Page 36 of The Rising Wave

The estate manager went still, and then smiled. “Now that sounds like a story your grandmother would have wanted to hear.” He gestured to the house. “It's all yours, now, unless your parents . . .?”

“I saw my mother's body myself.” Ava couldn't keep the grief out her voice. “I heard my father died, too, and I have no reason to disbelieve it.”

“Then this is yours, and you need to visit the Grimwalt court and let them know what happened to you.”

She didn't contradict him, letting him take the dogs to give them food and water, and make a place for them in the stables.

But as she stepped into the house, she considered the suggestion and rejected it.

She had never had official dealings with the court. That had been her grandmother's role and while she had met many of the sons and daughters of the elected leaders of Grimwalt, she had never spent time with their parents.

Grimwalt, unlike Kassia, did not have a noble class. So those in control of the court now would not be the same as those she had mixed with before.

They had closed the borders in deference to her grandmother, though.

That probably meant they deserved at least a letter of explanation.

But actually going to court, getting caught up in meetings, and perhaps even coming face-to-face with some of Kassia's diplomats, if any were still left there, now the borders were closed, would be nothing but a huge waste of time.

She had a Herald to track down and administer justice to.

And she didn't want to wait.

Not when she had someone waiting for her on the eastern plains.

* * *

The camp spreadout before him, the lights from fires and a few torches illuminating members of his army as they talked quietly, or moved between the tents.

Luc swung down from the saddle and stood in the dark, looking at it.

He had never expected it to grow this big.

When he'd turned against the Kassians, slipped away the night before the battle and sought out the Venyatux camp with a proposal for their generals, he had never considered it would grow into something this huge.

That he would be responsible for so many.

And yet, this was the way to victory, and so he accepted it.

Accepted the weight of responsibility that came with it.

In the name of his mother, who had literally thrown herself in front of an army to protect him.

That sacrifice would not be for nothing.

He had made that promise when he'd seen her body, and then every day of his life in the Chosen camp he'd been sent to. Looking at the tent city lying before him, he made it again.

A sound, something he barely registered, came from his left, and he pivoted, sword raised, to block the strike that came down on him.

Metal met metal with a high-pitched ring, eager and sharp. But this had to be a watch guard from his own camp, and Luc did not want to kill whoever they were.

He jumped back, sword raised. “Who is there?”

His attacker paused, then stepped forward, so a little of the light from below lit his face.

“Commander?” He gaped at Luc, and then dropped his sword. “I . . .”

“What's this?” A voice called from the dark behind the guard, and Reven appeared, the stocky warrior holding a sword in one hand, an axe in the other.

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