Over Amon’s objections, Raisa insisted on standing shifts on the walls. “I’m good with a bow,” she said. “Besides, it’s encouraging for my people to see me up there.”

“Can you keep out of sight of the enemy, at least?” Amon said. “It would be discouraging to your people if you ended up dead.”

“Klemath wants to take me alive, remember?” Raisa said. “I’m likely safer up there than anyone else.”

“If they recognize you,” he grumbled. “If they don’t suddenly change their minds. If some soldier doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kill a northern queen.”

So she wore her Gray Wolf armor on the walls, and the brilliant cape that Willo had made for her. If they killed her, they’d have to do it on purpose. And aim very carefully.

Raisa ordered concerts in the rooftop garden for all who cared to come. Amon’s fiancée, Annamaya Dubai, organized the events and scheduled the musicians, including Cat Tyburn. Even those on duty could hear the music floating down around them as they stood watch on the walls or worked in the foundries. Raisa held contests with prizes for the best patriotic songs and stories. Many still focused on Hanalea the Warrior, but a few hastily composed songs featured Raisa ana’Marianna, the Warrior Queen.

The entries also included a delightfully profane ballad about how General Klemath sired his sons, which involved his mistaking a barn for a brothel. Raisa found herself humming it at random times during the day. She tried to maintain a cheerful optimism, but her eyes kept turning to the south as she watched for the arrival of Montaigne’s army.

C H A P T E R  T H I R T Y - E I G H T

A DEAL WITH
THE DEVIL

The journey from the capital to Gray Lady took Micah Bayar three days of twists and turns and detours and backtracking.

The old road was no longer safe to travel—not even for a wizard. Away from the capital, farmsteads and keeps lay in smoking ruins. Bodies dangled from trees, twisting slowly in the blistering breeze. Several times, Micah was forced to circle around Ardenine camps, and once he all but collided with a southern scouting party. They jangled past, a young wizard riding in their midst, a heavy silver collar around his neck.

It reminded Micah of Arden during the civil war, and Tamron after the invasion. Now it was their turn. Except their situation was even more hopeless than it had been in the south.

Everyone out here is an enemy, Micah thought, because we have no army of our own. Arden can march straight to the capital. How did we let this happen?