Page 63 of A Matter of Destiny

Then his face changes. His skin goes pale, then flushes. Someone stumbles up behind him, almost knocking into his heavy pack, and curses. The word dies half-formed on his lips as he sees me.

Five men. Five soldiers are stumbling along behind Anslo, filing into the clearing. Trying to decide if they should stare at me or not, their eyes jumping wildly from the curve of my breasts to the trees above me and then back to my tits.

I know them all, of course. I’ve spent my life in the Royal Barracks. I know every single one of them. Anslo’s eyes grow wide. I prop a hand on my hip and sneer.

“R-Rayne?” Anslo finally stammers.

“Anslo,” I reply, nodding my head to acknowledge his higher station.

Just like I did that day in the market, when I saw him with a woman who was piling silk and ribbons into the basket in his arms. I didn’t need anyone to explain she was the wife he’d somehow neglected to mention during our time together. The way he’d smiled at her had told me everything.

“W-Wha—” he stammered.

I grin at him. The look on his face is almost worth standing naked in front of the men whose respect I’d tried to earn for years.

“I lost a damn bet,” I announce. “You gonna give me a cloak, or what?”

Anslo drops his pack faster than I’ve ever seen him do anything. He seems to be suddenly very interested in the ground at his feet as he unties the tethers holding his cloak to the top of his pack. His hand trembles as he thrusts the fabric in my direction.

I grab it, drape it over my shoulders, and then take my sweet time threading my arms through the holes and tying the front together. Anslo clears his throat about fifty times while I’m doing so, and the men behind him shuffle so often the pine needles at their feet grind into dust.

“Thank you,” I say, delicately, as I finish fastening the knots that hold the front of the cloak together.

The heavy wool cloak scratches my back and shoulders, and it smells like it hasn’t been washed since the day it was pulled off the loom, but at least now the men will be able to look at my face.

Anslo clears his throat yet again.

“Rayne,” he says. “You’re, what? Here to deliver a message?”

I nod at the brilliant cover story he’s just handed me. His brow furrows.

“He didn’t tell you anything, right?” Anslo continues.

“Of course not,” I say, playing along. I have no idea who he is or what he might have told me, but I’m going to use every bit of information this idiot lets drop.

Anslo grins. It’s an expression that tugs a few erotic memories out of the pit where I’d tried to shove them, but they don’t sting so much this time around.

“Just wait ‘till you see it,” Anslo says. “You’re not gonna believe it.”

I wouldn’t believe anything out of you, my mind snaps, but I close my teeth around that thought, smile sweetly, and fall into line behind Captain Anslo of His Majesty’s Royal Army.

We climb through the pine forest as the sun fills the sky. There’s a clear path here, unmistakable from the ground but hidden from the sky, that threads under the thickest pines and sticks to the shadows. It makes for slow going, traveling in a line along this circuitous path up the mountain’s flank, and I’m grateful to only be hauling myself and not one of the heavy leather packs the men are shouldering.

The ground grows steeper and the pines closer as the valley pinches together. Anslo veers suddenly to the left, almost vanishing behind a massive boulder. I follow him, and my breath dies on my lips.

There’s the army. The entire Valgros army is camped on this ridge, bivouacs huddled around cooking fires, men swinging swords or moving very carefully on clear paths between encampments.

I stand, frozen in shock, as the men behind me shuffle past, nudging each other out of the way. The entire camp is disturbingly silent. A few men raise their hands in greeting, some nod, and there’s an occasional cough and snort, but I hear none of the shouts or jeers I’d expect when soldiers rejoin their platoons.

“It’s something, ‘ain't it?” Anslo whispers, leaning close.

I swallow, then nod.

“It’s so quiet,” I whisper back.

Anslo nods.

“Fucking dragons,” he hisses, with the sort of expression on his face that used to make me think he was intelligent. “They can’t see us, but they’ve got ears. You spot them silver wires?”

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