Janus spread a map of the Velt Valley on the grass and weighed it down with stones, explaining all of this in a slow, patient tone while he pointed out the geography with a stick. The colonels peered at the map and furrowed their foreheads, eager to impress with the depth of their understanding.

Winter felt uncomfortable in their company. Some of them were Royals—Janus’ purge of the old, noble colonels meant that these were mostly younger men, War College graduates like Captain d’Ivoire, new to their posts and hungry for glory. The rest were volunteers, men who had either been elected to high rank by their troops or gained promotion on the spot in battle, who wore homemade uniforms and looked skeptical at the talk of ravelins and breaching batteries.

But none of them murmured an objection, or even a question. Janus, thin-faced, gray eyes blazing, held them rapt. Looking at the faces around her, Winter found herself able to understand Jane’s qualms about Janus. After Diarach, Gaafen, and the latest Battle of Jirdos, their trust in the general was complete. They would storm the gates of hell against a legion of demons on his order, in full confidence that he would produce victory out of a hat like a street-corner conjuror.

“That about sums up the situation,” Janus said, sitting back on his heels. The others, thirteen of them including Winter, sat or knelt in the damp grass around the map. “It will take another day to fully invest the fortress, but I don’t expect any interference from the garrison before our preparations are complete. It will take them some time to assemble an effective resistance.”

“We should storm the walls tonight,” one of the volunteer officers said. “They’ll never expect it, and as you say, they’re still disorganized. Why give them a chance to catch their breath?”

“An attractive thought, but it would be far too costly,” Janus said. “Di Pfalen’s army is shattered, but the walls are strong, and they have heavy siege guns we can’t match. We might be able to find a weak spot, but we’d lose half the army.”

The rest of the officers hurriedly murmured agreement, throwing nasty looks at the man who’d spoken out, who hung his head. It reminded Winter of the prefects back at Mrs. Wilmore’s, competing to see who could most effectively kiss up to the mistresses. Janus looked around the circle, and when his gray eyes met hers his mouth twisted in a tiny, knowing smile, as though the two of them were sharing a joke.

“No,” he went on. “We’ll invest the fortress, and dig trenches to keep the garrison from making trouble. We should be able to contain the Hamveltai and leave a substantial force free to maneuver.”

More mutters of agreement, loudest of all from the man who’d spoken out the first time. Winter cleared her throat.