GW2 fic, 15-21

[anghraine]

“Ascalonian, eh?”

“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.

With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”

title: pro patria (15-21/?)
verse: Ascalonian grudgefic
characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Lord Faren, Logan Thackeray, Countess Anise, Julius Zamon; Minister Caudecus, Ailoda Langmar, others; Althea & Logan, Althea & Faren, Althea & Deborah
stuff that happens: Althea and Logan take on Zamon in court, and Logan recruits Althea into a new investigation—one that touches her own family.
chapters: 1-7, 8-14

FIFTEEN

1

I could always depend on Faren’s loyalty. But even beyond him, everyone I needed looked to be present. Cin Fursarai had arrived to complain about his business losses. Lady Madeline kept me at arm’s length, but indicated she still meant to testify. My friend Corone was ready to identify his stolen chalice, recovered from Zamon's mansion by the Seraph. Reth told me that he’d been fired from the Ministry Guard, but hoped I’d pull this off.

“Just tell the truth,” I said, clasping his shoulder, “and Zamon won’t be able to do any more damage.”

2

Beneath my easy assurance—what I hoped looked like easy assurance—my blood pounded. This could go horribly wrong, and I had no clever tricks left, no clones to hide among, nowhere to run or hide. I could only present the truth, and hope it convinced the ministers.

I couldn’t look at my mother.

Anise and Captain Thackeray quietly joined me on either side.

“Proving Zamon’s guilt won’t be easy,” he said, “but I have every confidence in you. Now get out there and convict that maggot.”

3

I nodded, appreciating both the support and pressure, willing my pulse to slow. It didn’t seem particularly accommodating.

“You look calm, but I can tell you’re worried,” Anise said softly. “Don’t be—you’ve done all of the necessary preparation and the facts are on our side. The case is yours to win.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, and forced myself to breathe evenly. “Now I just have to win it.”

4

Zamon, of course, sneered and denied everything.

“You’re a fool, you know. You’ll never convict me—I’m as innocent as a babe in arms.”

I, too, had noticed the tendency of infants to try bribing extremely wealthy aristocrats. Gods, what an idiot.

I shrugged. “Let’s see who the courts believe.”

5

“Hear ye!” called the judicial scribe, and the hubbub dutifully dwindled. “The trial of Minister Julius Zamon is hereby called to order, Legate Minister Caudecus presiding. Who stands for the prosecution?”

“I do,” I said, and forced myself to add, “Lady Althea Fairchild.”

Just before, the scribe had explained that I would be on trial for slander, if Zamon were acquitted. I thought of my family’s unstained name, and just repressed a shudder.

“Your Honour,” I declared, “we have evidence proving Minister Zamon conspired against the citizens of Divinity’s Reach!”

6

I couldn’t turn back now.

“He abused his authority to commit thiever, murder, and treason. We will present incriminating documents and sworn testimony from respected members of the community, including the sister of the accused!”

Madeline blanched, but met her brother’s glare steadily.

Minister Caudecus studied me for several long moments. Then he turned to Zamon and said,

“The prosecution seems to have prepared quite a compelling case.”

My head swam with relief.

7

“Minister Zamon, can you refute these accusations?”

Zamon simply laughed, and all relief faded. He was an idiot, but one who knew his own interests. Well, sort of—all my witnesses now eyed him with intense dislike, even Fursarai.

“Refute?” he said scornfully. “Why bother? My lord Caudecus”—and now he stood upright, back to his old arrogant height—“in accordance with the most ancient tenets of Krytan law, I invoke my right to trial by combat!”

SIXTEEN

1

I didn’t even have time to hope that Minister Caudecus would restore some sense of order to the proceedings; he immediately accepted the invocation and announced that Zamon would have to nominate a second, and I both a principal and a second.

“I will be the principal, Legate Minister,” I said promptly.

Caudecus granted a short recess to choose my second—my second, in a trial by combat, as if we’d jumped back to the days of the guild wars. I hadn’t really meant this when I hoped for it a few days ago, I’d meant—I’d been angry, frustrated, but I thought of it as a long-dead custom, not a possibility. What did prowess in battle have to do with truth or justice?

Well, I thought, at the least it could be an outlet for justice; I felt not the slightest doubt of his guilt, and very little doubt of defeating him in combat, backed by a decent second.

The only difficulty was finding one.

2

In fact, I had no difficulty narrowing the fielding to possible candidates. As soon as I turned about and considered the gathered audience, I dismissed virtually everyone.

Of course, there was Reth, who had been a Ministry Guard; he must have some fighting skill. There was Anise, a better mesmer than I’d ever be. Captain Thackeray, of course, if he really meant what he’d said. There was even Faren, who had (however ridiculously) held his own in the bandit caves.

But which?

3

I drifted among my friends, not wanting to give Zamon and his massive Norn retainer any chance at preparing themselves. Fending off their inquiries after the case, I saw Faren waving his arm and swivelled about to reach him. Instead, I nearly slammed into Zamon himself.

With one of his most unpleasant smiles, he said, “It’s not too late to abandon this farce. Recuse yourself and I’ll see to it your honesty is rewarded. You don’t want to face the alternative.”

Very quietly, I said, “Don’t threaten me, Minister.”

4

I ducked into the crowd before he could try anything else—I wouldn’t put much past him—and strode up to Faren.

“Ready for action, old friend!” he said brightly.

Tension faded from my shoulders and temples, for all that I’d resolved nothing. Faren could be theatrical, posturing, careless, but somehow he always seemed to soothe my nerves. And no woman could ask for a truer friend.

“I’m sure you are,” I told him, with a quick embrace.

To my surprise, he returned it tightly, his sharp chin digging into my scalp.

5

Faren released me, looking nervous and awkward in a way I hadn’t seen in years.

“And let me add,” he said, his voice far removed from his usual vain cheerfulness, “I’m truly flattered you’re even considering me as your second.”

Oh.

Well, I was, though I hadn’t thought of it as flattery, just pragmatics—but perhaps that was all the more flattering in its way, especially for someone like Faren. In all probability, I wouldn’t choose him, but I was touched anyway.

“Glad to know you’re willing and able,” I replied. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to decide.”

6

I tracked down Anise—or rather, Anise’s hair, but happily, the rest of her remained attached to it.

“Trial by combat?” she said, with all incredulity I felt. “Who’d have thought it? I’m surprised Zamon even knows it’s an option. There hasn’t been one in over fifty years … or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

I shot her an amused glance; she’d been a family friend in my mother’s youth as well as mine, if not before.

“Then we ought to make this as memorable as possible,” I said.

7

Captain Thackeray was the easiest to find; he stood a head above everyone else, encased in heavy armour, with a bright sword strapped to his side. He grinned at my questioning glance.

“As a Seraph captain,” he told me, “I can’t really jump around saying, ‘pick me, pick me!’ But I can certainly think it.”

I laughed. That certainly resolved the first question.

More soberly, he said:

“I’m ready to go if you need me.”

SEVENTEEN

1

“There’s nothing I’d like better than to personally dish out some of the punishment Zamon deserves,” added Captain Thackeray.

I could easily believe it of him—both the sentiment and the approach.

As I left him and moved among very-definitely-not-nominees, I did my best to calculate my chances without betraying any sign of doing so.

Reth seemed to be some sort of brawler, eager to rough up a traitorous noble with his own hands. Captain Thackeray, between his bulk and his armour, could effectively shield me and absorb Zamon’s and Eitel’s attacks while I lashed out spells. Faren was—Faren. And Anise would duplicate the confusion I depended upon, multiply it into mass chaos.

2

I returned to the scribe, expression carefully blank, the observers and guests staring in near-silence—all but my candidates, whom I’d quietly informed. Zamon and Eitel-the-Unlovable looked guarded, but unprepared for any specific approach.

“Have you decided who will serve as the prosecution’s second?” asked the scribe.

In a loud, clear voice, I said, “I’ve chosen Captain Thackeray.”

Logan already knew, but he still seemed like he might nearly punch his gauntleted fist into the air. He, Anise, and I turned cheerful smiles on Zamon, who eyed us all with intense dislike. He didn’t look afraid, but he didn’t look relieved, either—whatever he thought of me, he must know it wouldn’t be an easy fight against a captain of the Seraph and a mage.

3

“An interesting choice,” remarked Minister Caudecus, almost dourly. What had Logan ever done to him? “If Lord Zamon proves victorious, he is innocent. The case is thrown out and these charges against him may not be brought again. If you win, then Zamon is found guilty of the crime.”

“I understand,” I replied.

I understood that Zamon was going to rot in prison or the grave.

4

In the grave, as it happened. Captain Thackeray and I planned our approach with a few words and expressions; he would rush forward, keep them off me, and I’d make sure he had a dizzying array of clones and illusions alongside him to keep things interesting, between shooting Zamon and Eitel full of chaos magic. It worked beyond my most fanciful dreams.

Eitel went down quickly; he seemed to have no resistance to my magic, and no interest in dodging it. Zamon screamed that we were nothing—really, who did he think he was?—and then that our skill didn’t matter.

I only drew near at the end, when Zamon lay groaning and wounded under Logan’s sword.

“I only … did … as I was told …” he mumbled, and died.

5

What? Now we had some other scheming traitor out there?

“Victory is declared!” announced Minister Caudecus, with absolutely no enthusiasm. “According to the dictates of Krytan law, Minister Zamon is found guilty.”

Captain Thackeray—Logan—guessed that Caudecus disliked the proceedings purely for the disruption of normal order, not that it was our doing, but Anise shook her head.

“How do you think Zamon knew about the ancient law in the first place?” she murmured.

Logan and I glanced sharply at her.

6

“If Zamon won the battle,” she continued, “he’d be declared innocent—no more investigation. Now he’s guilty, but he’s also dead. No loose ends.”

Of course—but Caudecus himself? I could hardly believe it, and Logan looked shaken as well.

Anise didn’t move closer, but the sudden intensity in her face made it feel as if she had.

“Never underestimate Minister Caudecus,” she told us.

7

Anise slipped away, always quick to avoid unintended notice, and Logan gave a brisk nod.

“Go and celebrate a well-earned victory,” he said. “I was genuinely hoping for a conviction based on a preponderance of the evidence … but this works, too.”

That was Logan, all right.

The ambivalent expression on his face then vanished, replaced by an unusually cheerful resolve. I’d expected him to return to his own business, like Anise; instead, he gave me a comradely clap on the shoulder that nearly knocked me to my knees. Then, Logan—Captain Thackeray of Divinity’s Reach, heir of Gwen Thackeray, hero of too many battles to count—looked straight at me, a woman who’d been indistinguishable from any young noble until a few months ago, and said,

“I’m starting to think there’s no problem we can’t solve if we tackle it together.”

EIGHTEEN

1

“Now get some rest,” Captain Thackeray ordered. “There’s sure to be more work for us soon.”

“Thanks, Captain,” I said, at once overwhelmed and determined. “I’ll be ready.”

The compliments didn’t end there. Anise half-jokingly offered me a place among the queen’s lawyers; Corone laughed and said that he’d be sure not to run afoul of the captain and me; Lord Benjamin lit up when I suggested he should join the government himself; even the scribe said she was impressed with the trial.

Truthfully, I told her, “I just hope that such proceedings remain rare.”

2

Faren, of course, swept a low, graceful bow, and then pretended to nearly swoon.

“Another fine day’s work—on your part, that is,” he said. “Frankly, I’m exhausted just watching you.”

I managed not to snicker, but only because I stood among the pillars and arches of the Ministry itself, not to mention under the eyes of some of the most powerful figures in Kryta.

With a grin, he went on, “I hope you know I’ll be toasting your success later this evening, with damsels yet to be determined.”

“I know,” I said dryly, and raised a brow. “Just spare me the details, and I’ll toast you for your discretion.”

3

Gladly leaving Faren to his own devices, I made my last farewells to everyone still loitering around the Ministry.

To my relief, I had no immediately pressing duties, although Captain Thackeray—after congratulating me again and urging me to celebrate my victory—assured me that he’d be in touch. I didn’t doubt it, but for now, the best celebration seemed sleeping for three days.

It wasn’t quite three days, but I did ignore everything else to crawl into my bed for hours, only waking for meals and a few dimly-remembered conversations. When I finally emerged, I had to assure my mother,

“I’m not hurt, Mama, just tired.”

Mother looked at me with anxious eyes—only more anxious after, well, watching me duel another minister to the death while unable to do anything, and while her other daughter lay dead and probably mutilated in some lost grave.

I hated that she’d seen it, hated the fear that lived in her eyes these days, but more than that, I hated the idea of turning my back on our people.

4

After I spent a few days with my mother, alternately sleeping and consoling her, I headed back into Queensdale. I didn’t have a clear destination in mind, but I’d often heard Deborah talk about how people out there needed more help than the Seraph could supply, and how much more she wished she could do. I meant to help wherever I could, in whatever ways I could.

Wherever I could took some peculiar shapes over the next few weeks. I made my way to Claypool and helped the Seraph captain there train the militia; in return, she wrote frankly,

I wasn't sure someone of your reputation would stick around to help my militia. I'm impressed and honoured that you did.

I re-read the letter four times, not smiling, just—I hadn’t expected either the surprise or the gratitude; if anything, I counted it an honour to serve the Seraph.

5

Then there was a lumber mill under perpetual threat from a) skritt and b) extremely oversized wasps. I helped the labourers fight them off as often as I could, and received another letter, though it took awhile to find its way to me—probably because it was addressed simply to “Ly Althea of Rurikton.” The leader of the workers was Ascalonian, and had been more deeply impressed that I had a home in Rurikton than that the home was a manor.

Your reputation, she wrote, doesn’t exaggerate your heroism and skill. All of us at the lumber mill thank you for your time .

That time, I did smile. I wasn’t patrolling Queensdale for praise, but neither was I so pure that I didn’t like getting it.

6

When I heard that Claypool had fallen under attack from centaurs, I returned as quickly as I could manage, and helped fight them off. These seemed even fiercer than the centaurs at Shaemoor, but somehow it was easier to drive them off.

The centaurs were shaken, one of the Seraph told me.

“Demoralizing the enemy is key,” he went on, “and you made that happen.”

I’d helped, no more; but if my help had turned the tide for Claypool, I was glad to serve. Perhaps Seraph Elmder saw that, because he clapped my shoulder just as Captain Thackeray would have.

“Thank you, soldier,” he said.

7

I ended up wandering all the way to Beetletun, doing everything from convincing children to work at their chores, to fighting off even hardier, more aggressive centaurs, to slipping inside their encampments to sabotage their equipment and free their slaves. There were pests in the village to eradicate, and farms throughout the shire to protect or salvage.

And I fought alongside Seraph at their outposts, which I preferred to just about anything else. It wasn’t just Deborah or Logan; as I saw just how much the Seraph needed to do, and how thin their resources ran, I’d come to admire them for their own sake. I’d never met a Seraph I didn’t respect.

Of course, there was Deborah’s memory; wherever her spirit might be, I hoped she knew what my life had become. I might not be much for taking orders from anyone I hadn’t chosen, but I was following her steps as closely as I could.

NINETEEN

1

I was in Godslost Swamp, helping historians fight off nightmares from the Underworld—long story—when a letter from my mother arrived.

It had been written weeks earlier, passed from courier to courier along the increasingly dangerous route, then left at the last outpost until someone brave enough to dare the swamp delivered it to the Priory camp. Thankfully, it contained nothing urgent, only accounts of Ministry machinations, the doings of my friends—she dedicated an entire paragraph to Faren, who appeared to be doing a great deal of nothing—and some visits from her own friends.

Anise seemed in poor spirits, she wrote, or rather, irritated ones. Apparently, that nice Captain Thackeray has a bee in his bonnet (can you imagine him with a bonnet?) over something entirely disconnected from his duties in Divinity’s Reach.

My brows rose; that didn’t sound like him at all.

Mother concluded with an unsubtle wish that she would see me again soon, or at least hear from me, and I winced; although I dutifully wrote whenever I had paper and couriers available, this had not been one of those times—and if she’d known where I was, she would have good reason to fear for me.

2

Frankly, after fighting a massive, hellish nightmare creature that took a good hundred adventurers to bring down, home sounded decidedly appealing. I could soothe my mother, see my friends, get some decent meals and rest, and put on unstained clothes—and check in with ‘that nice Captain Thackeray.’

(Mother’s feelings towards him had always been vaguely positive, but seeing him protect me in trial by combat had raised them to eternal devotion.)

I didn’t bother with a letter; thanks to some of my favourite spells, I could travel faster by myself than any series of couriers. And she plainly did not expect an actual arrival; I could surprise her this way.

Sure enough, Mother gave a strangled shriek when she saw me in the street, and disregarded the curious people around us, the state of my clothes, everything, to rush forward and clutch me to her.

I would never turn back from the path I had set myself upon—but though I cared for many people and places, I didn’t think I could ever love anything so much as my family.

3

Doubtfully, a woman I’d never met said,

“Isn’t that the Hero of Shaemoor?”

Another replied, “No, it’s Minister Ailoda.”

We ignored them to make our way back to the manor. To her credit, it took Mother a good five minutes to wrinkle her nose.

“What have you been doing? Let me draw you a bath, darling.”

I was only too happy to remove the accumulation of dirt and swamp water I’d never quite managed to scrub off at the Seraph outposts—but I had no intention of telling her just what I’d been doing.

4

I emerged from the bath with a pleasant sense of pristine cleanliness, and a silk robe that had never felt finer against my skin. After I dressed (the clothes freshly laundered, because Mother thought of everything), I supplied a severely edited version of my adventures since she’d last seen me.

Even that much was enough to make her shudder. “I know you’re following your conscience, but—”

“I am,” I said firmly.

I did spend the next few days with her, amusing her with stories of (safe) quirks and mishaps, letting her show me off at the Ministry, staying beside her during the regular courtesy calls she received.

Then I headed to Seraph Headquarters.

5

When I walked through the doors, Logan’s face lit up. He abruptly concluded the discussion he’d been involved in and strode right over to me.

“Good to see you again, my friend,” he said, looking so pleased that I couldn't bring myself to doubt it. “You have excellent timing!”

I had no idea what tangential preoccupation could have irritated Anise. But nothing, nothing, could have prepared me for what he said next.

“Have you ever heard of Falcon Company?”

6

For a moment, my mind went entirely blank. The voices around us faded, my ears ringing. My face and hands felt cold, but my lungs burned.

“Of course I have,” I said, proud that my voice remained even. “One of the most decorated units of Seraph, wiped out by a centaur ambush.” Taking a deep breath, I added, “My sister was a soldier in that command.”

Captain Thackeray looked stricken.

7

“Your sister?” he exclaimed, clearly oblivious. Falcon Company had fallen under a different command, I told myself, unrelated to his own—that was why Anise disapproved of his interest—and that interest was frankly more than I would have expected.

Still.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, turning somber. “I—I didn’t know.”

I nodded, goodwill restored, and remembered myself enough to wonder: if he hadn’t heard about my connection to the Falcons, and didn’t have one of his own, why was he asking me about them?

And why now?

TWENTY

1

Gravely, Logan said, “You'll be even more interested in this information than I thought.”

The chill lying over my skin flashed hot. Information? What—maybe—was—

He lowered his voice, more conscious of our surroundings than I could manage. “Scouts in the Queen’s Forest discovered pages from an old journal. They were apparently written by Willem Harrinton, a member of Falcon Company.”

A member of Deborah’s company.

2

Had Harrinton known something? Oh, he must have, for Captain Thackeray to consider it ‘information.’ He must have written it down. But—

I waited, some approximation of composure returning; I could hear the low murmurs and pen-scratchings of Seraph business around us, though Logan had drawn us away into a corner where we wouldn’t be easily overheard.

“The writing on the pages is rough,” he went on, “hasty. But it describes survivors of the battle taken prisoner by the centaurs.”

3

Damn composure, anyway.

“Survivors?” I breathed, feeling the rush of blood all through my veins. Survivors. No body, no presence at the grave, nothing—was it possible?

I’d never imagined it. Never dared imagine it.

“My sister could be alive?”

4

Desperate hope sparked through me, and I seized his arm without regard to the layers of plate over it.

“Logan, you’ve got to let me investigate!” I burst out.

No, no, I had to stay calm, force myself into some semblance of self-control; friend or not, I’d be left out if I seemed too overwrought for the investigation. And I couldn’t sit back while others took on the danger, while Debs perhaps laboured under centaurs’ whips (great Kormir, I couldn’t even imagine it), while—I had to find out for myself.

In a quieter voice, I insisted, “I need to know what happened to Deborah.”

Instead of eyeing me doubtfully, as I half-expected, Logan gave me a sympathetic smile. “I thought you’d feel that way.”

5

“Let’s update my records,” he said briskly, reverting to his usual determined competence, “and then you can head to Eldvin Monastery and speak to Captain Tervelan.”

I nodded, aiming for the same level of professionalism.

“Though he’s been promoted to Captain of Queensdale, Tervelan once commanded Falcon Company,” said Logan. “He might be able to tell us more.”

I remembered the abrupt letter we’d received, simply signed J. Tervelan. Now I was going to see its author at last.

“Good,” I said.

6

Logan led me over to his desk, which was covered in papers and parchment in various conditions, along with the Seraph roster that I’d seen before.

“Falcon Company’s records were largely destroyed by centaur raids,” he explained. “I’m trying to get a complete roster.” He dipped a quill in ink, then gave me a quick glance. “Your sister was of Krytan descent?”

I lifted my chin.

“Ascalonian, sir,” I said, “and proud of it.”

7

His eyes widened, a smile creeping back. But he confined himself to an indistinct noise of approval, dragging his finger down the faded roster until he reached Fairchild, Deborah. My chest hurt, but something in me thrilled at the quiet addition of Asc alongside her rank, which I affirmed, and age and place of birth, which I supplied.

After he cleaned and capped the quill, Logan shook his head.

“Ascalonian, eh?”

“Our father was from Ebonhawke and our mother’s a Langmar,” I said, and he looked surprised all over again.

With a quick laugh, he said, “Then get out there, little sister, and make our ancestors proud.”

TWENTY-ONE

1

I nearly tripped on my way from the Seraph headquarters to Dwayna’s gate. A Charr was strolling through the plaza right before headquarters, easy as you please—a Charr, in Divinity’s Reach!

It looked like he’d come from the gate to Lion’s Arch, which was … legal, but I hadn’t seen any here in years, and—and he couldn’t mean anything good. I paused long enough to glance back suspiciously; was he scouting out weaknesses?

“That Charr is back,” someone said behind me, not bothering to lower her voice. “He makes me nervous.”

She wasn’t the only one.

2

But I had more important concerns than Charr, at least right now. Logan and Anise could protect Divinity’s Reach; I had treason to uncover.

I jumped from waypoint to waypoint, stumbling out of the last with a few copper for the gatekeeper and the breath nearly knocked right out of me. But I recovered after only a moment, and with a burst of concentration, took off running towards Eldvin Monastery.

I slowed down as I approached, letting the air cool the sweat and flush on my skin, then wiping it with a cleansing handkerchief that I returned to my belt pouch. I might not be Faren, but I didn’t care to confront unpredictable circumstances at anything less than my best. I brushed a few blades of grass off my sleeves and, after a single deep breath, marched up to the main entrance.

3

The Seraph at the gates to the monastery clearly recognized me, by either description or reasoning. They immediately straightened up, and one of them—who seemed to be the leader—saluted me.

“The Hero of Shaemoor is finally here, everybody!” she cried. To me, she said, “The captain’s expecting you—he’s up on the wall.”

Well, that should make things easier.

“Captain Thackeray sent a message that you were going to visit,” she said, and looked me over with evident, un-Seraph-like fascination, her eyes wide. “We’re all very excited to meet the hero of Shaemoor.”

4

She was, at least. I thanked her and got directions to the captain, then paused. I had no way of knowing what any of them had seen or guessed, if anything.

“Have you heard of the Screaming Falcons?” I asked.

“Of course!” she said. “They’re legendary, especially around here—the best company in the Seraph, but then … well, you know.”

Yes, I knew.

5

“Did you ever meet any of them?” I pressed.

“They were before my time,” she said, sobering, “but I’ve heard stories about that week, laying out the bodies for burial.” Her jaw tightened. “They say some of the bodies were missing. It sickens me to think what the centaurs did with them.”

My chest clenched, a sick, sour taste rising in my throat. I swallowed it down and replied,

“Me, too.”

6

Inside the walls, the abbey brothers and sisters seemed cheerful enough, concerned first with their ale and secondly with their faith. But I quickly realized that the first Seraph’s enthusiasm was not shared by all.

“Another ‘hero,’ huh?” said a lieutenant. “I’ve met your kind before—you’re brave enough, inside city walls.”

I thought of saying I don’t have a kind, but I couldn’t quite believe it. At any rate, he clearly hadn’t met a map if he thought Shaemoor lay within city walls.

“Out here,” he added, tone even grimmer, “you’re just a walking corpse waiting for your time to come.”

7

“Stiffen your spine,” I said coolly. “You’re representing queen and country. Petulance doesn’t befit your station.”

Lieutenant Gordon laughed. “Queen and country? Yes, they do deserve better—better than this.”

At once irritated, offended, and peculiarly impressed, I told him,

“Keep that in mind.”