Marcus searched his old friend’s face for a hint of jealousy. In the old Royal Army, captain was the highest rank a War College graduate could hope to achieve, lacking a noble pedigree. Colonelcies were reserved for the scions of ancient bloodlines. The colonel of a regiment, they’d used to joke, was there to look good at the head of the parade, while the captains ran things for him. No doubt it had been true in many outfits—the system had always been an awkward compromise between the noble tradition of martial leadership and the need of a modern army for officers with specialized training.

Now Marcus had been promoted beyond what he could dared to hope for, in the old days, thanks to Janus bet Vhalnich, and much of the Royal Army tradition had been swept away. The new volunteer battalions elected their officers, putting men who’d never even set foot in the College in the higher ranks. Not to mention Ihernglass and his battalion of women! Amid this change, Robert had made his career in the bastion of tradition, the Ministry of War itself. As the colonels had departed for the front lines, he’d quietly risen, until he’d become the senior military subordinate of Giles Durenne, the new Minister of War himself.

Not jealous, Marcus decided, or else very good at hiding it. That was good. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when he asked Robert to meet.

“Is that coffee you’re drinking?” Robert said, raising his hand to signal the waiter.

“I’m honestly not sure,” Marcus said, pushing it away and making a face.

“Wine, then.”

It seemed a bit early in the day, but Marcus let him order two glasses. When they arrived, Robert raised his in a toast.

“To Adrecht,” he said. “He deserved better.”

“To Adrecht,” Marcus murmured. His old friend had indeed deserved better. Janus’ campaign had broken him, costing him an arm and finally driving him to mutiny and betrayal. His bleached bones lay somewhere in the shifting sands of the Great Desol. He sipped the wine and set the glass down, feeling awkward.

“So, what can I do for you?” Robert said. “I’m assuming this isn’t just a sudden desire to catch up with old school friends.”

“I . . .” Marcus hesitated, and Robert laughed out loud.

“Oh, just come out with it,” he said. “You go cross-eyed when you’re trying to be subtle. You want a favor.”

“Something like that.” Marcus shook his head. “I’m sorry to have to come to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robert said. “I’m used to it. Since I took over at the Ministry, you wouldn’t believe how many old classmates have suddenly remembered we used to be pals when they come asking for supplies.” He smiled as he said this, but it still stung a little.