Winter badly wanted to see Jane, but it was Sevran who was waiting for her when she returned to her tent. She waved away his salute, wearily, and gestured him inside.

“I wanted to apologize, sir,” he said. “Novus is one of mine, and I ought to have kept him under better control.”

“I should have done something about him myself.” Winter sat heavily on her sleeping pallet and starting unlacing her boots. “Any of your other young nobles likely to try something similar?”

“I doubt it.” The ghost of a smile crossed Sevran’s face. “I think the lesson was pretty clear. Captain Verity’s soldiers defend one another.” He shrugged. “You may find this hard to believe, but a lot of the rankers are just as angry with Novus as the Girls’ Own.”

“That didn’t stop them from getting into a punch-up this morning.”

“They didn’t know what had happened. When you see people from your unit in a brawl, you don’t ask questions, you just jump in and help out. Afterward . . .” He shook his head. “But Captain Verity’s people are back to treating us like the enemy.”

“I’m not sure I can blame them.” Winter sighed. “I’ll speak to Captain Verity. But we haven’t got time to smooth things over.”

“You’ve gotten our orders?”

She nodded. “We move three hours past dawn. Make sure all the officers get the word. I want everyone up as soon as there’s light, in time to get a hot breakfast and get formed up.”

“Understood, sir.” Sevran turned to leave, then hesitated. “Again, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

*   *   *

The day of battle dawned bright and clear, with a chilly autumn wind playing over the field and shredding the wisps of cloud overhead. Winter, back astride Edgar, blinked back the gummy feeling in her eyes and watched her regiment advance across the browning stubble of harvested fields.

So far, everything was going according to the book. Each battalion was marching in a two-company column—with two companies side by side in the lead, followed by two more, and so on—and there was enough space between them that they could both deploy into line. The Royals, it had to be said, kept their formation a bit better than the Girls’ Own, who were less used to maneuvering in the open, but on such easy ground even relative novices could keep their lines straight. Folsom and Graff led the two companies at the front, and even from where she sat, well ahead of the line, she could hear the steady beat of drums and Folsom’s barked orders. At the head of each battalion, color parties carried blue Vordanai flags that snapped in the steady breeze.