“Morrow night, Lord and Lady Zinote leave for their country residence,” Etian told Pasiona. “You’re going with them.”

  House Skalia hadn’t run home for winter like many of the nobles had. They had stayed through the killing cold, hovering over their daughter and pying with the newborn when she would allow them close enough. Only the crown prince’s order to pack up their household had convinced them to go.

  Pasiona didn’t look up from the infant asleep in her p. “You’re sending us away because of the queen.”

  “Yes.” There was no reason to lie.

  “I saw you with her.” Pasiona’s voice was the river outside Mistfen’s walls, frozen solid. “Reuel was fussing, and I wanted to walk with him where others couldn’t see us. There are secret passages in all of the royal residences with viewing ports in nearly every chamber. Whoever built these paces certainly enjoyed voyeurism.”

  “Mikuel the First was Teikru-blessed.” Etian hesitated. Pasiona hadn’t been his opponent in years. He had to reset, regain control of the sparring ground. “You told me to tell you about other women before the court gossips got wind.”

  “With four Thorns watching, you think it’s not already all over Siu Carinal?”

  He conceded the point. “Even more reason for you to leave. You and the boy have to be far away until… until this is finished. I’ve let your dies know you’re going. They’ll be here soon to pack your things.”

  “So the gossips can say you sent us away while you consorted with your father’s wife?” She smoothed wispy bck hair from the child’s forehead.

  Etian adjusted his lenses, searching as he did for the viewing port into this chamber. If he told his wife the truth—that he only wanted her, but what a man wanted, what he knew was right, was the first thing that had to be sacrificed to win a war—would that be a misstep? There was every chance that revolting witch was watching them even now.

  “Your hair is still wet from the bath,” Pasiona said bitterly. “Though I suppose I should be grateful you washed after touching her.”

  “Tell me you’ll do as I say.” He’d meant for it to be a request, but it came out an order. “For your sake and the boy’s.”

  “I’ll agree to it all if you call him by his name.” For the first time since Etian had come through the door, her icy blue gaze met his. “Not the boy, not the child, not our son. Reuel.”

  Etian looked down at the sleeping infant.

  It was just a name. Just a collection of sounds.

  But even that was sacred. Even that had to be protected.

  Outside the chamber door, he heard women talking to Gander. Gander who he used to trust. Gander, the king’s Thorn.

  “Your dies are here,” he said, wishing he could make her understand that if he could hear them, they could hear him.

  Pasiona took a seething, frozen breath.

  Etian considered everything he could say to his wife, every desperate desire he felt for her and his revulsion at the thought that a monstrosity like him was allowed to stand this close to her and to their son.

  None of it was safe to say out loud.

  Instead, he told her, “Do as I ask. Please.”

  “I am the crown prince’s servant,” she said, staring at the far wall.

  It was a victory that felt like a defeat. But he’d seen more of those on the front than he had of victories that felt like victories.

  Etian went to let in the dies who would whisk her away.

  ***

  After his wife’s departure, Etian returned to his demanding nightly routine of blood magic and fencing as if he had never spent time away from the pace. Although Royal Thorns were known to carry gossip like rats carried pgue, no one outside the queen’s guard seemed to have caught word of what had passed between Jadarah and the crown prince—what continued to pass whenever the mad queen took a notion to sink her cws deeper.

  Fencing was a welcome exercise after weeks on the road. The royal guard had turned over since Etian had left. Most of the older men had died in service or advanced to other positions, such as the king’s armor bearer or, in Vorino’s case, the commander’s second.

  After a childhood of fighting adults, it felt strange to fence with men so close to his own age. Men who had just left Thornfield where, in another life, Etian would have been preparing for the day he would be grafted to Izakiel.

  Between matches, Etian made inquiries. As expected, the pace Thorns had dozens of worthy suggestions.

  When he’d gathered enough leads, he turned the conversation to his brother. Most of the younger members of the king’s guard cimed to be on good terms with Izak. More than a few swore they were close friends.

  “Don’t listen to them,” Ondreus, one of the past year’s graftings, said. “They’re just deluding themselves because your brother talked to them once or twice. He’s well-liked by everyone at Thornfield, masters included, but he’s only in confidence with his roommates, the pirate and that little thief Nine.”

  “That sounds like the sort of crowd he would fall in with,” Etian said. If for no other reason than to annoy the king, Izak would have enjoyed the disreputable company.

  “Pardon me, Your Highness.” A nervous-looking retainer bowed to Etian. “The king summons you to attend him at your earliest convenience.”

  Etian washed and dressed, considering possibilities. This could be the meeting the king had called him back from the front for, or it could be that Jadarah had grown bored of him and decided to turn him over to the king.

  He hadn’t expected the tter this early. What he knew of the mad queen made him certain she would want to draw out this travesty for as long as she could, but one could never predict madness. As such, he’d prepared a contingency.

  When he’d sent Pasiona away, Etian had posted Hack, one of the men who had returned with him from the front, at an inn outside Siu Carinal. Hack had been left with sealed instructions and the route the princess and her family were taking back to the House Skalia holdings. Before Etian left to meet with the king, he sent word to Keil, another of his trusted few, that he should ride out to alert Hack if Etian didn’t contact him before sundown.

  A few short years ago, Etian had trusted Gander and Ruis with every critical task he needed done, but a Thorn’s ultimate allegiance was to the man who had driven the thornknife into his heart. Whether Gander wanted to betray Etian or not, he had to obey his king. The only men Etian could trust now were the ungrafted soldiers who had proven their loyalty to him on the northern front.

  ***

  Hazerial received Etian in the war room.

  “A fashionable battle scar,” Hazerial said.

  The crown prince leaned over the table bearing the enormous map of their continent. “It seemed like the correct accessory for a man pyacting the second coming of Josean.”

  “Leave the sarcasm to your brother. You don’t possess the wit for it.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  What was that flicker of rebellion behind the prince’s smoked lenses?

  Perhaps a reminder as to who held the warhorse’s reins was in order.

  “The night of our triumph approaches,” Hazerial said. “Kelena is ready.”

  The peak in the prince’s throat bobbed, and his gsses caught the firelight as he looked away.

  Hazerial gave his son a cold smile. “No need for modesty, Etianiel. Your dedication and obedience has brought us to the point of victory. You should be proud that you had the backbone to do to what was necessary.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” This time, the response was properly subdued.

  “In the spring, we send the Cursed of the Strong Gods with our emissary into the heart of enemy territory. We will bring Kelena to Shamasa Redout to meet her husband, Lord Crencio. The wedding will take pce during the Festival of Springlight.” Hazerial tapped the map. “The Het escort is set to meet him here, where the Salt River crosses the border into their nd. It is assumed they will travel north along this route.”

  With his finger, Hazerial veered away from the river, taking a winding path through the Kingdom of Day before returning to the Salt, where sat the only settlement marked on the Het’s stolen realm.

  “According to our source, this is the highway they will take to their imperial city—” Hazerial indicated the settlement. “—which straddles the Salt here.”

  “Do you believe your source is correct?” Etian asked. “The Royal Archives speak of the ancient Het utilizing barges with heavy horses when towing upriver. It’s the most direct path.”

  “And yet rarely used these days, owing to bandits and thieves haunting its banks. Apparently, the accepted travel route now is this highway. Our inquisitors confirmed his information.”

  Hazerial dismissed that tangent with a wave of his hand. “It matters little either way. The strong gods have chosen to unleash the fruit of their thousand hells from Kelena at the height of the coming summer, during what will forever after be known as the Endless Night of Judgment. The question is where the Josean-blessed prince believes his army should be positioned to take advantage of the sughter.”

  For several long minutes, Etianiel studied the map in silence.

  Hazerial felt a tingle of impatience that he knew came from the strong goddess. Eketra had never had tolerance for Josean’s slow, methodical approach, despite so often using it to her advantage.

  Finally, the prince spoke. “Your source didn’t mention the terrain?”

  “Only that it was heavily forested for as far as he rode along the highway, and that he saw cliffs on the eastern bank before the road departed from following the water.”

  “Handy ambush territory, if they used it,” Etianiel said absently. “Was this information given to Lord Crencio?” At Hazerial’s affirmative, the crown prince said, “If he’s taking the overnd approach, then I want the river. Your source only traversed the western side?”

  “Twice, first alone and then with the Het accompanying him to make certain he crossed the border rather than turned back.”

  “What did he say about the imperial city? You mentioned it spanned the river.”

  Hazerial nodded. “Quite an impressive sprawl, I’m told. Buildings of ivory stone, with walls of the same enclosing it on both banks.”

  “Bridges?”

  “Three connecting the walls, stretching from one side of the river to the other.”

  Etian grunted. “If the distance from there to the border has been correctly estimated, the overnd route will take a month, possibly two, depending on the weather. Will Kelena have time to make it to the imperial city by this Endless Night of Judgment?”

  “Easily. It will follow our Summerlight Festival, four days after.”

  The prince fell to silent calcution, likely weighing the longest possible travel deys against the prophesied night of attack. Finally, he nodded.

  “Then I’ll move in on the eastern bank and push north. Small enough force to remain unknown, rge enough to make sure no one survives to spread the word.”

  Etianiel straightened from his study of the map and adjusted his lenses.

  “Your Majesty, I would like to make an unusual request.”

  Eketra was intrigued, and so was her chosen king.

  “We will hear it.”

  “I have a few skilled soldiers in mind to bring along, but a small contingent of Thorns would be ideal for this maneuver. I would like to graft my first Thorns before I ride out, Izak included.”

  Hazerial grinned as bloody webs twisted and clung to one another. “We had pnned to ride to Thornfield early this year. It will suit our purposes perfectly to have the crown prince cim his first Thorns alongside his king.”