If il Tornja shared any of the same concern, he didn’t show it. Despite the mud marring his clothes, he looked just as she remembered: handsome, cavalier, even a little bit louche. Instead of armor, he wore a blue wool coat over a darker blue tunic, the latter tucked into leather riding breeches that flared out above black boots polished smooth as stones. It wasn’t a legion uniform, wasn’t a uniform at all, and yet the man had a way of carrying the clothes that made them seem wholly appropriate, as though every general in Annur ought to be dressed the same, as though the half-dozen rings he wore, cut gems winking in the firelight, were somehow wholly appropriate to the business of battle and war.

The cold northern wind had riffled his dark hair, but his eyes, those steady, unflinching eyes, studied her with the same amused curiosity Adare remembered so well. She felt like livestock, suddenly, like a horse or cow brought to the block to be picked over before the auction, and the feeling kindled a fury inside her, a red flame of rage. For a moment she almost ordered Fulton to twist his sword and have done with it.

“Nice army you brought,” he said, waving a lazy hand toward the wall of the building. “Good marchers. There’s no end to the irritation when an army can’t march.” He shook his head, evidently recalling past frustrations, then shrugged. He didn’t so much as glance at Fulton or the blade ready at his throat. “You take up generaling while sojourning in the south?”

“A soldier named Vestan Ameredad has the command,” Adare replied stiffly.

“Ameredad?” He raised his brows. “That’s what my men told me, but it was a tough tale to swallow. I seem to have missed a verse or two since last we danced. Weren’t we trying to pound the dear, pious Sons of Flame straight into the mud not long ago?” He glanced speculatively up into the rafters. “I seem to remember a priest named Uinian—dead. Then there were those Accords you drafted so enthusiastically. . . .”

“Enough,” Adare spat. “I know you murdered my father. Adiv gave me your letter, but I didn’t need you to tell me. I knew long before that. I intend to see you executed for your crimes, and the only reason I’ve waited is to try to make some sense of what’s happening here in the north, what’s going on with the Urghul. If you want to discuss that, fine. If not, I’ll be happy to instruct Fulton to take your head from your shoulders.”

“Ah.” The regent set the single syllable between them, still and inscrutable as a stone on the ko board. He didn’t move. “How did you learn?” There was no gloating, no guilt. He looked . . . curious.