“And where the hell is Neph Dada?” he heard a voice say. Though he couldn’t see the speaker, he knew it must be Jenine. “His Holiness demands you find out. He’ll expect your report this evening. For now, begone.”

Dorian blinked and the vision was gone. General Naga turned back as he reached the flap of the tent. He seemed reassured to find Dorian meeting his eye. “The queen speaks with my voice,” Dorian said. “Is that a problem, general?”

“Of course not, Your Holiness. I will report when we get word.” He bowed deeply, and left.

When the last of them was gone, Dorian let out a long breath. Jenine took his hand and he sat. “I need to use it,” Dorian said.

“Every time you do, it’s harder to stop,” Jenine said.

She was right, but with so many armies in close proximity, Dorian needed to use his gift to make sure he didn’t trigger a cataclysm. He’d done everything he knew to do militarily to discourage the Cenarians from attacking, but with Neph’s men and Moburu’s nearby, there were too many factors at play for him to not try to see the futures down the roads before him.

He’d studied his gift with a Healer’s eyes, and he thought he understood why prophecy seemed easier to begin and harder to stop now. The vir had broken open new channels everywhere throughout his Talent, and it had penetrated his prophetic gift, too. All his magic, and now all his prophecies, passed through the tentacles of vir rather than their natural channels. Because the vir was thicker, everything passed more freely. It was quite possible that the vir, tainted itself, was tainting Dorian’s gift with bizarre visions like those he’d had of the Strangers and his wife pregnant with twins, but there was no help for it now. He would stop using the vir and only use the Talent—after this.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too,” she answered. She had a quill and parchment to write down anything he said, in case he couldn’t remember it afterward.

Then he dove in. He tried to hold onto enough of himself to speak what he saw, but the current was too strong. He saw a Titan rise from Black Barrow, and then he pulled downstream fifteen years to Torras Bend. There was Feir, standing at a smithy, ordering his young apprentice to gather wood. Then Dorian was a hundred years downstream, in Trayethell, somehow magically rebuilt, celebrating something, a vast parade working through the street. Dorian fought it, tried to throw himself back to a time where his visions would help him. He found himself standing in the guts of Khaliras, deciding whether to take Jenine out through the sewage chutes or try to fight their way out, everything would turn from this one choice—no, that was the past, dammit.

“Rodnia? Nidora?” He heard the voice calling for him, but it was too distant, and he hadn’t found anything yet. There was a whisper as it called again, and then it was lost.

Jenine drew the curtain that separated Dorian’s throne, where he was quietly mumbling, from the rest of his tent. “Dorian!” she whispered one more time, but the king didn’t stir. She shut the curtain and said, “Come in, General Naga.” The man had been knocking for more than a minute.

“Your Highness,” he said, coming in and looking conspicuously at the drawn curtain. “My apologies, but we’ve just had a report from a spy. His Holiness must hear it.”

“His Holiness is not to be disturbed right now.”

“I’m afraid this requires immediate action.”

Jenine lifted her brows as if the general were perilously close to being rude. “Then deliver your report.”

General Naga hesitated, open-mouthed, as he struggled with the idea of reporting to a woman, much less a woman young enough to be his daughter, then wisely closed his mouth. When he opened it again, it was to say, “Your Highness, our spy reports that the Cenarians and Ceurans are planning to attack our supply lines at the city of Reigukhas. They plan to have ten thousand men sneak away tonight under cover of darkness. The Cenarian king said—”

“The Cenarian king?” Jenine interrupted.

For an instant, General Naga seemed stricken. “Sorry, I meant, the Ceuran king said that we would think any torches we saw tonight were merely men moving between their campfires. In truth, such movement would only be visible to us for a short section. The Cenarian queen—your pardons, Highness, I obviously am having a slight problem adjusting to so many queens—the Cenarian queen concurred.” He swallowed nervously.

“Do you trust this spy?” Jenine asked. She didn’t know whether she more wanted Dorian to wake up instantly and make the decision for her, or if she feared that he might wake up with a scream as he had the last few times.

“Absolutely, Your Highness.”

“If we wait until we see the movement of torches tonight, will our men be able to get to Reigukhas in time to defend it?” Jenine asked.

“It will be a near thing.”

“Then send fifteen thousand men now. If we don’t see the torches moving tonight, we can send riders to get them to turn back.”

“Fifteen thousand? From a defensive position, five should be more than adequate to defend Reigukhas, and would still preserve our superiority of numbers here.”

He was probably right, and Jenine would have conceded to his experience if this had been a war, but it wasn’t a war. Those were her people on the other side, too. Fifteen thousand men would be such an overwhelming defensive force that the Cenarians would call off an attack on the town as hopeless. Jenine was saving lives on both sides, and tomorrow, they’d be able to send emissaries to the Cenarians before blood was spilled. “Fifteen thousand, general. That is, unless you’re still having a problem adjusting to this queen.”

General Naga barely hesitated before he bobbed his head and withdrew. For an odd moment, Jenine thought he looked relieved.

As night fell, Logan and Garuwashi met once more at the top of the tower, this time alone, though each had bodyguards stationed out of earshot on the stairs. They watched the line of sa’ceurai, every one bearing a torch, heading down river. Then the kings turned, scanning the thousands of campfires dotting the plain around Black Barrow. The Khalidoran army and the highlanders stayed outside the circle around Black Barrow that was carpeted with those oddly non-decomposing bodies. They called it the Dead Demesne.

“Do you think it worked?” Logan asked.

“Wanhope’s a wytch, not a warrior,” Garuwashi said. “I think he’ll believe everything his spy told him we said earlier.”

In truth, Logan had sent ten thousand men west, but only until they were blocked from the Khalidorans’ sight by the forest. Then the men were told to extinguish their torches and make their way back to camp. Logan was sure no small amount of grumbling was going on right now: the men had no idea why they’d been sent marching in circles, and he couldn’t tell them in case more spies lurked in their ranks. Meanwhile, Garuwashi’s thousand were continuing west. They would ford the river and come back on the opposite side as stealthily as possible. Dressed in muddied garb, they would crawl through the Dead Demesne. When the sun rose, they would lie in the shadows and huddle next to the corpses as if dead themselves. They would circle the long way around Black Barrow. Garuwashi figured it would take them two nights to get into place, but then, either on his signal or when they saw the opportunity, the men would don their armor, rise from among the dead, and attack the command tents. If Momma K’s spies were right, Jenine was there. If not, they still might kill some of Wanhope’s generals or even the Godking himself.