The soldier patted her down anyway, coming up empty-handed, of course, because she’d lost her belt dagger in the library.

When they were all disarmed, the officer motioned to his men to put down their crossbows, though they kept their hands on their swords. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Marin Karn, Commander of the Army of the King of Arden.”

Which king? Raisa wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“Arden!” Micah tilted his head. “But we’re in Tamron. Arden is across the river.”

“Damn!” Commander Karn said, grinning. “Guess we went astray again, boys.”

The other soldiers snorted with laughter.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Fiona said. “You’re a wizard. But wizardry is forbidden in Arden. You burn wizards in…”

“Aye,” Karn said, nodding. “That’s so. The church has strict rules against it.”

Fiona frowned. “Then how can there be gifted soldiers in the king of Arden’s army?” she persisted.

Karn shook his head. “Oh no, we’d never admit to that. Most who come up against us don’t survive to tell tales. Those that survive don’t remember. And only wizards can recognize others with the gift.”

“So you’re using wizardry in the Ardenine Wars,” Raisa whispered.

“We are just getting started,” Karn said. “We’ve more than a dozen jinxflingers. Many are young, recruited on their way to Oden’s Ford. Most haven’t had any training. Some don’t have amulets. That’s where you come in.”

“What do you mean?” Micah said.

“I’m guessing you’re students from Oden’s Ford. You’ve been getting top-notch training at the academy there. We want you to teach our recruits spellcasting.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Micah said, glancing at Raisa. “We have pressing business in the Fells, and we can’t risk getting involved in your civil war.”

Karn seemed unfazed. “Think hard before you say no,” he said. “We’ve hundreds of soldiers camped this side of the river, and an army several thousand strong on the other side.” He looked toward the river and came to attention. “Here comes the king now.”

A small group of men walked toward them from the riverbank. Four burly men, armored up and carrying weapons, surrounded a slender man in a tunic emblazoned with the red hawk signia, silver gauntlets, and breastplate, a sword belted at his waist. He wore a circlet of gold on his light brown hair, and his blue eyes were pale blue and cold as the ice in Invader’s Bay.

It was Prince Gerard Montaigne, the youngest of the warring Montaigne brothers, Raisa’s unsuccessful suitor at her name day party.

“Hanalea in chains,” Raisa muttered. Could things get any worse? She yanked her hood over her head and stared at the ground, hoping he wouldn’t recognize her. Surely he wouldn’t, not here, so out of context.