“I know,” Orden said. “We’d like to fight beside you. I’ve sent to Groverman and Dreis, begging reinforcements, but I suspect they’ll hesitate to honor a request from a foreign king.”

“The Duchess also sent for reinforcements,” Tempest said. “We should soon see what it gains us.”

“Thank you,” Orden said, watching the man’s eyes.

This was the worst news. If no help had come yet, it meant Dreis and Groverman, on hearing of the invasion, had chosen to fortify their own positions rather than send aid. One could hardly blame them.

After a moment Orden asked, “May we speak privately?”

Tempest nodded discreetly; together they walked into the Duke’s Keep, climbed a flight of stairs. Orden’s men waited outside. Only Orden’s and his son’s Days followed him into the room, with the matronly Days who followed Tempest at their heels.

In the great room, blood still smeared the floors from a fierce battle. Wood chairs lay in splinters; a gore-covered axe lay on the floor, along with a pair of long daggers.

The Duchess’s battle had come down to knife work in here.

A pair of red hounds looked up curiously as Orden entered, thumped their tails in greeting. They’d been sleeping before the cold fireplace.

King Orden got a torch, lit it, placed it under the kindling in the fireplace. Then he took a seat by the fire, ten feet from Tempest’s own chair.

Tempest looked to be in his early fifties, though it was impossible to tell. A man with endowments of metabolism would age fast. But Mendellas could often guess a warrior’s age by looking in his eyes. Even with endowments of metabolism, some men maintained a look of innocence, a look of inexperience. A man’s eyes stayed young—like his teeth and his mind and his heart—though his skin might become spotted and wrinkled.

But Tempest’s brown eyes looked full of pain, battle, and fatigue. Orden could tell nothing by gazing into them. Tempest’s eyes looked a thousand years old.

The King decided to lead to his subject tactfully. “I’m curious to know what happened. Raj Ahten obviously garrisoned soldiers here—good force soldiers. How is it that the Duchess defeated them?”

Captain Tempest said, “I—must base my report on hearsay. I myself was forced to give an endowment, and so was housed in the Dedicates’ Keep when the revolt took place.”

“You say Raj Ahten ‘forced’ you to give an endowment?”

A strange look came over Captain Tempest, one of revulsion mingled with worship. “You must understand, I gave myself willingly. When Raj Ahten asked for my endowment, his words seemed to be daggers that pierced me. When I looked at his face, it seemed more beautiful than a rose or the sun rising over a mountain lake. He seemed beauty itself; everything else I’ve ever thought noble or beautiful seemed a dim forgery.