Winter blinked. Everything was moving slowly now, so slowly. She watched Bobby pick up her sword and run to where Abby was struggling with the other soldier, cutting the Deslandai down from behind. Then she blinked, and when her eyes opened, Bobby’s face filled her vision. Her voice clanged in Winter’s ears, as though they were underwater.

“. . . all right? Sir? Are you all right?”

“I’m . . .” Winter wanted to say that she was fine, but the effort of speaking was apparently the last straw. The darkness that had been marshaling its forces in the corners of her eyes surged up again, with a pain like her skull being split open. Falling into unconsciousness was a welcome relief.

Chapter Nine

MARCUS

Marcus spent the rest of the day after his trip to Exchange Central looking over his shoulder, and went to sleep in the full expectation of being awoken by the news that Twin Turrets was under siege. All through the next day Lieutenant Uhlan and his Mierantai maintained a high alert, and Marcus insisted Raesinia remain inside, no matter how eager she was to deliver their stolen book to Cora.

He passed the time by putting his new recruits through their paces. Ranker Feiss, whose first name turned out to be Hayver, went through the manual of arms with a stiff-armed precision that spoke of time spent on the drill field but little else. Andy—Marcus still had a hard time thinking of her as “Ranker Dracht”—was much smoother, working the musket and ramrod with a fluidity that spoke of real experience, and the missing fingers on her right hand seemed to make little difference. There was nowhere on the grounds safe to fire live balls, but she claimed to be a decent shot, and watching her work, he was prepared to believe it. Even Uhlan, as taciturn as all Mierantai seemed to be, gave a grunt of approval.

The following day, when no official retribution for their theft materialized, Marcus relaxed sufficiently to be convinced that a trip to Mrs. Felda’s to deliver the books to Cora wasn’t too great a risk. Raesinia, straining at the leash to depart, stomped up and down the front hall while Marcus spoke to Uhlan and arranged an escort. Before he was finished, the front door opened, and the young Mierantai ranker who had the watch appeared.

“Sir?” he said. “Got a note for you. Army boy delivered it.”

“Give it here,” Marcus said. Janus was unlikely to use a regular army courier—messages from Willowbrook came via Mierantai messenger or more circuitous routes—but stranger things had happened.

When Marcus broke the army-blue seal on the single page and unfolded it, however, he found not Janus’ neat handwriting but the blockier script produced by the Preacher.

Colonel d’Ivoire—

Need to speak with you, most urgent matter. Come at once.

By the Grace of God,

Captain S. Vahkerson

“Damn,” Marcus said. Raesinia stepped up beside him and read the note, frowning.