Servants are carrying something precious to Rile. They are to the north of you, protected by priests. If it can be done, you must stop them. Do not let them cross the road. If they climbed high enough, they would be safe among hundreds of infantrymen. Try to destroy their burdens.

Bifalt. I beg you.

Gritting her teeth, she did not allow herself to add, I hurt you when I turned my back. I know that. I know something of your pain. Do not let it sway you. You are my husband. Rile is almost ready.

She could not be sure that Bifalt heard her. She might never know. From her vantage, she could see the road. But below it, her view was blocked by white-clad boulders and bulges, by twisted gullies, and by stunted trees draped with snow. Anything that her husband did or did not do was hidden from her.

Sheltering in a deep gulch, King Bifalt and his forces had endured two days of unremitting snow as well as they could. Now he gathered his leaders around him, Jaspid and Elgart, Amandis and Suti al-Suri. He was giving his last orders for a massed assault on Rile’s infantry when he heard Estie’s voice.

He recognized it instantly. Its every timbre was dear to him, every inflection of yearning, argument, and resolve. Under other circumstances, the sound might have dropped him to his knees. With one cry days ago, she had broken his image of himself, of the man he wanted to be. Furious and grieving, he had tried to give her up for lost.

But under these circumstances—

He was already half mad with failure and frustration. When she said his name, he froze in midsentence. When she called him Beloved, he trembled. But after that, he listened only long enough to understand what she wanted of him. He did not need to hear her beg.

To the startled faces of his people, he said unsteadily, “No. New orders. We have a task. We may be able to thwart Rile.”

An instant later, he had himself under control.

“Suti al-Suri,” he snapped.

“Brother?” murmured the chief warrior, wondering.

“This is work for marksmen.” Rifles were still too new to the el-Algreb. “I leave those foot soldiers to you. Do what you can. There will be worse fighting on the higher slopes. Try to get there. My men and I will do the same.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, the King turned to the others. “Muster the riflemen, Jaspid. We need to go north as fast as we can. Elgart, bring Crawl and Brighten. Devotee, will you join us?”

Amandis studied him for a moment, no more than a heartbeat. Her eyes were the color of burnt umber, dark with threats or promises. Her answer implied consent. “There is no trail.”