She nodded, and I fought the urge to regale her with stories of the many ways Tristan’s brother had harmed people, including me. Truthfully, she was right. Roland sat across a crackling fire from Angoulême and Lessa, his chin resting on his knees as he stared into the flames. Neither of his companions made any attempt to engage in conversation, and the human soldiers and servants in their camp gave them wide berth.

“He’s been made to do things he didn’t wish to do,” I said. “That’s why he’s upset. Not because he feels badly for the hurt he’s caused.”

“A broken child,” Sabine said. “But still just a child.”

That thought in our minds, we all sat in silence watching the trio.

“Stones and sky, Roland,” Marc muttered. “Go take a piss or something.”

“This isn’t working,” I said. “We need to find another way to lure him away from his minders.”

“What if we sent him a message,” Sabine said. “A note.”

“How?” Marc asked. “It isn’t as though any of us can traipse in there and deliver it.”

“Why not?” Sabine asked, and I immediately shook my head, seeing the direction this was going. “It’s too dangerous, Sabine. He’s too dangerous.” I looked to Marc for agreement, but instead his gaze was thoughtful.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I smell cooking, and a growing boy’s got to eat.”

“I should be the one doing this,” I muttered as we approached the group of servants working around the cook fire.

“No, you shouldn’t,” she replied. “From what I’ve heard, the Duke is wise to all our tricks and he’s not so much a fool to have completely lowered his guard. If any of them were to sense the magic of your disguise, you’d be done. Tristan would be done. And I don’t really care to fight the rest of this war without you.”

I couldn’t argue with her logic.

Two of the cooks looked up at our approach, and we both smiled. “She’s going to serve His Majesty his dinner tonight,” I said, a breeze drifting through the camp as I forced power into my words. “You’ve both known her for years. Me, you never saw.”

Moving at a sedate pace that wouldn’t attract attention, I retreated into the woods to where Marc and Martin waited, their eyes on the portal.

“Here she comes,” Martin whispered, and we all watched in silence. If it went badly, there was nothing we’d be able to do to help her.

Sabine and two other women approached the three trolls, trays of steaming food carefully balanced in their hands. She dropped into a curtsey, and the other two followed suit, dishes rattling against each other.

“Idiots don’t know the first thing about serving royalty,” Lessa muttered.