The wilderness never bothered him. He loved it.

He wondered idly if Julie liked it, too. He’d never asked her.

He wondered about many things he never talked about—most of the time there was no need for questions. He would get his answers if he waited long enough. However, she had said something that required a clarification.

“Herald?” he asked. He’d never heard Kate use the term.

“That’s the official title,” she said. “Before one becomes a Warlord, one must be a Herald. That’s what Hugh d’Ambray was before he became the Preceptor of the Iron Dogs. “

Hugh d’Ambray. The name raised invisible hackles on his back.

He fought to keep the snarl out of his voice. “I didn’t know Kate needed a Warlord.”

“She doesn’t. She has Curran. He is her Consort and her general.”

His mind struggled for a few seconds. Those terms were usually flipped. To him, Curran was the Beast Lord, ex-Beast Lord now, and Kate was his Consort. That was the official title, and Kate had hated it. She would’ve never used it to refer to Curran. He knew where this was coming from, and he didn’t like it.

“You’ve been talking to him again.”

She didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed on the street ahead.

Damn it. “Why the hell do you keep talking to him?”

“Because Roland teaches me things.”

“What could he possibly teach you? How to be an immortal megalomaniac dickhead who kills his own kids? That’s some great lesson.”

“He teaches me magic.” She glared at him.

“Stay away from him. He is dangerous.”

She opened her eyes really wide and blinked at him. “Oh really? You think so? I had no idea.”

He killed another growl. “You don’t need to be talking to him. Nothing good will come from it.”

“No, you are right. You are totally right. Let’s not talk to the enemy we are all going to fight at some point.” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Let’s not try to figure out how he thinks or what weapons he might use. Honestly, Derek? You did all that spy stuff for Jim for years. I can’t believe you.”

“Believe it.”

“I know!” She clapped her hands together. “Maybe we could all go into battle blindfolded.”

He had an urge to pull her off her horse and shake her until some sense appeared in her brain.

“I can sew you a cute grey blindfold with some little scars on it—”

“He’s a homicidal tyrant who’s been alive for five thousand years!” he snarled.

“Six. Longer, probably, but he admits to six.”

“Do you honestly think he’s going to let you see anything he doesn’t want you to see?”