Chapter Twenty-four

The command tent was crowded, but however exhausted Thea was, seeing Kipp in the centre lifted her spirits significantly. She threw her arms around him, squeezing until he gave a dramatic gasp for air and she released him.

‘What took you so long?' she demanded, hitting him lightly on the chest. ‘Did you find —'

‘Esyllt is a free man once more,' Kipp told her. ‘He'll be joining us soon enough, but for now…' He motioned to a detailed map spread out on the table before him. ‘I've been a busy man.'

Thea found herself beside Cal and Wilder as they, along with everyone else at command level, looked at the plans Kipp had put into place. They were far more detailed than even the model they'd had back at Naarva, with every hill and crest marked diligently.

‘I learnt a few things on my way here,' Kipp began, smoothing out the map with his palms. ‘In the early morning there's more fog, low visibility. Artos may use it as cover to attack. We need to double the sentries where we can, station some further out, perhaps with Terrence, or a shadow-touched who can alert us.'

Talemir nodded. ‘What else?'

‘I spoke with our scouts and double-checked the numbers they reported. Right now, there's no sign of an aerial force, wraiths or otherwise. He's marching straight from Tver on foot and with several cavalry units. According to our spies, they're a few days out at most.'

‘When can we expect Esyllt? And how many men will he have?' Wilder asked.

‘Within the next day or two,' Kipp said with a wince. ‘As for his numbers, I can't say. It was messy, getting out of Thezmarr. But judging by the reports, Artos will outnumber us, which is why we need to talk about this.' He pointed to a patch of land marked on the map. ‘See the lay of the land here? How the main river runs alongside this empty ravine? It used to be another riverbed. It's a flood zone,' he told them. ‘We can drive them back into that space.'

‘And what? Hope that it rains?' someone called from the back.

‘Exactly. If only we had a storm wielder in our midst,' he retorted sarcastically, with an incredulous shake of his head. ‘We need to draw them into this area here, and when we do… We have one of the princesses flood the shit out of it.'

Thea huffed a laugh, watching Kipp's mind work at breakneck pace.

‘Speaking of our beloved Delmirians…' He made a point of locking eyes with Anya, Wren and then Thea. ‘I think it's wise if we keep the three of you separate over the course of the upcoming battle.'

‘What?' Wren said. ‘We can work as one, Kipp. We can —'

‘I have no doubt,' he said, without his usual mockery. ‘But you're an easier target altogether. If they get their hands on not one, but all three storm wielders, well —'

‘We're fucked,' Dratos offered helpfully, then added, ‘What? You did say that was the military term for it, if I recall correctly.'

‘You're not wrong,' Kipp told him. ‘And in saying that, I propose we do the same with the Warswords where we can. It may weaken us a little initially, but it's a better alternative than —'

‘No fucking reaper's going to get its claws in me,' came a gravelly voice from the tent flap.

Along with the rest of the company, Thea turned to see Vernich the Bloodletter enter the command tent, dressed head to toe in Warsword armour, his hand on the pommel of his blade. He looked older, with more lines etched around his eyes, which scanned each and every one of them before his gaze landed on Talemir.

‘So it's true. The Prince of Hearts is the Shadow Prince of the rebellion,' he said, approaching the table and surveying their plans.

Talemir gave a derisive laugh. ‘Come to join our cause?'

‘I'm sick of the stench of burnt hair,' Vernich replied gruffly, before his attention fell to Kipp at the head of the table. ‘Who would have thought Thezmarr's most useless shieldbearer would be here planning our fights for us.'

‘You were always slow off the mark,' Kipp said casually.

To everyone's shock, a deep chuckle burst from the Bloodletter. ‘Never thought I'd say this, but… you're not half bad.'

Kipp looked at him, deadpan. ‘Your vote of confidence is heartwarming. You sure you don't want to have your apprentice beat me to a pulp again?'

As if in answer, movement at the entrance caught Thea's eye and she shuddered as Sebastos Barlow entered like a snake in the grass. He looked the same as he had the last time she'd seen him, his expression sour, his nose crooked from where she'd broken it with her fist.

Vernich made a noise of disgust. ‘That spineless prick is no apprentice of mine.'

Seb's face went bright red, and Thea didn't think she'd ever felt so much glee as she had in that moment.

‘Why the fuck is he here, then?' Wilder growled from behind her.

‘I owe his uncle a favour,' Vernich replied without an ounce of shame.

But from Seb's expression, he felt enough shame for them both, until he looked up and saw Thea. She watched the realisation dawn on his ugly face as his eyes tracked from the Warsword totem on her arm to the Naarvian steel sword at her belt. His nostrils flared, and pure, unadulterated fury blazed across his expression.

‘Keep looking at her like that,' Anya warned, stepping forward with her shadows spilling forth. ‘Keep looking at her like that and see what happens.'

Seb had the good sense to blanch, and run from the tent.

Vernich made that same noise of disgust.

Torj shook his head as he stared after Seb. ‘Must be one hell of a favour…'