Winter could tell that much by reading a map, so she had to assume that Janus had thought it through. As best she could tell, they had a hard road ahead. An assault on an army with its flanks securely anchored on the river would be a straightforward, bloody affair, with little opportunity for Janus’ now-famous strategic talent to express itself. Even if they won—which seemed likely, since the Army of the East was half again the size of the Deslandai force—the enemy’s secure line of retreat meant that all they were likely to get for it was a town full of corpses.

Janus must have a plan. The Army of the East had thus far followed passively in the enemy’s wake, content to keep a safe distance between the opposing forces. He’s not the sort of commander who would bash his head against a wall if he had any other choice. He knows what he’s doing. Faith in Janus had gotten her this far. There’s nothing to do but follow it through.

Bobby was waiting beside Winter’s tent, which stood alone in the midst of the campground. The encampment would grow around it as each company filed in off the road. Winter dismounted and handed Edgar’s reins to a waiting soldier—one of the Royals, this time. Cyte was rotating the camp chores more equitably.

“Sir!” Bobby said.

“Come on in.” Winter ducked into her tent, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Bobby followed. “What have you got for me?”

“Reports.” Bobby flourished a stack of papers.

“Anything major?”

“Just the usual. Sick lists are holding steady, a couple of minor infractions.”

“Drop them off with Cyte, then.” It had become apparent that Cyte had been born to be a staff lieutenant. Her appetite for paperwork and attention to detail was boundless, and she had a deft touch with the military bureaucracy that Winter herself had never been able to develop. It must come from spending time at the University. “What’s the butcher’s bill for this morning?”

Bobby shuffled the papers. “Three broken fingers, two sprained ankles, four pulled teeth. Nothing serious.”

“That’s good.” The handball games kept the regimental cutters busy with minor injuries, but so far nothing more than that. Thankfully. I don’t need my soldiers crippling each other before we even get to a battle. “Anything else?”

“Um . . . possibly, sir. But it’s a little bit . . . personal.”

“Trouble with Marsh?” The idea of anyone coming to her for relationship advice made Winter want to laugh and cry, both at once. “I’m not sure—”

“Not that kind of personal, sir. The other kind.”

“Oh.” Winter looked around the tent, then moved to stand by the entrance, leaning against the pole, so she could keep an eye out for eavesdroppers. “What is it?”

Bobby took a deep breath. “I’d better show you.”