Must be showing off for Drent, she thought. But even when Drent watched, Flogger usually tried to defeat her as quickly as possible. Perhaps there was someone else among the onlookers he wanted to impress.

And then it came, a swipe at her legs that opposed the rhythm they’d established.

Because Karigan, as a smaller, less muscular opponent, had little hope of defeating Flogger with sheer force, she’d been trained to use an adversary’s own power against him, and here she did so, hopping out of the way and sweeping her blade behind his and slamming it out of his hands. The wooden practice sword flew into the crowd while Flogger looked after it in disbelief. There was some scattered clapping among the onlookers.

“Well, well,” Drent said, and it was all he said before moving on to another pair of trainees.

Sweat streamed down Karigan’s face, and she was splattered and soaked to the skin with mud and bruised to the bone as usual, but she could not help but feel triumphant.

Her triumph lasted only as long as it took Flogger to retrieve his practice sword, a scowl on his face.

They tapped swords to begin again.

“That’s the last time you’ll embarrass me in front of the king, Greenie,” Flogger said.

“King?”

“Didn’t see him, eh?”

No, she hadn’t. She glanced across the practice field searching for him, but most of the audience had already dispersed.

THWACK!

“Ow!” Karigan cried, grasping her forearm as her practice sword tumbled to the ground. Jolts of pain shot between her wrist and elbow. “That wasn’t fair!”

“Not fair? We tapped swords. You weren’t paying attention.”

As much as she hated to admit it, Flogger was right, but it was hard not to be distracted by thoughts of King Zachary. Had he enjoyed watching her bout? How she moved? She had not seen him since her return.

She cleared her throat and shook her hand out when she realized she was just standing there smiling foolishly, but it was more than exertion that left a blush on her cheeks.

OF SHADOWS AND ETIQUETTE

“There was a brand on his chest,” Laren said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. The shadows of her quarters closed in on her as she remembered, and she shuddered.

“Brand?” Elgin asked. He helped her slip into her greatcoat.

Laren closed her eyes and only saw Osric’s decaying, abused body before her on the slab of the death surgeons. They did what they could to clean him up, and she’d seen much worse, but it was still no simple thing to view the corpse of one her Riders cut down in his prime, his body defiled. Elgin placed his hand on her shoulder, and she knew he understood.

“It was a crude brand,” Laren said, “but distinct—a lion mauling a skull.”

Elgin scrunched his eyebrows together. “I thought Second Empire used a dead tree as their symbol.”

Laren fastened the buttons of her coat. “They do, but the historians think this brand is very close to a symbol used by Mornhavon the Black’s elite regiment, the Lions. Birch is not only mocking us, but informing us he’s raising a superior force, harkening back to the days of the Long War.”

She opened the door and squinted in the wash of sunlight that pushed the shadows to the far corners of her quarters.

“The death surgeons think,” she continued, “Osric was branded after death.”

“Thank the gods for small mercies,” Elgin muttered.

“There was no mercy when those murderers turned the blade in his back,” Laren replied. “Cowards. Knifing him from behind like that. Birch may think he’s clever sending us his message, but he’s also shown us he lacks honor.”

“Villains often do,” Elgin said.

Sunshine poured down on Laren when she stepped from her doorway onto the thawing earth. The air was chill, and smelled fresh and clean, of new beginnings. It was her cue to shake off darkness. She could not afford to traverse the shadows for too long when there was work to be done and so many Riders, living, breathing Riders, depended on her leadership.

Unfortunately, leadership tended to translate to “eligible for endless meetings,” and here she was on her way to yet another, albeit important, one. Zachary was bent on sending Sacoridians with the Eletians into Blackveil, and it was time to decide what and who would comprise their contingent.

“So tell me,” Laren said as she started down the path, careful to avoid puddles and icy patches, “how it goes for you. Are you settling in?” Often, it was only in moments like this, between meetings, that she was able to catch up on the doings of her Riders.

“I am very comfortable in the Rider wing,” Elgin said. “And my girls and Bucket are content as well, though Hep has a thing or two to say about the racket Bucket makes at feeding time.”

Laren grinned. “And what do you make of my new Riders?”

“Eager to learn and do,” Elgin said. “Just as they always are.”

She nodded, then paused at the sound of shouting from the vicinity of the practice field. She pivoted and saw there was a goodly collection of onlookers crowded together, no doubt watching a bout. It was not unusual, but then she recalled this was the time Karigan was scheduled for swordmaster initiate training. On a hunch she started toward the practice field, the opposite direction in which she’d been heading.

“Where are you going?” Elgin said. “What about your meeting?”

“It doesn’t start till eleven hour. I have a little time to spare.”