Annoyed, he took a candle from its sconce and lit it in the fire, then lit the rest of the candles and a lantern. "Is there a reason you sit in the dark?"

"Why do you care what I do?"

"Your son is the next king of Margola'n. I won't have him brought up like a cave dweller."

"Cave dwellers are free to come and go as they please."

Curane bit back his first response. "We're at war. You're safe in here."

"A locked door is a locked door." Canice's dark hair was uncombed, and she still wore a night gown, although it was midday. She cradled the baby against her, gently jiggling him when he stirred. "We're exactly where you left us. What did you expect?"

"What's wrong with you, girl? I've seen tavern slatterns who took better care of themselves. You're still abed, and you haven't dressed. I've had all I'll take of your self-pity. If you don't shape up, we can find a wet nurse for that baby. I've worked too hard to have this sabotaged by a spiteful child."

"You thought I was woman enough for a king when you sent me to Jared. And between his 'attentions' and the birth, I'll never be suited for another man. You've gotten what you wanted from me. What do you care what I'm wearing? No one but the guards see me. Morgan is fed and clean, and he's finally stopped his colic."

"You'd probably prefer to have the baby taken, wouldn't you? Think you'll go back to the Trevath court and waste your time with that noble trash you call friends. You've got a king to raise. Grow up."

"Why did you come?"

"I'm going to move you to Trevath, back to your aunt's people. Lord Monteith's castle is far enough inside Trevath's boundaries that Margolan doesn't dare move against him."

"Losing so soon? The siege hasn't even started."

Curane's voice shook with anger. "Being cautious. This keep and everyone in it is expendable—except for that baby."

"Do your mages know they're 'expendable?'"

"This is war. The only thing that matters is achieving the objective. There are always necessary losses."

"Maybe Martris Drayke isn't as soft as you thought he was. After all, he killed Jared. That's a plus right there."

Curane snatched a dress from the wardrobe and threw it at the bed. "Get dressed. Clean yourself up."

"Stop shouting. You'll wake the baby."

"I don't give a damn—"

The baby let out an ear-splitting scream, arching and grasping. Canice fixed Curane with a deadly stare and lifted the baby against her shoulder.

"Don't let him scare you. Mother's here. Mother will keep you safe. It's all right. It'll be all right." .

"Did you hear me? I want you up and dressed and presentable. Pack your things. I've made up my mind. You're going to Trevath. I'll let Lady Monteith deal with you."

Canice did not look up. "Hush," she cooed. "Hush now. Mother's here. It'll be all right."

"I'll send guards for you at sundown. You'd better be ready." Curane slammed the door behind him.

His foul mood carried into his briefing. "Well?" he demanded when General Drostan and the fire mage Cadoc entered the room. "Are we ready?"

Drostan nodded. "Nearly so."

"Nearly so isn't enough. Our best chance to strike at the Margolan army will be when it first arrives, before they've had a chance to dig in. If we take the offensive, we might turn them."

Cadoc shrugged. "I doubt they'll be broken quite so easily, even with magic."

"We must terrify them. Teach them that we have the will to endure. Let them understand that we'll hold out."

"Is that why you're smuggling the girl out of the keep?" Drostan's voice was icy. "Hardly proof that you believe this siege to be winnable."

"I learned long ago to hedge my bets. With Canice gone, there will be one less distraction, and it puts one prize out of Drayke's reach before the first salvo is fired." Curane smiled icily. "I'll send you one of the serving girls and her baby. Use your magic to put an illusion on them. We'll lock them up in Canice's place. No one will suspect."

"Even our best strike can't defeat thousands of soldiers," Drostan replied.

"We don't have to defeat them. We need to make them lose heart. Every day the army camps here, my man at Shekerishet moves closer to success. Our people in Isencroft already have Donelan occupied with the divisionists. We have the resources to keep the army tied up here for months. By stripping the land bare, they'll have to travel further for supplies—and we have fighters in place to harry their supply line." He rose and looked out one of the thin windows, toward the plain where the army would camp.

"We'll teach them to be terrified of what comes by night. Sicken them once the harshest days of winter come. Make them hungry. Drayke and his mages will weaken the longer they stay here, while you and your blood mages," he said with a nod toward Cadoc, "grow stronger off the rift in the Flow. They're not a real army, not professionals. Just a ragtag band of volunteers out for an adventure. How long until those volunteers decide to go home?" Curane smiled. "No. We don't have to defeat his army. We have to break their will. Then Trevath will see the opportunity and come to our aid. We'll he rid of Drayke, rid of his heir, and both Margolan and Isencroft "will be ours."

"Everything will be in place, m'lord," Drostan said. "Our scouts expect the' army within two days. We'll strike them hard their first night, before they're ready to respond. We'll see how long Drayke's army can stand its ground."

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Margolan army moved with greater speed than Tris had imagined. It would take a week to reach the Southern Plains where Curane's holdings were located. His horse nickered and snuffled. Surrounded by bodyguards and soldiers, Tris was better sheltered from the wind than the men who rode on the outer edge of the formation. They took turns, moving from the outer edge to the inner ranks as the cold wind buffeted them.

Tris could see the mixture of excitement and apprehension in the Coalan's face. Going to war had not been part of Soterius's plan to keep his nephew safe.

Tris sighed. Going to war hadn't been part of his own plans, either. Soterius gave him a sideways glance.

"Skrivven for your thoughts."

Tris managed a smile. "I was thinking that at least now we can make a fire when we camp."

"And this time, we know where the Mar-golan army is."

Most of the soldiers now under colors were the deserters, stragglers, and rebels Soterius had gathered to remove Jared from the throne. Pell, Tabb, and Andras, three of Soterius's first converts to the rebellion, were now captains with their own commands. Tris's generals, Senne, Palinn, Tarq, and Rallan, rode with their troops.

All day, the troops had marched across snow-covered hills and deep valleys, criss-crossed by half-frozen streams. At the edge of the forest, they made camp for the night. The' further south they traveled, the more Tris's gut told him something was not quite right. Since he had come into his power, he had grown accustomed to the continual presence of his magic, deep in a corner of his mind. The closer they got to Curane's holdings, the more his magic felt brittle and fragile or pushed nearly out of reach. It's the Flow, Tris thought. It's getting worse. Now, only a day's march from their target, the sense of discomfort had become physical, giving him a headache and draining his energy.

Setting up camp for the night made Tris's caravan experience pale in comparison. The sheer number of tents and wagons necessary to move a small city of soldiers seemed almost beyond reckoning. Barely a year ago, he, Carroway, and Soterius had been the ones rigging the tents. Now, soldiers scurried to set camp, and Coalan watched over Tris's tent personally. Supper fires were lit, and Tris found that the prospect of a hot meal, even if it were to be beans and salt pork, was the highlight of the day.