It had been her father who proposed it. Alizon had been none too happy about her knowing everything—hisplans were more than Ward had guessed. Enough more, she hoped, for her father and others she cared about to triumph over Jakoven. But Ward had been brutal in his dismissal of Alizon’s rebellion, and his recital had had the ring of truth about it.

She’d been too long among men who grasped every straw as a great hope and built a house of it. Everything she knew of Ward told her that he saw the world as clearly as any. If he saw disaster, she was afraid he was right.

It was too quiet.

A keep always has noise: people going about their lives, the clash of weapons as the Guard trained, the creak of wagon wheels. With the king’s troops here it should have been louder than ever. But there was no sound here at all, not since the tremendous booming cracks of wood on wood, and Tisala was growing even more nervous.

She sat down abruptly, fighting the dizzy exhaustion that claimed her at unexpected minutes. Some aspect of the magic Oreg had used to help heal her, Ward had explained.

The soreness was mostly gone, though her left hand ached. Oreg warned her it might not ever have much strength, but he’d been pleased that she could open and shut it completely. She’d been pleased that it was still on her arm. She remembered distinctly wondering whether she should try to cut it off herself before the bandits attacked her. She hadn’t realized she was so close to Hurog.

She pushed back her hair wearily and clung to the carved post of the nearby bed to stand, knowing that if she stayed in the chair she’d fall asleep no matter how anxious she was.

Ward’s tunic hung over the end of the post. There was a salt-sweet smell that clung to the fabric, a smell that lingered in his bed as well.

Would she have come here if it weren’t for that compelling memory of an afternoon spent riding and joking?

Ward probably had such afternoons often. But no man before had ever teased Haverness’s daughter, who could outfight, outride, and, mostly, outwrestle anyone. No man had ever flirted with her before. Perhaps she’d misinterpreted, perhaps he’d just been polite. But at least he didn’t see an abomination when he looked at her.

Well, she wouldn’t embarrass him by hanging all over him. She knew how to be a comrade in arms, someone men were comfortable with. She wouldn’t make a fool out of herself. She pulled the fabric of his shirt against her nose and breathed in deeply, all the while sneering at herself for acting like a silly girl half her age.