Dorrin slowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the grange already?”

“Er … grange?”

“You’re all wearing blue—isn’t this your morning drill day? And the yeoman-marshal expecting you?”

“Uh—yes—uh—”

“You’re that lady came to the grange the other day,” one of them said, suddenly excited. “You’re the new duke, the marshal said. But you’re a lady! Ladies aren’t dukes. They’re dukes’ wives.”

“They’re called duchesses, Matti,” one of the older boys said, elbowing the first.

Dorrin chuckled. “I’m not a duchess; I’m not a wife. I am the Duke, because the crown prince said so and so did your Marshal. Get along now; tell him I’m coming to see him.”

They dashed away, racing to the barton gate; Dorrin remembered when she could run that fast. She walked on; by the time she reached the gate, Marshal Berris stood there waiting. He lifted an eyebrow at her change in garb.

“Well … Duke Verrakai. We’re honored … are we?”

“Marshal,” Dorrin said, with a slight bow. “It’s your choice, whether to consider this an honor—”

“Oh, I do. What’s snared my tongue is something the boys said, as they came pelting in. What is the proper form of address for a … a lady duke? I should have asked before.”

“The same as for a man,” Dorrin said. “My troops said yes, sir and no, sir to me as they would to the other captains; a duke is a duke, whatever the person in that office.”

“So you’re ‘my lord’ the way he was?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said, feeling foolish. Either way she felt foolish, and that was no way to feel setting off on today’s mission. “What I came to ask—I forgot before—is your estimate of Verrakai’s resources after their defeat. What kind of border guards do you think we might meet?”

“The Royal Guard was for killing them all, as you know,” Marshal Berris said. “Only a few got away, and none of the officers. I think they took the rest prisoner. If I was a treasonous dog like the Duke—the former duke—I’d have sent everything I had to that ambush, to ensure the plan worked and to spread the guilt abroad, so none would be tempted to betray the plan.” He cocked his head. “Still, my lord Duke”—heavy emphasis on the “my lord”—“I’m glad to see you wearing mail under that fancy doublet and shirt. What men-at-arms are left will be afraid of judgment and frightened men do desperate things. As I’m sure you know.”

“Indeed, yes, Marshal,” Dorrin said. “But your report suggests we’re more likely to see irregular attacks than an organized force offering battle. Until we get to the house, anyway.”

“If a Girdish Marshal may say it, ward of Falk, my lord Duke.” This time no sarcasm edged his voice. “I judge the prince chose well, and I wish you well, both in your body and your spirit, for the sake of those who have suffered under cruelty and deceit for so long.” He rubbed his hands. “And now, my lord, will you chance an exchange with me?” He lifted his surcoat to show that he, too, was wearing mail. “It would be educational for the lads.”