“Don’t let anyone else hear you promising things, or they’ll start lining up,” Artemisia says. “And besides, you won’t have anything to benevolently parcel out if we don’t actually win. Let’s focus on that.”

“I know,” I say quickly. “But sometimes it feels like this war will go on forever. It’s nice to imagine what comes next.”

Artemisia, Heron, and I ride to the front of our formation, where S?ren and Maile are already leading the troops. When Maile sees me approach, she gives me a critical once-over.

“That’s not a very practical dress,” she tells me matter-of-factly, eyes lingering on the emerald gown.

“The Kalovaxians don’t expect women to dress practically,” I tell her. “They won’t listen to a word I say if I don’t look the way they expect a ruler to look.”

Maile frowns. “And me?” she asks, gesturing to her own outfit—close-fitting brown leather trousers and a white cotton tunic that looks like it needs a good wash. “As a Vecturian princess, should I change into something more conventionally regal?”

I consider my words carefully for fear of insulting her, before I remember that Maile would likely be more offended by my trying to protect her feelings.

“No,” I tell her honestly. “It isn’t about impressing them. It’s about giving them what they expect. They expect Vecturians to be dirty and ill-mannered and bedraggled. Honestly, you could stand to rough yourself up a bit more. Don’t speak; pretend you don’t understand their language. They’ll assume you’re a simpleton and underestimate you, which will no doubt come in handy.”

For a beat, Maile looks offended, and I open my mouth to apologize, but before I can, she throws her head back and laughs loudly enough to startle the horses.

“Very well,” she says when she recovers. “You trusted my plan to take the Water Mine. I’ll trust your plan here, as diabolical as it might be.”

By the time we’re halfway across the open field, the gates of the estate open and the Ovelgans’ battalion of guards pours through them to meet us, carrying yellow flags to match ours. Parley.

The last parley I held with the Kalovaxians ended with me half-dead. I hope this one will go better.

I take a steadying breath as Artemisia pulls the horse to a stop to wait for the Ovelgans, and the rest of our troops follow suit behind us. S?ren dismounts in one easy, fluid motion before helping me down from my own horse in a far less graceful manner. Once both of my feet are firmly planted on the ground, I straighten out the skirt of my gown and force myself to stand up straight.

The thunder of the approaching hooves matches my rapid heartbeat. S?ren seems to sense it, glancing sideways at me. He moves to reach out to me but thinks better of it here, in front of my army. I’m grateful for his discretion, but part of me wishes I could entwine my fingers with his and sap some of his unwavering strength. I could use a dose of it right now.

The Ovelgans and their army stop a good distance away, two figures I assume must be the lord and lady themselves dismounting.

“We’ll meet on foot from here, just us and just them,” S?ren tells me, his voice low.

I follow him into the open field, away from the security of my army, though I know I still have S?ren, at least, with his sword sheathed at his hip. The Ovelgans follow our lead, the two figures on foot advancing to meet us.

As they get closer, I can better make out their features. Lord Ovelgan must be in his late thirties, with collarbone-length blond hair and a strong jawline accentuated by a well-groomed beard. His wife, Lady Ovelgan, is only a few years younger—thirty-five, maybe—with a round, open face and an expression as smooth as polished stone, utterly unreadable. It’s easy to see why she was considered a great beauty when she was at court, though I know that beauty in the late Kaiser’s court was more curse than blessing. She has the look about her of someone at sea, praying to all of her gods that the waters stay calm and a rogue wave doesn’t overturn her small boat.

I almost pity her before I remember that I never asked for this war, either. It barged into my world unprovoked, and all I’ve done is try to put an end to it.

S?ren speaks first, bowing his head in a show of respect. “Lord Ovelgan, Lady Ovelgan,” he says to them in turn. “I hope we’re finding you well.”

“I’d be a lot better if you weren’t trying to march a rebel army through my lands,” Lord Ovelgan says, his voice deep and gruff, before reluctantly adding, “Your Highness.”

As forced as the address might be, it’s promising that he used it at all. It means that S?ren is right—Lord Ovelgan still sees him as royal, someone to be respected. It means that he is willing to hear S?ren out before he makes any decisions and sends word to Cress. He doesn’t spare me so much as a glance.

S?ren doesn’t miss a beat. “We can be out of your way in an hour’s time if you’ll let us pass in peace,” he says.

Lord Ovelgan gives a short burst of laughter. “You know I can’t do that,” he says. “You were always a brave boy, and headstrong.”

The words send a jolt through me, and I glance at S?ren. In all of his talking about the Ovelgans, he made it sound like he barely knew them, but Lord Ovelgan sounds so familiar with him.

Oblivious to my confusion, Lord Ovelgan continues. “I thought you would prove to be a better Kaiser than your father was, but I see you’ve chosen a different path at the feet of a girl.”

At that, he looks at me, and I wish he would go back to ignoring me, because there is so much hate in that final word that even Lady Ovelgan flinches.

I force a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ovelgan. Lady Ovelgan,” I say. “I think we can cut the theatrics. We all know that you’ll agree to let us pass through. It’s only a matter of what your price will be, and since you’ve been kind enough to meet us, I imagine you have your price in mind already. The sooner you tell us what it is, the sooner we can come to an agreement and be on our way.”

Lord Ovelgan doesn’t seem to be an easy man to stun, but I think I’ve managed it. He stares at me with his mouth open for a few seconds, until S?ren coughs in a poor attempt to hide his laughter at the ridiculous expression.

Lady Ovelgan places a delicate, bejeweled hand on her husband’s arm and smiles graciously at me, though I’m familiar enough with her type to notice the tension in her jaw, the irritation in her eyes.

“You’ll join us for supper tonight,” she says, more a command than an invitation. “What matters we have to discuss can be done so more comfortably. And I know the children would like to see you again, Prinz S?ren. You’ll both stay the night as well—it’s nearly dark, after all. Your men will stay here so as not to alarm our village.”

There it is again, the warm familiarity leaking through the polite courtesy. S?ren knows these people better than he let on. He knows their children. Why would he have kept that from me?

“We’ll arrange for our troops to remain outside the estate gate,” S?ren says smoothly. “But close enough for our security. And we’ll be bringing twenty guards inside, ten for each of us, plus Emperor Erik of Goraki.”

Lady Ovelgan’s eyes widen, though it seems to be more act than genuine surprise. A more natural smile curves her mouth. “Do you not trust us, Prinz S?ren, after everything we’ve done for you?” she asks, a mocking note in her voice. “How ironic, when it’s you who betrayed us.”

S?ren doesn’t acknowledge the barb but keeps his gaze leveled on Lady Ovelgan. “Your husband trained me to be wary of anyone who meant harm to myself or my crew,” he says, now looking between the two of them. “I don’t believe you would hurt me, but Queen Theodosia is the crew I’ve chosen, and I don’t doubt that if she stood before you alone now, you wouldn’t hesitate to harm her however you could. So no, Lady Ovelgan, it pains me to say that I don’t trust you. Perhaps you should bring that grievance up with your husband for training me as wisely as he did.”

Silence follows his declaration, and for a moment, I’m worried that S?ren has offended them so deeply that the Ovelgans will rescind their invitation for dinner and we’ll have to turn back. Instead Lord Ovelgan surprises me by laughing, the sound booming and clear and loud enough to be heard by the troops on either side.

I all but sag with relief as Lord Ovelgan steps forward, clapping S?ren on the shoulder.

“Whatever happens, boy,” he says, “it is good to see that you haven’t changed.”

S?ren returns his smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I have to disagree, sir,” he says. “I’ve changed quite a bit since I was your pupil.” He steps out of Lord Ovelgan’s grip. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says to both of them. “We’ll get our troops settled and gather our guards. We’ll see you at sundown.”

* * *

—

As S?ren and I make our way back to our troops, I grab his arm, forcing him to look at me.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Lord Ovelgan so well,” I say. “The way you talked just now, it was like you were family.”