“Hello, Robbie,” Marcus said, rising, as his old friend approached the table. He laughed as the other man made to salute, waved it away, and they shook hands instead. Robert was still careful not to sit down first, Marcus noticed, in deference to a superior officer.

Robert Englise had always been one for doing things properly. He had been Marcus’ best friend at the War College when they enrolled together at the tender age of sixteen, and they’d spent much of the first two-year term in each other’s company. Even then, Robert’s fierce devotion to the army had been evident, though back then Marcus had aspired to live up to his example.

The fire at the d’Ivoire estate, which had killed Marcus’ parents and his four-year-old sister, Ellie, had driven them apart for a time. Marcus now knew this had been deliberate murder, perpetrated by the minions of the Last Duke, but at the time he’d believed it to be a tragic, stupid accident, and it had sent him spiraling into depression. He’d turned his back on Robert and his other friends, and it had only been the insistent intervention of Adrecht Roston that had kept him from leaving the College.

Afterward, while they’d all remained friends, Marcus had drifted out of Robert’s straight-and-narrow orbit and toward Adrecht’s more indulgent lifestyle. The War of the Princes had interrupted their term in the field; while Marcus had been closest to the action, serving in the supply train and joining the general chaos after the disaster at Vansfeldt, Robert had been placed on the staff of a prestigious regiment, on track for an important command. In their second stint at the College, they’d been more distant, but they hadn’t lost touch entirely until Marcus volunteered to accompany Adrecht to exile in Khandar.

“Robbie,” Robert said reflectively, settling into his chair. “I don’t think anybody’s called me that since graduation.”

“Sorry,” Marcus said.

“It’s fine.” Robert smiled, a hint of the old twinkle in his blue eyes. He’d grown from a slim youth into a solid man, with a thick beard shot through with white and with just a hint of paunch. “‘Captain Englise’ would feel wrong, coming from you.”

“Just so long as you don’t call me sir,” Marcus said. “It was bad enough getting that from Adrecht all those years.”

“I’ll try to restrain myself.” Robert grinned. “We always said you’d go a long way. After you left for Khandar, the boys and I used to say we didn’t think you’d take us literally.” Robert eyed the colonel’s eagles on Marcus’ shoulders. “Now it looks like we were right after all.”