“You’ve beaten me again, Captain,” Faram said ruefully, handing the bird to the gamekeepers to stow with the rest. “I’m not exactly a bad shot, but I find myself very glad now that you turned down my offer to wager on the outcome of this contest.” He looked back over his shoulder, past Daren, and the comers of his eyes crinkled as he suppressed a grin. “I am afraid that my courtiers don’t approve of your manner, however. No subject is supposed to outshoot the King.”

Kero chuckled as Daren pulled up next to Kero, putting her in between himself and his brother. “My Lord,” she replied, “I may live in your Kingdom, but I’ve seen the Mercenary Guild Charter for Rethwellan. I’m a Free-holder by that Charter, and no subject of anyone’s.”

“An excellent point, and it seems that you are as much lawyer as fighter.” The King looked across Kero at his brother. “You did warn me, didn’t you, Daren?”

“I did. About her scholarship and her skills. I said that Tarma called her a ‘natural’ when we were learning together. I said I didn’t think she’d let any of her skills slip just because she was a Captain. And you kept saying I was exaggerating.” Daren shrugged expansively. “Will you believe me when I tell you something now?”

“I suppose I’ll have to. You keep telling me ‘I told you so’ at every opportunity.” Faram turned his attention back to Kero, as his horse shook his head. “What I would really like to know is how you learned to shoot so well—we both had the same teacher, but you never seem to miss. I’d suspect you of magic if you weren’t so entirely unmagical.”

Kero bit her lip as if she was trying to keep from laughing, and replied, “My lord, the fact is that you have never been either on the front line or dependent entirely on your own skill to keep your belly full. I think you’d find that the two harshest teachers in the world are survival and hunger. I’ve had both, and trust me, they make a difference.”

“On the whole,” Faram admitted, “I think I’d prefer to skip that sort of lessoning. I’m too old for those teachers.”

“You’re too fond of your comforts, brother,” Daren jibed. Faram was about to retort—but at exactly that moment, the head of the boar-pack belled, and the entire pack started off. Daren’s mount lurched from a walk into a gallop, and as he passed the huntsmen who were whistling in the retrievers, he grinned.