Page 40 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Casimir slides out of me with all his usual tenderness and caresses my thigh. “You can always count on us to take care of you, Ivy.”

“In every way we possibly can,” Stavros adds in a raw voice.

Casimir unties my ankles and then my wrists. My hands immediately dart out to slip around the backs of their necks, drawing one lover and then the other in for another kiss.

As we nestle together for a moment, still coming down from the high, a pang reverberates through my chest.

Casimir made his point. I know not everything here depends on me.

But gods above, do I wish nothing at all depended on any of us. That we could stay here in this cocoon of peace for the rest of our lives.

What’s going to become of the trust and understanding we’ve forged when we have to face the judgment of the outside world once more?

Twelve

Stavros

The sun is sinking by the time I spot the crossroads up ahead. I turn my stallion to the left before I reach the marker, a mix of trepidation and relief congealing in my gut at the sign that my destination is close at hand.

I’ve been riding for hours, but I’ve made it here in about the time I expected. I wanted darkness to be falling before I approached the small fort where one of my old colleagues has been posted for the better part of the past year.

I tie the horse well out of view of any road and make the rest of my approach on foot.

There hasn’t been much military activity in this part of the country in years, so I don’t encounter any sentries patrolling the grounds around the building. I’d imagine Major Pawlem has gotten a little restless while overseeing this post. But it’s not far from the Icarian border to the southwest, and they could rush to help if Darium came at us across the Seafell Channel to the east.

The forest has been cleared around the stout stone building with its high surrounding wall. The fort will house the major, a captain or two, and perhaps thirty infantry prepared to run a first line of defense against an attack. They’ll mostly have been occupied with tracking down local bandits and highwaymen.

I stop at the edge of the clearing where the shadows of the trees still conceal me, the tart scent of the autumn leaves filling my nose. Lanterns gleam in several of the windows. The soldiers may be just sitting down to their dinner.

I spot a figure in the tower that juts up over the arched doorway and two others standing guard on the ground on either side of the gate. As I watch, one makes a brisk circuit of the wall. They talk in low voices for a few minutes, passing the time with idle conversation, and then the other makes his own circuit.

Pawlem will be inside. I don’t fancy marching into the midst of a squadron that may have gotten orders to arrest me on sight, so I need to contrive a reason for him to come out here.

I considered the problem for the entire ride out here, but I still pause and work through it in my head before stepping forward. One misstep, and this errand I decided to attempt will put everyone I care about at even more risk than before.

The two soldiers on the ground snap to attention the moment I’ve taken two paces from the trees. I stop before one has even hollered, “Who goes there?”

I keep my prosthetic tucked under my cloak so they can’t identify me by it. The cloak’s hood and the thickening dusk should hide my next most distinguishing feature: my hair.

I can’t do anything about my face or size, but it’s relatively unlikely that either of these two will have encountered me in person for any significant length of time. The plain trousers and jacket I borrowed from the Haven won’t fit their image of the great General Stavros.

“I’d like to speak with Major Pawlem,” I say evenly. “I assume he’s still stationed here? But I’d prefer to keep the conversation outside for discretion’s sake. If one of you go in and tell him the man he always beat at three-snap has stopped by, I’d imagine he’ll come.”

I've kept my tone mild, with just a hint of the commanding air I'd have projected if I had any real authority here. The pair draws themselves even straighter, studying me with more intense concentration.

I'd imagine they're not quite sure what to make of a man who dresses like a peasant, speaks like a noble, and refers to their superior officer with such familiarity.

The woman replies first, with a stern expression to offset her obvious confusion. "I think you'd better come inside. If the major is willing to speak with you, you should see him there."

"For the security of the country, I feel that would be unwise." Really for my own security, but a call to patriotism should work better as motivation. "Pass on the message. If he refuses, we can worry about alternate arrangements."

The soldiers step closer to each other to murmur in private conference. Their hands rest on the hilts of their swords at their hips. I keep my hand loose at my side, well away from my own blade, but I'm ready to retreat into the woods if they decide to take an aggressive approach.

They're good infantry, looking out for their commander and the safety of the fort. Watching them sends a twinge like homesickness through my chest.

It's been over a year since I last commanded anyone other than the students at Sovereign College. I never felt anywhere near as alive in the classroom or the courtyard as I did planning strategy, giving pep talks, and leading forays along the borders.

My vision fogs, reminding me of why I'm never going to take on that role again. What I'm doing right now is the closest thing to fighting for my country that I'm capable of anymore.

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