#### Chapter 20

The parlor of Winceslav House was a spacious affair with ornate brick walls and a granite fireplace big enough to drive a pair of oxen through. Adamat had politely refused a seat from the butler and made his way slowly around the room as he waited for the lady of the house. There were a number of paintings of Lady Winceslav and her late husband, Henri Winceslav, as well as a single painting of the two of them with their four children. The painting was perhaps five years old, done just before the old duke passed away and each of the children had since been sent to boarding schools or resided in the country with their governesses, according to Adamat’s research.

Adamat examined the floor, the walls, and the doors. A lot could be discovered about the waxing or waning fortunes of an Adran noble family by observing the state of their manor. When money was tight, upkeep and repairs often fell behind as housing staff were let go and materials became scarce.

Everything was pristine. The wood furniture and brass hangings were polished, the floor recently replaced, and the brickwork dusted. Her mercenaries had done quite well, even without Lord Winceslav to direct them. They fought in Fatrasta against the Kez, against the Gurlish on behalf of the Brudanians, and just about everywhere else colonists from the Nine had the coin to pay them.

Adamat had to remind himself that it wasn’t Lord Winceslav alone who was responsible for the Wings. It was said Lady Winceslav had a mind sharp enough to match most field generals and that Lord Winceslav had relied heavily on her advice in all matters before his death. The lord had been clever; a man skilled with words and people. The lady was astute and practical; a forward-thinking planner.

Adamat faced the door when he heard voices in the hall outside. He smoothed the front of his waistcoat. A small group filed into the parlor: three men and a woman, all of them in white uniforms, military sashes of gold across their chests. Four brigadiers of the Wings of Adom. They were followed by Lady Winceslav. She wore a riding gown of fine purple wool, the collar pulled tight despite unseasonal warmth, and a matching shawl draped around her shoulders. Her heeled boots clicked on the wooden floor.

The commanders regarded Adamat with some wariness. He recognized two of them from paintings in the great hall outside: Brigadier Ryze was an older man, older even than Field Marshal Tamas, his hair as white as his uniform. He bore a number of visible scars on his hands and face and wore a white sash of linen across one eye to conceal a wound received in battle half a decade ago.

Brigadier Abrax was a woman, and her appearance could not have been more opposite Lady Winceslav’s. Short blonde hair was cropped above her ears. Her face was tanned and weather-beaten from too many campaigns in Gurla. Her uniform matched the others’ completely, apart from the slight bulge of small breasts. She regarded Adamat with a coldness he rarely felt from another person.

Introductions were short and brisk. The younger two were Brigadier Sabastenien and Brigadier Barat. Compared with their elders they were barely weathered, and looked almost like a pair of boys playing in their father’s uniforms. They couldn’t have been past their midtwenties. Brigadier Barat approached Adamat.

“I’d like to see your credentials, please,” he said briskly.

Adamat narrowed his eyes at the impertinence. “I showed them to the butler when I arrived. They are in order.”

“Even so…”

Adamat produced an envelope and handed it to the young brigadier. He forced himself to check his indignation. Unlike many modern armies, a commission in the Wings could not be bought. Everyone climbed the ranks. To be a brigadier at that age was remarkable.

Brigadier Barat read over Adamat’s papers. He crossed the room to his elders and handed them one of the papers—the note from Tamas that granted him freedom in the investigation.

“Why,” Brigadier Ryze said slowly, “does Tamas feel the need to imply threats to his closest advisers?”

“It’s just a precaution,” Adamat said. “An assurance that my investigation will proceed quickly, without any… hitches.” But there would be plenty, he was sure. Tamas’s note promised that anyone attempting to hamper Adamat’s investigation in any way would be presumed guilty, yet a hundred of those notes wouldn’t prevent nobles from trying to keep their secrets to themselves. Adamat wondered if Tamas would actually back up the threat if he were found facedown in the ditch outside the manor.

Brigadier Ryze handed the papers back to Brigadier Barat, who returned them to Adamat. Adamat took the papers from the younger brigadier without acknowledging him and returned the papers to his pocket. He could almost feel Barat seethe as he returned to his superiors. Barat had been plucked from the nobility, Adamat would wager. The type to look down on anyone beneath him and bend knee to anyone above him.

“Get on with it,” Brigadier Ryze said. “Lady Winceslav has nothing to hide.”

Adamat ran his gaze over the four brigadiers and turned pointedly to Lady Winceslav. She sat in one corner of the parlor, to the left and behind her brigadiers, as if she expected to be but a witness to an exchange of words. She seemed surprised when Adamat addressed her directly.

“Did you inform the Kez of the location of your meeting with Field Marshal Tamas?” he said.

“How dare you!” Brigadier Barat stood, hand going to the small sword at his side.

Adamat waited for a moment, giving the other brigadiers a chance to reprimand their younger comrade. They did not. Adamat pointed to Barat’s chair with the tip of his cane. “Sit.”

The brigadier blinked at him for a moment, jaw tightening, before he returned to his seat.

“Do I need to ask again, my lady?” Adamat said.

“I did not,” Lady Winceslav said.

Adamat allowed himself a small smile. “Let us pray you are all as forthright and honest.”

“That is unnecessary,” Brigadier Abrax said. Her tone was like a schoolteacher’s, the words said quickly, clipped off at the end.

Adamat paused for a moment. The brigadiers sat as if to form a shield around the Lady. He wondered if she was a fool to be prevented from speaking, of if they were really that protective of her.

“I am here to interview you, my lady,” Adamat said. “I’m not here to receive condescension from your brigadiers. I’m sure you have servants for that.” Adamat cringed inside. He was letting his annoyance do the talking. He could hear his old commanding officer from his young days in the force. The old man had been clear how you treat the nobility: Never antagonize them.

Lady Winceslav examined Adamat from beneath the brim of her riding hat for a moment. Her eyes were cool, her hands composed in her lap. She stood and crossed the room, taking a seat just opposite Adamat.

“Ask your questions, Inspector,” she said. Despite her polite tone, there was an air of superiority to her words, and her nose was turned up slightly.

Adamat sighed inwardly. It was the best he was going to get. “Why did you support Tamas’s coup?”

“I had many reasons,” the Lady said. “For one, the Wings of Adom would have been disbanded if Manhouch had signed the Accords with the Kez.”

“Why? The Wings of Adom are only based in Adro. They are not subservient to the king.”

“It was a stipulation in the negotiations,” she said. She leaned forward. “Do you know why Ipille wants Adro under his rule?”

“We have an abundance of natural resources,” Adamat said.

“That is a reason, yes. But Ipille and his royal cabal fear Adro. In Kez, the nation is run by the court. Nothing happens without their say. Adro is different. Despite his flaws, Manhouch was an open-minded king. He allowed the union, the powder mages, and my mercenaries to all operate independently of the court. This made Adro stronger. The Kez royal cabal fear the powder mages will make them obsolete. They fear the Mountainwatch for their control of the major trade routes through the heart of the Nine. And they fear the Wings of Adom, for Henri gathered the greatest military minds and men of courage from throughout the Nine and bought—and earned—their loyalty. The Accords stipulated that the powder mages would be disbanded, that the Mountainwatch would be reduced, and that the Wings of Adom could no longer function from within Adro’s borders.” She shook her head. “I could not have that—I would not have that.”

“You could have moved your headquarters to another country—even Fatrasta, far out of Ipille’s influence.”

“No,” Lady Winceslav said. “My husband chose Adro because it was his land and his pride. The Wings of Adom are not just any mercenary army. They are a secondary defense of Adro—and that is how Tamas will be using them in the coming war. I will honor Henri’s vision.”

Adamat examined the Lady. Her cheeks were flushed, her tone raised. She felt strongly about her husband’s mercenaries, and about Adro. If this was an act, it was a good one.

“Are the Wings being paid for their service to Adro?”

“They will receive a portion of the land confiscated from the nobility,” the Lady said.

“And if the Kez offer payment greater than what Adro can muster?”

Lady Winceslav drew herself up. “The Wings of Adom have never once switched sides after taking a contract. I’m offended that you suggest we would.”

“My apologies,” he said. “Why else did you go along with the coup?”

Lady Winceslav composed herself. “I agreed with Tamas’s opinion of the monarchy. It is an aged and corrupt institution.”

“You yourself are a prominent member of the nobility.”

Lady Winceslav removed an embroidered pocket fan from her sleeve and spread it out with the flick of her wrist. She began to fan herself. “Despite appearances, I was not born to such a position, nor was my husband. Henri was a soldier of fortune in Gurla, and I was the youngest daughter of a merchant. After Henri made his first fortune in textile manufacturing, he formed the Wings of Adom and purchased a duchy from an ailing old man without wife or children.”

Adamat blinked. “Duke Winceslav was not his father?”

She read his expression and gave a light laugh. “Kresimir, no. This is not common knowledge, of course. In fact, few people outside this room know about it. Tamas is one of them. I tell you only in the hope that it helps remove me as a suspect in your mind. Tamas and I are kindred spirits. I would never want him dead.”

Adamat let his eyes travel over the four mercenary commanders. They stared back at him, unblinking, sharp as hawks.

“Did you tell anyone, even the closest of confidants, about the meeting of the council?”

“No,” Lady Winceslav said, her chin raised. “Tamas forbade it. Not even my brigadiers knew.” She shot them a glance. “Much to their chagrin.”

Adamat asked a few more basic questions before he sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He struggled to hide a grimace. Nothing. Winceslav was a lady through and through. Polite and charming, and her cards held close to her chest. That bit about her husband buying the duchy… Adamat was sure that any of her enemies who could have used that against her were taken to the guillotine last month.

“Thank you for being so forthright,” Adamat said, careful to inject the proper amount of sincerity into his tone. “I do appreciate it.” He turned to the butler, who had just entered the room. “Is the manor’s staff gathered?”

The aged man gave a curt nod.

Adamat stood as Lady Winceslav did. The brigadiers followed suit. Adamat took her offered hand and touched his forehead to it. “I will finish with your staff as quickly as possible.”

“My staff and manor grounds are yours for the day, Inspector,” she said.

“One last thing, my lady.” Adamat paused in the doorway. “Do you have reason to suspect any of the other members of the council?”

Lady Winceslav paused halfway to her chair. She sat back down. “None that come immediately to mind. Charlemund is a man of Kresimir. I would never suspect the vice-chancellor; Prime is an old family friend—a scholar. The Proprietor must be at the top of your list. He is a criminal, after all, despite his connections. I’d heard that Ondraus and Tamas have been arguing about the city ledgers for weeks, though I’m sure there’s nothing more to that.” She frowned. “I did hear that Ricard Tumblar sent a delegation from his union to Kez just after the coup. Seems he wants to start a chapter there.”

Lady Winceslav rose and bid him good day. The brigadiers filed out behind her, leaving him alone with the butler.

Adamat interviewed the house staff and groundskeepers for hours before he moved outside and began to walk around the manor grounds. SouSmith joined him outside, looking almost as if he’d burst through the chest of his new suit of clothes.

“Well?” SouSmith asked.

“She is a capable old vixen,” Adamat said. “Despite what her brigadiers want us to think.” He glanced over his shoulder. Brigadier Barat and Brigadier Abrax had appeared from a side door after he exited the house. They made no effort to conceal that they were following him and SouSmith. Adamat spied an outbuilding some ways off and veered into a field toward it, just to see how far the brigadiers would follow them.

“The brigadiers are very protective of her. I think it is more likely one of them betrayed Tamas, rather than that she did—though she claims none of them knew the location of the meeting. Of course, that doesn’t rule out that she was spied upon, or even…” He mulled over the idea before speaking it out loud. “Or even spoke in her sleep.”

SouSmith gave him a look.

“I cannot rule out the idea,” Adamat said, “however improper, that she’s sleeping with one or more of her brigadiers. I don’t see her as the type to bed a woman, so that rules out Abrax. Sabastenien and Barat are both handsome young men, while Ryze has a particular grizzled quality that women of all ages find attractive.”

They followed an old track as it looped toward the horse stables and out of sight of the manor house through a thick forest. The two brigadiers remained a comfortable distance behind them.

“Not one of the staff has seen anything suspicious in the previous two months. They remember Tamas visiting a number of times over the last year, but not once since the coup. There have been no strangers about the place, no one to suggest a Kez agent.” Adamat shook his head. “She will start low on my list of suspects. One thing did bother me, however. She mentioned that Ricard Tumblar sent a delegation to King Ipille of Kez. I had not heard that from any other source. It makes me wonder…” He tapped his cane on the ground. “We’re done here.”

They reached their waiting carriage a dozen paces ahead of brigadiers Abrax and Barat. Adamat turned at the door of the carriage and leaned against it, waiting for the pair. They approached him without hesitation.

Brigadier Abrax spoke. She was distant, cold, as if she was thinking of a battle far away and barely had the time—or interest—in Adamat. “I hope your investigation has been concluded in regard to our mistress, Investigator,” she said.

“My investigation is ongoing,” Adamat replied. “I’ll be sure to inform Lady Winceslav if she is needed further.”

“She will not be bothered,” Barat said. Abrax gave him an unreadable look, and he fell quiet.

Adamat pretended to ignore Barat, focusing his eyes on Abrax. Inwardly, he examined the young brigadier. Why was he so protective? Son-like affection for the widow, or something deeper. Aloud, he said, “I’m conducting an investigation. I’m not some salesman, harrying your mistress without cause. Now then.” He opened the carriage door. “I have other suspects to bother.”

Brigadier Barat stepped forward as the carriage door shut and put his hand on the windowsill. “Brigadiers of the Wings of Adom are not to be trifled with, Inspector. Do not push the limits of your authority.”

Adamat pushed the brigadier’s fingers from the carriage window with the end of his cane. “Don’t try my patience, young man. I’ve dealt with worse than you.” Adamat rapped twice on the ceiling and the carriage began to move. That one would be a problem sooner or later.

“Bo says you’ve wrapped me in protective sorcery.”

Taniel fell into step beside Ka‑poel. She gave him a sidelong glance, her green eyes unreadable. She’d avoided him as they made their way off the mountain, by walking either far behind or far ahead. It could have been coincidence that she was always bundled to the ears, unable to talk whenever they passed close by. He thought not. She knew he wanted to ask questions.

Another long glance. They kept trudging through the snow, snowshoes making the going slow and awkward, but saving them from falling through the soft middle layer and having to wade through the stuff.

“Thank you,” Taniel said.

Her next look was surprise. He resisted a smile.

“He says you’re very powerful,” Taniel said.

She paused for a moment and turned toward him.

“I wonder what I did to deserve your protection.”

Ka‑poel reached out a bare hand and touched his face.

Taniel had an image of Ka‑poel in the back of a muddy hut, naked and afraid, crying. They’d blinded her with some herb to keep her from trying to escape, and, unseeing, she had flailed about with a sharp stick, trying to kill one of her captors, when Taniel had entered the hut. She’d recognized his voice, and he’d been able to calm her. He remembered the cuts on her stomach and thighs, and the blood on her face.

The vision left Taniel gasping. He slowed down to steady himself, suddenly weak in the knees. Had she done that? The vision had been from his own eyes. How could she…? He shook his head. He’d ceased trying to guess what she could or couldn’t do.

They reached a lip of the trail overlooking the Mountainwatch. Bo was a few paces ahead of them, and when Taniel heard a sharp inhalation of breath from Bo, Taniel rushed up beside him.

It seemed the whole world spread out beneath them. Not far below, Shouldercrown sat on the mountain ridge separating Kez and Adro, like a cork in the center of a dam. Below that, tiny from this height, Taniel saw men.

They filled the basin just below Shouldercrown on the Kez side. There was a sea of tents, and roads that looked like serpents leading back to the center of Kez, each one of them writhing like lines of ants.

“An army,” Bo breathed.

“The whole damned Grand Army.” Taniel took a snort of black powder.

Gavril grunted. “Or well near it.”

“Where the pit did they come from?” Taniel asked. “We’ve been on the mountain, what, six days?”

“Seven,” Gavril said.

“They weren’t there when we left,” Taniel said.

Gavril just shrugged. “I was too drunk to know.”

“They weren’t there,” Taniel said with certainty. “War was declared”—he did some math in his head—“less than three weeks ago. How could they possibly gather the entire army in that time? And why are they here, when Surkov’s Alley is an easier target?”

Taniel found they were all looking at Bo.

“Julene,” Bo said with a sniff.

“No,” Taniel said. “No way she knew about the army. She’s been with me for five weeks.”

“It’s not her army,” Bo said. “But I’d be willing to bet she’s going to use it.”

“How?”

“Plans within plans,” Bo said. He avoided Taniel’s gaze. “She let slip once that she’s well known in the Kez court.”

“We’re not going to find her body, are we?”

Bo shook his head. “She fell on the Kez side anyway.”

“Then what now?” Taniel asked.

Gavril took a deep breath. “We take our places at the Mountainwatch. We do what the Mountainwatch has done for a thousand years.” He drew himself up. “We defend Adro.”

They reached the fortress by the middle of the afternoon. A small group of men and women waited at the northeast gate. Closer, a group of three women were rushing up the path. Taniel didn’t even need to guess who they were.

Privileged were magnetic to the opposite sex. Most agreed it was their bearing and power. It was common knowledge that their constant interactions with the Else gave them incredible sex drives, so few Privileged, especially the males, went without a harem. Bo was no exception.

Bo pushed them and their questions away with a brusque wave of his hand and instead went with Fesnik and another Watcher named Mozes, who took him away without a word. Ka‑poel disappeared at some point, leaving Taniel alone with Gavril.

“I want to get a better look at that army,” Gavril said.

Taniel followed him across the bastion. He’d need to get a good look at this army to report to Tamas.

Workers were everywhere. Taniel had not imagined so many people could fit in the Mountainwatch bastion and he wondered if reinforcements had been sent from Adopest. Watchers rushed around in a frenzy, most of them carrying muskets or rifles. Despite the hurry, no one seemed to actually be doing anything. The Watch was in top shape and they’d done their preparations. Now they awaited the attack.

The southern wall of the fortress was an ancient bastion, designed with the contours of the mountain in mind. The reality of artillery fire meant that the town could be bombarded quite easily from falling munitions, while the wall itself would remain almost undisturbed. The points of the bastion were filled with fixed gun emplacements—as many as could be crammed into the space. It fairly bristled.

Taniel and Gavril went out to the tip of the bastion. They could see the whole mountainside from here and Taniel couldn’t help but wonder how suicidal the Kez troops would have to be to attempt to take the Mountainwatch. There were miles of switchbacks within clear sight of artillery and small arms, and only one flat approach to the main fortress—straight up the road. Anywhere else, they’d have to scale the mountainside and then the wall, all while under fire from above.

Taniel held up his thumb, trying to gauge distance.

“There’s a town halfway down the mountain,” Gavril said. “Called Mopenhague. They’ve set their advance camp there.”

“How far?”

“In a straight line?” Gavril said. “Three miles. Just out of range of artillery.”

“Not too far for me.” Taniel would crease a few heads when the fighting started, and they’d have to move their camp back another mile.

“Novi’s toes!” Gavril was frowning down the mountain. “Those idiots.” He grabbed a young Watcher by the shoulder and pointed down the slope. “Who’s letting them get this close? They’re within musket range, no problem. Almost to our redoubts!”

The boy shrugged. “Sorry. They’ve just been coming up. No one’s given the order to fire. We sent a runner to Adopest when the army arrived, but we haven’t gotten orders yet.”

Taniel searched the slope for where Gavril had been pointing. There was a thin ribbon of men moving up and down the switchbacks. Their uniforms were sand-colored with green trim. Kez infantry. They carried timber and tools, and they were coming up just below the redoubts. Adran soldiers in the redoubts simply watched as the men worked.

“Pit,” Gavril said. He stormed down to the gate and out into the road. Taniel snatched up his rifle and a spare powder horn and followed.

The redoubts were a series of six small forts jutting out from the corners of the first few switchbacks down the mountainside. They contained one small fixed gun each and enough men to staff them with a few riflemen beside. The snow had been shoveled from them recently, the big guns moved out from the fortress. Taniel guessed no one had staffed those redoubts for a hundred years.

Taniel and Gavril descended to the last redoubt on the mountainside. Gavril crossed the walk over the switchback below.

“Who’s the corporal of this redoubt?” Gavril asked.

A man raised his hand. He was regular army, wearing the blue of Tamas’s forces, sent up from Adopest to reinforce the Mountainwatch. He gave Gavril a skeptical look. “Me. Who are you?”

“A Watcher,” he said. “Why are you letting the Kez set up artillery stations and”—he glanced over the wall—“sapper tunnels?”

Taniel frowned. Why would the Kez be working on sapper tunnels? They were too far out to undermine the bastion, and the redoubts could be rushed with enough men—certainly the preferred choice for most generals. They were simply a point at which to give advance fire. As soon as the enemy got past the switchback below, the men would retreat to the fortress.

“Look, I don’t have to take this from you,” the corporal said, interrupting Gavril’s berating. “I may not be a Watcher, but I still outrank you… whoever you are.”

Taniel wasn’t sure of Gavril’s rank. The Mountainwatch had their own system. He pointed to his powder keg pin. “And I outrank you. Listen to him,” he said.

The corporal scowled at Gavril, though Gavril was two heads taller and twice his weight. “Well, what are we supposed to do?” the corporal asked.

Taniel could hear the big mountaineer’s teeth grinding.

“Your rifle loaded?” Gavril asked.

Taniel handed him the rifle. Gavril gave it a once-over, running a finger down the length of the barrel with an admiring whistle. “This,” he said.

He leaned out over the bulwark and fired. A sapper not fifty yards away pitched to the ground. Kez workers scrambled for cover.

Gavril handed Taniel his rifle. “The war’s started,” he said to the corporal. “Rake those bastards with shot until they’re all running scared, or until they get Privileged up here to slap you down.”

The corporal looked to Taniel for affirmation. “Go at it,” Taniel said.

Taniel walked beside Gavril as they headed back to the fortress. Behind them, intermittent musket fire began to pop, followed by the shouts of Kez soldiers.

“Won’t a Privileged just stamp out these redoubts without a thought?” Taniel asked.

The light artillery thumped behind them. “Go at it!” Gavril shouted to the next redoubt. “Anyone that comes in range!” To Taniel, he said, “This whole mountainside is warded. Every brick of those redoubts, and of the bastion, was slathered in protective sorcery when it was built.”

“That was hundreds of years ago,” Taniel said, glancing back uncertainly. The Kez royal cabal would come soon, he had no doubt of it. He wondered how long Bo could hold them off. Not long. He was just one Privileged.

“They had stronger stuff back then,” Gavril said. “They say the power of the Privileged has waned over the centuries since gunpowder. They used to be able to make wards to last a thousand years. Now it’s not often that wards will last past a Privileged’s death.”

Gavril seemed to know a lot about sorcerers and the like. Taniel studied Gavril for a few moments. He barely resembled the drunk who’d guided Taniel up the side of the mountain a week ago.

Mozes, Bo, and Fesnik were waiting for them on the bastion when they reached the fortress.

“I see you started the shooting,” Bo said. He held a cloth over his nose and mouth. Taniel sniffed the air. Clouds from the black powder were already blowing up toward them. It would soon get far worse. Bo was not going to have a good time once the artillery lit up.

“Someone needed to,” Gavril said. Watchers had come running at the sound of gunfire and now watched as the sappers began to retreat down the mountain. “Ho there,” Gavril said to a nearby group. “Prime the batteries. Give them some support. We don’t lack ammunition. I don’t want those sappers getting to the bottom of the mountain.”

Bo and Mozes exchanged a long look. “You’re taking charge, then?” Mozes said.

“Pit, no,” Gavril said. “Just prepping the men for Jaro. Where is he?”

Mozes shook his head. “Something’s taken him. He’s far sicker than we imagined. Can barely move. Doctor says he might not live out the night.”

Gavril’s eyes looked sad for a moment, and then it was gone behind a stony façade. “So be it.” He whirled on one foot and marched down along the bulwarks. “You there! Bring those balls. More powder kegs!” He was off, giving orders, throwing about his ham-sized fists.

“Wait,” Taniel said. Jaro must have been the Watchmaster. “He’s second in command?”

“Used to be Watchmaster, before he started drinking,” Bo said. Mozes had gone off after Gavril, and Fesnik went to fetch a rifle.

“Sure, he was a competent guide, but… him?”

“Yes. Him.” Bo shook his head. “He, uh… well, it’s not my place to tell you. Gavril’s our man, don’t worry. Ah,” he added, glancing over the bulwark. “I see they’re getting ready to hit back.”

A company of men had left Mopenhague. Another company was lining up behind them, and then another. It looked like they were going to try an early rush. It would be close to dark before they got close enough to take a shot. But the war had started.

“Next!” a man called.

Nila shuffled to the head of the line. She stood on the front step of the House of Nobles, at the heart of the Adran army in their new headquarters. Somewhere behind her, the guillotines that had taken the nobility were long gone, but the stains from the blood they’d shed still remained. The sun beat down on her shoulders, the wind mussing her auburn curls. She smoothed her hair against her head. In her new dress she looked a hundred times richer than anyone else in the unemployment line.

The man behind the table looked her up and down. “You don’t look like you need a job,” he said. He wore a blue Adran army uniform with the staff emblem of a quartermaster on his breast beneath three service stripes.

“I’m a laundress,” Nila said, holding her head high. “I keep my clothes pristine.”

“Laundress, heh? Dole, the Noble Warriors of Labor need any laundresses?”

A man sitting behind the next table over looked up at Nila. “No,” he said. “Boss says we have too many already.”

Nila shifted her skirt around. “I heard the army was looking for laundresses.”

“Lass, a girl with your looks should not join the army.” The quartermaster leaned back. “It’s just a bad idea.”

“I heard they pay well. Provide a tent and everything. I could make ten times what a soldier does.”

“That’s true,” the quartermaster said. “But I wouldn’t brag about it if I were you. We pay better than the union for someone with skills. Are you sure?”

“I need the money,” Nila said. She jerked her head toward the empty spot the guillotines had once held. “My last employer wound up losing his head, and no one else pays as well.”

“Hear that story a lot these days,” the quartermaster said. “You’re not one of those royalists, are ya?”

Nila leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “My lord took me to bed twice a day since I was eleven,” she said, injecting as much venom as she could into her voice. “I spit on his head when it dropped.”

“I see.” The quartermaster chewed on the end of his pen. “You’ve got fire. Something tells me you can handle yourself. Still, I’ll put you working for the officers. Safer with them. Usually. Can you sew? I think the field marshal needs a seamstress.”

“That would be perfect,” Nila said, smiling the first real smile she’d had in weeks.