fighting on. Commander Cassian had been the governor of Ferro during the Blood War and had thrown his own armies behind Avalkyra Ashfire’s claim to the throne. Many defected, unwilling to follow him into what became a rebellion against the empire, but many more continued to fight for him until both sisters died and the war was done.
Sev looked up—it seemed she was waiting for an answer. Could he tell her? He didn’t want a war—he didn’t want to fight at all—but this was the only way he knew how to prevent it. He was a spy, and never before had it struck him so powerfully what that meant. It meant that the people around you—good people—saw and believed the worst in you because you had to play a part. And right now Sev had to be the brash, foolish young man who, after barely surviving his first fight, couldn’t wait to take part in his second.
“They say there’s trouble along the border,” he said, carefully choosing his words. “And I’m no coward.”
Hestia returned to the table with her materials and got back to work. She didn’t speak the whole time she prepared the poultice, and Sev got some sense that he shouldn’t break that silence—that she was doing some serious thinking.
By the time the bandages were in place and secured, she stepped back.
“I won’t do it, Sevro,” she said, and Sev’s stomach plummeted. No, no—he needed to do this. There was no other way. “You’re not ready, and you haven’t thought this through. You’re young, and brash, and—”
“I’m a soldier, Hestia,” Sev cut in. “Stop”—he swallowed around the bubble rising in his throat—“stop coddling me. I’m not them. I’m not one of your sons.”
Sev couldn’t look her in the face. As it was, he saw a flash of shock, followed by deepest pain, before he dropped his head. Why had he done that? Surely he could have talked her around, convinced her, rather than going for the lowest possible blow?
When he dared to look up again, Hestia’s eyes were bright—but her expression was under control again.
“No,” she said softly, before turning away, “you’re not.”
Sev was surprised by the stab of pain that followed those words. But he supposed Hestia’s sons never would have spoken to her that way. And when death came for them, they’d probably thought fondly—longingly—of their mother, and known in that moment that she had been right all along. Sev wondered what his own mother might have said, if she’d survived the war, only to have Sev willingly join it.
“I’ll sign your form,” she said at last, and Sev’s heart did a strange lurch. Even as he flushed with success, dread began to expand there at the idea of what he was about to do. “Because if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that you can’t stop someone from doing something foolish if something foolish is what they want to do.” She returned to her tray, carefully packing away her supplies. “Be cautious, won’t you?” she asked without looking at him, and Sev was both distressed and comforted by the idea that she grown attached to him. That she cared. “Use your head, Sevro—and steer clear of friendly fire.”
Sev replayed her words. “Friendly fire?” he repeated faintly, and she peered at him over her spectacles.
“I know the difference between a crossbow bolt wound and an arrow wound—and in all my years I’ve never heard of a Phoenix Rider wielding a crossbow.”
Sev gaped at her. Did she know—had she guessed that he wasn’t all that he seemed?
Hestia returned her attention to her work, then hoisted the tray on her way to the door. “I’ll see the appropriate paperwork reaches your captain before morning, and I’ll also have someone bring up a salve and some ointments so you can continue to treat your wound on the road. An assistant this time,” she said reassuringly, and Sev knew that word had reached her of his hasty dismissal of her attractive servants. “When you return,” she began, and Sev appreciated the word, even if they both knew it wasn’t a guarantee, “I shall be very cross with you if I discover that you haven’t been applying them nightly. Trust me—I will know.”
Then she was gone.
Before Sev could do more than stare in shock at the closed door, the tapestry in the next room shifted, and Kade appeared.
He looked murderous.
“When were you going to tell me?” he demanded without preamble. Clearly Kade had managed to get away from the dogs