Warm. The porcelain was warm beneath his fingers. He hadn’t expected that.

He drew her into an embrace. “Stay. Please.”

Calenne hauled her horse to a standstill. She stared out past the hastily raised redoubt and towards the forest of silken banners. The first Hadari outriders had entered the plain in late morning. The first infantry by early afternoon. Their tents spilled across the fields like a stain. Two farms had already fallen within the spreading cordon. Kai Saran’s owl-banner flew free above. Crackling flames framed a third. Despite her eagerness to leave, Calenne couldn’t bear the thought of Branghall burning thus.

“There are so many,” she breathed.

Viktor wheeled his horse back around to join her. “And more to come.”

More to come. It seemed impossible. But then, she’d no experience of war. No experience of so many things. “Is there any chance at all?”

He grunted. “If luck is with us.”

“I thought soldiers didn’t believe in luck.”

“I’ll believe in anything that brings victory.”

She chuckled, more to hold back the feeling of despair than from any humour. “So you’ll be praying tonight?”

He gave a wry shake of the head. “Almost anything.”

She wanted to look away, but there was something hypnotic about the sun-glimmered green of the Hadari banners. So much more vibrant than the stark king’s blue standards of the Tressian companies. And they were a world away from the patchwork militia. Most were Eskavord’s citizens, but some had come from as far afield as the coast, or the Tevar Flood. Drawn by the promise of the Phoenix.

The promise that would get them killed.

“It’s not too late,” murmured Viktor. “You don’t have to be here.”

She shook her head. “There’s no place else I belong. Not now. Can we win?”

“Yes.”

She searched for the tick or flinch that would betray the lie. “You wouldn’t deceive me on this, would you, Lord Akadra?”

“Not on this, nor anything else, Lady Trelan. I’d not dare.”

Try as she might, Calenne sensed no lie in his words. “Then how can we win, when the numbers lie so heavy in their favour?”

“Because I do not intend to lose.”

The simple arrogance ripped wild laughter from her lips. “And the weight of history turns on your wishes?”

He shook his head. “History is the sum of our deeds and our failures. How many men and women long for a chance to make a difference? How many act upon that chance when the moment comes? Those moments are Lumestra’s greatest gift. I will seize all that present themselves. If others do the same, victory will be ours.”

“And how will I know when my moment arrives?”

“I’ve no advice to give you. Not in this.”

She smiled. “Then I suppose I’ll have to trust my instincts.”

“In the end, our instinct is all we have. That, and our duty.”