“A few what?” she demanded. “A few southwealders?”

Lavirn’s scowl deepened. “That’s not how I meant it.”

Calenne stared across the field. At the hundreds of her countrymen and women in desperate flight. “No. What you meant was that if they were northwealders – if they were your brothers and sisters of Essamere – you’d already have ridden out.”

Lavirn drew himself up in his saddle. “I’ll not sacrifice lives to rescue a prize beyond our grasp. Most certainly not at the demand of a cosseted child.”

The insult challenged Calenne’s inexperience. It stung for the truth locked deep within.

“I’m talking about saving lives,” snapped Calenne. “Lord Akadra would agree with me.”

“Lord Akadra is likely dead.” Lavirn spoke too quiet for the words to carry. “And with him all assurances as to your future. You are Calenne Trelan, daughter to the greatest traitor of a generation. Should you prove difficult, I’d be well within my authority to have you locked up . . . or executed.”

Calenne’s rising anger dissipated like a shadow before the sun. She strove for a rebuttal, but the words fell ashen on her tongue.

For the first time since agreeing to bear her mother’s mantle, she felt alone. No Viktor. No Josiri. She’d have been glad even to see Anastacia. The demon would have known the words to put Captain Lavirn in his place.

“The field is lost,” said Lavirn. “You’re free to leave. I’ll give you an escort back to Branghall. But you will not interfere with my command.”

Even now, there was no triumph in his voice. No joy. There was even a note of pleading. A reasonable man faced with events beyond his ability. But even reasonable men lashed out when their meagre authority was threatened.

“I’m staying,” growled Calenne. “And if Viktor lives, he’ll hear of our conversation, and your threats.”

She hauled on her reins and rode away, seething with fear and impotent rage. And not just at Captain Lavirn, for in that last moment she’d invoked Viktor’s name, not her own. Proof that she was the spoilt, whimsical child Lavirn thought her. She wasn’t a soldier. She knew that. But it didn’t alter the burning, irrevocable belief that Lavirn was wrong to do nothing.

And if Viktor was dead? She didn’t know how to process that tangle of emotions.

Calenne brought the horse to a halt in the shadow of the Katya Redoubt. High above her head, pavissionaires lined the crude rampart. Crossbows sat levelled but silent, waiting for the order to loose.

She stared out across the battlefield, unable to look away as Hadari spears overtook fleeing militia. Lost in the distant screams and the churn of hooves, she barely noticed the Thrakkian twins draw their horses up to either side.

“Take it that didn’t go well?” said Armund.