She wondered why she shared so much of herself. Truth was, however intimidating she found them, the twins were the friendliest faces in a sea of strangers. They were also the only souls to whom the name Katya Trelan meant little.

Anliss grunted. “It’s only a mistake if naught good comes of it. We’re all born from the sparks of Astor’s forge. He never meant for us to bob heads and bend knees to sun and moon, as you lot do. But do you hear me complaining? Without the straying, we’d have no one to fight but ourselves, and where’s the joy in that?”

Calenne gripped her saddle’s pommel. “Viktor told me that the secret to making a difference lies in recognising the moment for what it is, and seizing it. But what if that moment never comes?”

Armund gave a low, rumbling chuckle. “Just like a Tressian.”

Anliss set her axe across her shoulders. “A warrior makes her own chances. She doesn’t wait for them.”

“I’m not a warrior. I’m not a soldier. This . . .” Calenne ran her fingers across her breastplate. “This is a costume. It’s a lie.”

“Then make it the truth.”

Calenne snorted. “Just like that?”

“Why not?” Armund tugged at his plaited beard. “No one else can do it for you. I hear tell that your mother fled when the battle was lost. Who knows what might have happened had she stayed? If she’d forged opportunity?”

Calenne stared back at the gathered ranks of knights. At the phoenix banner that was hers by right of birth, and at the swan that was hers by bond of betrothal. Hers. Not the Republic’s. Not the Council’s. And most certainly not Tavor Lavirn’s.

Hers.

When the Hadari came again for Blackridge Farm, they did so not from the forest, but from the open plains to the south-east. A line of shields spilled up the slope, spanning the dusty wain track and its low walls.

“Looks like mischief to me,” said Kurkas.

“How so?” Keldrov frowned her confusion.

He took a final bite from the apple and tossed the core over the crumbling wall. It bounced once in the muddy dust and came to rest beside a wide-eyed corpse. One of many serving as a secondary rampart of flesh at the wall’s foot.

“Tell the pavissionaires to hold their fire.”

“But, if we . . .”

“Just . . . !” Kurkas broke off. With heroic effort, he choked back the worry and frustration awoken by the collapse of Akadra’s line. “Just do it, major. Pouches are light enough as it is. We can’t be wasting shot on shields.”