He leaned against the tree, closing his eyes and breathing deep. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the blade of grass.”

“Forgive me if I’m not jolly enough for your liking.”

He smirked. “I shan’t.”

“They’re lying, James.” She rested her head on his shoulder. It was, as usual, far too bumpy. She often requested he eat more so that he could better reach his highest calling, becoming her pillow. “I don’t think they’re lying about the blood gate and all that, but there are missing pieces.”

“Oh, Scratch.” His chuckle sounded irritatingly put-upon. “I expected this, you know.”

“What?” She lifted her head to glare at him. He stared off, green eyes soft in the shade. “You think I’m wrong?”

“Of course you’re not wrong.” He lifted a shoulder. “I just don’t see why it matters.”

“James. If we don’t prepare—”

“Then it’ll be our fault when we lose. I know, I know.” A big yawn cracked his jaw, and he stretched up against the tree bark. “But we’ve already lost. We aren’t King’s Guard anymore. Inevitably, there is a price on our heads. I don’t see a way of preparing for anything because there’s no way of knowing what’s ahead.”

A jolt of annoyance stiffened her shoulders. “James. It isn’t over. We could bring Frances back and bring her story to the people and—”

“And what? Depose the king?” He shook his head, smiling softly. She wanted to hit him. “Aren’t you tired?”

She bit back the reflexive no. “Of?”

“Of fighting, Scratch. It’s all we’ve ever done. Don’t you want, I don’t know, something else?”

Tension bloomed across her brow. “Not you, too.”

“Look around.” He swept an arm out. The forest glowed, blankets of moss crawling up trees and over stumps, green and vivid and inviting. Birds chittered on branches, tweeting their morning missives, visiting and departing. The air smelled of split-apple freshness, wet and sharp and brand new.

“The way I see it,” James murmured like a visitor in a quiet temple, “there are no paths for which we can prepare. That doesn’t mean there’s nowhere to go from here, darling. It means there are so many possibilities, we can’t possibly plan for all of them. Like it or not, we’ll be surprised.”

Her heart felt heavy, low slung and drooping behind her ribs. “I’m very angry at you.”

“You need a distraction.” He arched an eyebrow. “Brella would suit.”

“If I had a pillow, you’d be fighting your way out from underneath it right now.”

“She’s lovely.” He tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Yes, a bit prickly, and doesn’t seem too fond of soldiers, but it looks like she’s grown to tolerate you.”

“Oh, yes. All girls dream of tolerance.”

“Naturally.” He elbowed her lightly. “It could be fun.”