“If you insist on fighting, I will not fight,” he said simply.

Dr. Gerand stood up. “Neither will I.”

“Nor I,” Perin said, also rising.

Arista scowled at Emery. Again, her glare appeared to hurt the man, but he remained resolute. “All right. Sit down. You win.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Emery said.

“Then I’ll lead the left flank, I suppose,” Perin volunteered. He was one of the larger men at the table, stocky and strong.

“I’ll take the right flank,” Dr. Gerand said.

“That is very brave of you, sir,” Emery told him, “but I’ll ask Adam the wheeler to take that responsibility. He has fighting experience.”

“And he’s not an old man,” the doctor said bitterly.

Arista knew the helplessness that he was feeling. “Doctor, your services will be required to tend to the injured. Once the armory is taken, you and I will do what we can for those that are wounded.”

They went over the plan once more from beginning to end. Arista and Polish came up with several potential problems: What if too few people came? What if they could not secure the armory? What if the garrison did not attack? They made contingency plans until they were certain everything was accounted for.

As they concluded, Dr. Gerand drew forth a bottle of rum and called for glasses from Mrs. Dunlap. “Tomorrow morning we go into battle,” he said. “Some of us at this table will not survive to see the sunset again.” He lifted his glass. “To those who will fall and to our victory.”

“And to the good lady who made it possible,” Emery added as they all raised their glasses and drank.

Arista drank with the rest but found the liquor to have a bitter taste.

The princess lay awake in the tiny room across the hall from Mrs. Dunlap’s bedroom. Smaller than her maid’s quarters in Medford, it had just a small window and a tiny shelf to hold a candle. There was so little room between the walls and the bed that she was forced to crawl over the mattress to enter. She could not sleep. The battle to take the city would start in just a few hours and she was consumed by nervous energy. Her mind raced through precautions, running a checklist over and over again.

Have I done all I can to prepare?

Everything was about to change, for good or ill.

Will Alric forgive me if I die? She gave a bitter laugh. Will he forgive me if I live?

She stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was a spell to help her sleep.

Magic.

She considered using it in the coming battle. She toyed with the idea while tapping her feet together, anxiously listening to the rain patter the roof.

If I can make it rain, what else can I do? Could I conjure a phantom army? Rain fire? Open the earth to swallow the garrison?