The fire has burned down to a pile of embers, their slight glow the only light in the room. Too sleepy to bother with the lantern, I open the armoire and find the black pants and fitted shirt that I requested from our maid last night.

I yawn as I dress. My body begs me to crawl back into the warm blankets. My chest feels heavy with the evening’s unresolved matters, although the thought of Theyen standing in the dark courtyard, growing increasingly annoyed, briefly amuses me. But I made a bargain with Ronin and a promise to myself. So I braid back my hair and splash water on my face until I feel more alert.

When I leave my rooms, the dozing guard outside my door jolts awake. It’s the shaman from yesterday. She yawns and returns my smile with a slight narrowing of her eyes. It’s half-hearted, though, as if she’s attempting to make peace with being assigned to me. Well, I’m not thrilled about her assignment, either.

She falls into step beside me as I say, “I never got your name. If we’re to be stuck with each other, I should at least know what to call you.”

The shaman glances at me. Her black hair is cut short to her chin, streaked with gray at her temples. Her eyes are vivid green, and her lips seem determined to form a thin, unhappy line.

“Phaut,” she says grudgingly.

“How did you come to be in Ronin’s service, Phaut?” Are his soldiers here by choice? Or were they sent to Ronin by their respective leaders through an agreement between the kingdoms?

Phaut stands a good head taller than me, which makes me eye level with her jawline. Age lines brace her mouth and crease the corners of her eyes. Her sword is strapped to her right hip. She must be left-handed.

“I swore an oath to Lord Ronin when I was young,” she says in accented Evewal.

“That’s not an answer.”

The lines around her mouth deepen as she frowns. “I volunteered. As we all did.”

Does that mean she’s loyal to him? From what I’ve seen thus far, the staff seem happy here, which surprises me a little. But I suppose people make their homes wherever they will, so long as the choice is theirs. And sometimes even when it isn’t.

“Are there shamanborn here as well?” I ask.

Her eyebrows come together in confusion. “Shamanborn?”

“In Evewyn, we call our shamans ‘shamanborn.’ Their abilities aren’t any different, as far as I know. It’s just a geographical distinction between Nuvali shamans and Evewynian shamanborn.”

“Ah. Then I believe there are a few shamanborn among the staff, yes. Are there many in Evewyn?”