Lord Darby.”
“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But perhaps I’ll be more able to assist then.”
Catherine was in serious danger of saying something undiplomatic. With a supreme effort, she forced herself to smile again.
“Of course. Someone will show you to your quarters.”
Darby bowed as he left the tent, leaving Catherine to wonder whether any assistance would be coming at all.
AMBROSE
ARMY CAMP, NORTHERN PITORIA
“IT LOOKS good,” Geratan said, ruffling Ambrose’s hair, which had been dyed brilliant white and cut short at the back but left long at the top—the same as Geratan’s. Only Ambrose’s wasn’t quite long enough to stay tucked behind his ears, so it kept flopping into his face.
“It would’ve been easier to get a hat.”
“But this shows your loyalty.” Geratan twirled his wooden practice sword and then pointed it at Ambrose. “Very important if you’ve got Brigantine blood in you.” Geratan continued swishing his sword around. “There are more white-hairs each day. More blue too. Everyone’s keen to show their loyalty to Tzsayn and Catherine. There’s a lot of enthusiasm for them as a couple.”
“This week, yes, but it ebbs and flows.”
Ambrose couldn’t forget how Catherine had arrived in Pitoria on a wave of enthusiasm, only to have to flee the capital in fear of her life after Aloysius’s invasion.
“For Tzsayn it’s constant. In fact, since his father died, it’s grown even more.”
Ambrose knew that was true. And he only ever heard good things about Tzsayn. The new king had led his troops bravely in defense of Rossarb, choosing capture rather than fleeing and leaving his men behind. “Yes, everyone loves Tzsayn.”
Geratan peered at Ambrose. “Everyone?”
Ambrose ignored the question. “As much as I’d love to continue this conversation, we’re here to practice.” With that, he swung his wooden sword at Geratan, who knocked it forcefully back.