They had a simple smoke signal. All it conveyed was “We’re alright,” but both Arles and the army passed it with variations three times a day. With the enemy known as the Necromancer still at large and other enemies, palpable or secret, all around them, signals had become vital.

“Pavalo?” Gabriel asked. “He must have ridden hard. Bring him. Bring Sauce, too.”

“Sir,” Toby said with a slight bow.

Gabriel couldn’t turn his head. Anne had begun to shave him, and the razor was outlining his mustaches. Scrape, scrape. The particular feel of the sharp blade on his skin.

“Majesty!” Ser Pavalo said.

Ten feet away, Gabriel could smell the horse on the man.

“Long ride?” he asked.

“Nothing compared to yours!” Ser Pavalo Payam, known to most of the company as Payamides because they found his names difficult, was tall, heavily muscled, and black. As Anne lifted the razor, Gabriel turned his head to smile at the man who’d saved both his and Blanche’s life (twice) and Amicia’s.

Payam smiled back. He was dressed in emerald silk minutely embroidered, and even covered in dust, he looked magnificent.

“I’m guessing this isn’t a social visit,” Gabriel said.

Sauce appeared in his peripheral vision and blew a kiss.

“We’re moving north and we need to make a general . . . plan of attack,” Payam said. Toby brought him a chair and he sat, carefully keeping his robes out of the water coming under the bedroom door. “How is Lady Blanche?”

“Wet,” Gabriel said. “Your timing is, as ever, impeccable, as there’s too much to discuss by bird. After breakfast, a brief council. You, too, Sauce. You will be taking the army.”

Sauce choked.

Gabriel smiled inwardly. “You and the Duchess of Venike.”

“Ooh,” Sauce said. “Good. I like her.” She paused. “Why me?”

“I have Tom and Michael on other missions. You’ve never held the command and now’s the moment. Have fun. Don’t break the army.”

She sighed audibly.

“Messenger bird,” said Toby.

Toby was leaning out the solar door. Gabriel could hear Kronmir on the other side. And another voice, quickly hushed.

“What was that?” he asked, and Anne pulled the razor off his carotid artery when it moved.

Payam was unrolling a chart. Sauce was already looking at it, her dagger holding a corner. Jock MacGilly, the Hillman who’d just joined the casa on Bad Tom’s recommendation, was trying to pretend that he was not ironing a woman’s shift, a job he clearly felt beneath him. Morgon Mortirmir pushed into the solar, carving an apple with a silver knife.

“. . . but the duchess!” said a shrill voice and then there was a little silence.

Toby reappeared. “My lord, the Duchess of Arles has sent you a basket of fruit.” He rolled his eyes.

Gabriel nodded. “Kronmir?” he asked, without moving his face.