“Savage says there’s a good chance that all will go well.”
“A slim chance it’ll go badly, then.”
“You can’t do anything to change that by remaining here.”
“I know that.”
“So . . . shall I set out your traveling clothes for tomorrow?”
Catherine curled up on her bed and mumbled, “I don’t know. Let me think.”
Tanya left and Catherine lay quietly for a while. She had to go and see the ships; that was her duty, but not her only duty. The Calidorians could wait two days, but if she delayed her departure until after the operation, then she’d be away when Tzsayn was awake and recovering, and she’d hate to leave him at that time too.
She had to make a choice. And linked to that choice was the other choice between Tzsayn and Ambrose.
Catherine gazed up at the canopy above her.
I have to see Ambrose.
AMBROSE
NORTHERN PITORIA
AMBROSE PACED outside the war council tent, cursing his own stupidity.
Idiot! Idiot!
The rest of the meeting had been a disaster. Catherine had not returned, and Davyon would barely speak to him, while Hanov and Ffyn hardly knew where to look or what to say.
Why had he made that joke about Tzsayn’s health? Admittedly it irked him that Tzsayn seemed to have Catherine’s favor. But to let that rivalry affect his behavior so much as to shame himself with thoughtless, childish comments? Unforgivable.
Ambrose imagined that he and Tzsayn might have been friends under other circumstances. He admired the king’s bravery and kindness. And Tzsayn had been tortured by Aloysius just as Ambrose’s brother and sister had been, so shouldn’t Ambrose feel extra sympathy toward him? But he didn’t. What was wrong with him? Was he inhuman? Was his love for Catherine driving out whatever noble qualities he might once have possessed?
He was still pacing when Tanya hurried up to him.
“Catherine wants to see you.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, Sir Ambrose, but you’ve certainly set the cat among the pigeons.”
Ambrose followed Tanya through the royal enclosure and into an open marquee by a stream, where she left him alone. The table was laden with papers, indicating that this was where Catherine worked. The location was beautiful—the stream bubbling through the camp, the arrangement of silk carpets and curtains, water, grass, ferns. And now he saw that Tanya was walking to the other side of the stream, as if he was on a playhouse stage and she was there to watch.
“Sir Ambrose.”
He turned to see Catherine. Her skin was pale and her eyes were red from crying.
“Your Majesty.” Ambrose bowed. “Please, may I speak first?”
Catherine nodded.
“I can only apologize for my behavior earlier today. I was unpardonably rude and insensitive. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“We all make mistakes, Ambrose. We all say things we shouldn’t,” she replied.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any pain.”
“I was shocked at first, but you weren’t to know Tzsayn’s situation. After all, we have deliberately kept secret the se-verity of his wounds. And now it seems even I didn’t know the full story. But I’ve had the morning to think about it, and that has made me think of other things too. Of my feelings for Tzsayn . . . and for you.”
“I’ve ruined the good opinion you had of me, haven’t I? I can see it.”
Catherine shook her head. “My opinion of you hasn’t changed, Ambrose. I don’t think it ever will. You have always been a dear friend to me. You’ve seen me through so many troubles; it would be stupid of me to let one small mistake undo all that.”
“I’ve been more than a good friend to you, I hope.” Ambrose wanted to step closer, but something about her poise kept him back.
“You have been my first love and my most faithful friend and supporter.”
First but not last?
Ambrose had to say something. “Your lover and your fighter. That was the phrase we used.”
Catherine blushed a little. “And I will always love you. Always. You’re part of me, my history, my journey here.” She put her hand on her heart. “And here.” Then she smiled and put her hand on her head. “And here too. And I would not change that, even if I could. I do not wish to hurt you, but as much as I love you, I also love Tzsayn.”
Ambrose swallowed, dread filling him. It wasn’t so much her words but the way she spoke them—with a certainty that he’d never heard from her before. But still, he had to ask.