They continued on their way, and Winter continued on hers, finding a tree stump among where the Third Regiment soldiers had spread themselves over the still-wet ground. She sat down against it and closed her eyes, expecting sleep to come as instantly as it had the night before, but found herself disappointed. The battle she’d conjured, gesturing out at the field in front of her officers, continued to dance behind her eyes.

She heard footsteps, and then a warm, soft body settled itself beside her. Winter opened her eyes and found Jane’s head on her shoulder, sodden red hair in a tangled mess against her sleeve.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Winter blew out a breath. “Are you all right?”

“Tired.” Jane hesitated. “You’re sure this is going to work?”

“No. There’s a million things that could go wrong.” Winter let her head rest on the rough bark of the tree stump. “But it’s the best I could come up with.”

There was a long pause.

“Remember what Janus told you, about being more careful?” Jane said.

Winter nodded.

“He may only want to keep his special demon safe. But I’m going to say it, too, and I really fucking mean it, all right? No more leading charges.” Jane’s hand found Winter’s wrist and gripped it tight. “We need you too much.”

Winter shifted her hand to interlace her fingers with Jane’s and squeezed tight. This time, when she closed her eyes, sleep came quickly.

The day of battle brought a blue sky, cloudless from edge to edge, with a cold, distant sun and a chill wind that made the branches rattle in the woods and brought down drifts of crunchy brown leaves. Winter stood where she had the day before, borrowing Cyte’s spyglass to examine di Pfalen’s dispositions.

It certainly made an impressive array. Battalion after battalion of infantry in splendid yellow and black formed in front of the distant village of Jirdos, yellow banners rigid and snapping in the wind, displaying the roaring bull of Hamvelt. Cannon, still limbered and ready to deploy, formed neat lines in the gaps between the infantry columns. Behind the first line stood a second, and behind that came the cavalry, hundreds of horsemen sitting calmly in formation, each man’s boot only inches from his neighbor’s.

“That’s the Guardians,” Cyte said when Winter passed her back the spyglass. “They’re supposed to be the elite. Every wealthy family in Hamvelt sends their spare sons to serve with them.”

Jane snorted. “Rich men make bad soldiers. They’ve got too much to lose.”