Summoning a disc of water, Quinten turned the surface reflective. He took in the spare Core robe he swapped out for his dusty and slightly worn robe he wore for the journey. A light application of heated steam had the garment falling as it should. The wrinkles from being folded and stored, long gone. Squatting down, Quinten heated a piece of wax in his palms before giving his freshly rinsed boots a light coating. It was a task he would start having Declan perform, but for now, it helped settle his nerves. Satisfied that he was appropriately put together. Quinten released the conjured mirror back into its liquid state, returning it to the pitcher on his desk.

  Closing the door behind him, the sound of approaching footsteps brought a smile to his lips upon recognizing Harper as she turned the corner. She wasn’t alone, another female in matching brown robes, walking beside her. Quinten waited for the pair to reach him, hoping for an introduction.

  Smiling in turn, she came through, saying. “Hey, Q. This is Mallory Connors. Mal, meet Quinten Ashford.”

  Quinten dipped his head in greeting, taking in her long, trim legs that flowed into a full figure that caught his attention even under her outer-robe.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mallory.” He said with a smile.

  “Thank you for not calling me Mallory.” She said with a wink. “This one refused to stop once she found out how much I hate it.” Nodding in Harper’s direction. Harper feigning innocence all the while.

  I’m going to have to be careful around this one.

  Grinning, Quinten asked, “Are you both heading to the officer’s meeting?” To which the ladies nodded. “Do you mind if we swing by the Healing Ward? I need to check on someone.”

  *****

  “How’d your friend get hurt? I didn’t hear anything about the Drakovians attacking you all.” Harper asked as she led him through the garrison toward the Healing Ward. As an engineer, she spent much of her time coordinating the repair of sections of Northreach, and it gave her a thorough understanding of the fort’s layout and history.

  “We weren’t. He’s not hurt. He’s the new lieutenant for the Northreach Healer Unit.”

  Mallory stopped, the whites of her eyes standing out in contrast to her coal-black curls. “Wells is gone?“

  Slowing, Quinten blinked, saying. “I’m not sure who that is. Ronan was assigned as Lt. to NRHU back in the capital, and they weren’t changed when we got to Avoncross.”

  “By the stars, please tell me that man is gone.” She said.

  Harper laughed. “It wasn’t that bad, Mal.”

  Mallory frowned, but started walking again, quickly catching up to them. “How would you feel getting proposed to every time you showed up bleeding and in pain? I need to be healed, not wed. It’s not my fault he’s only a few months from turning twenty-five.”

  The image made Quinten laugh, and he grinned at the thought of Ronan proposing. “I don’t think you’re going to have to worry about that with Ronan. What will happen if he hits twenty-five without three wives? I’ve always wondered, but haven’t seen it happen yet.”

  “They will be assigned one.” Harper said from ahead, guiding them across an open square, cutting between two buildings. Quinten paid close attention, but the streets were all starting to look the same and he couldn’t recall if it had been two left turns or if they’d waited until the second turn a few streets back. “It doesn’t happen often. Usually, deals are made with the mage well in advance to secure a marriage on the woman’s behalf.”

  Mallory continued the explanation when Harper finished. “Either way, it won’t be one of us. There is a list of volunteers maintained in the Capital for female mages who want to be considered. I heard it is all random. He won’t get to pick his blushing bride. They didn’t want it to become some kind of marriage service.” With a wicked smile, her lashes kissed her cheeks in a practiced display. “Which leaves the two of us alone and vulnerable.”

  “I’m glad I have several years before that becomes a concern.” Quinten said, wisely choosing to side-step that conversation.

  They exited the narrow alley between buildings and Harper spun in place, dramatically splaying her arm, she said. “Ta-da! The Healer’s Ward. That’ll be a silver for services rendered. Do come again!”

  “Thank you.” Quinten said dryly, “I’ll send my valet with payment later.”

  The trio climbed the stairs of the towering building with Healer’s Ward engraved in large block letters into the stone above the entrance. There were no windows on the lowest floor, which Quinten found odd. He’d have to remember to ask Ronan about it later.

  Stopping before the front desk, Quinten waited until he had the receptionist’s attention to ask. “Excuse me. Where can I find Lt. Hastings?”

  The woman leaned on the counter slightly. Her brow scrunched in confusion.

  “The new healer?” Quinten prompted.

  “Oh! I’m sorry, my lord.” She said, her face lighting up. “I wasn’t able to catch his name earlier. I thought you were asking after a patient. You can find him one floor up.”

  Smiling, Quinten thanked the woman and led the ladies toward the stairs. The sound of shouting started halfway up. They reached the next landing, and a crowd standing before one of the rooms blocked the scene from view but did nothing for the two voices arguing.

  “You are going to kill him. His body can’t take any more healing!”

  “He’s borderline, but he’ll be fine. We can’t just have him lying here in pain while we wait for him to recover from a gut wound.”

  Quinten frowned. “That was Ronan’s voice.” He said, leaning into the group of onlookers, pushing his way through. “Excuse me. Pardon.” Forced to stop just outside of the door by two large men with their backs to him, Quinten tried once more. “Excuse me!” When neither moved, he created a wedge of telekinetic force that he shoved between the two of them and expanded, forcing them to stumble into those around them. He slipped into the gap he’d created and into the room.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Two red-faced young men, one on each side of the patient’s bed, stood nearly atop the poor soldier between them. His head rotating back and forth, fear and pain clearly written across his face. Ronan and the unknown man’s conversation was so intense, neither noticed as Quinten entered the room.

  Quinten guessed the man was a mage, judging by the brown of his clothes and the lieutenant’s rank sewn onto his chest. It made sense in an environment where one might wade through gore, bodily fluids, and other unpleasantness—hardly a place for a long, draping outer robe. He stood of a height with Ronan, their glares on level. The man was tan and well muscled, where Quinten's friend was thin and pale when his face wasn’t flushed with irritation.

  “Everything alright in here?” Quinten asked. Both men’s gazes remaining locked in a contest of wills that he didn’t think any of them had time for. “Ronan.” He called out. The use of his name penetrated, and Ronan blinked twice before scowling at the other man once more.

  “It’d be fine if he would get out of my way and let me finish with my patient.”

  The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Killing your patient is more like it. Do you think it is procedure make someone take the long way when healing an arrow through the gut? No!” He yelled and winced at the sound. Lowering his voice, he continued. “This man is too close to the edge. If you heal him anymore, his body will go into shock and he’ll die. Because of you, not his wounds.”

  The color drained from Ronan’s face, returning with a vengeance. It turned everything up to his ears a mottled red. Anger spilling from him so strongly that Quinten felt it through his mental barrier.

  He took a deep breath. Holding the other man’s stare, he slowly placed two fingers on the patient’s forehead before closing his eyes. A moment later, the soldier’s eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

  “Just because we can’t heal him doesn’t mean he needs to lie there in pain.” Ronan gritted out from between clenched teeth.

  The mage, who Quinten was assuming to be the infamous Wells that Mallory mentioned earlier, kept his eyes locked on the soldier, waiting for a sign that they’d pushed the patient’s body too far. When after nearly two minutes and no visible changes, it became clear he would be fine. The man turned on his heel and barreled out of the room without a word.

  Harper whistled from just outside of the room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Wells that worked up before. You’d better hope you never need him to heal you.”

  Ronan, still glaring at the now empty space, shook his head but said nothing.

  Quinten approached carefully, giving his friend a light pat on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. You look like you need some air and they are expecting us both at the officer’s meeting in case you forgot.”

  Ronan’s brow scrunched as he scowled. “I wonder if that lout will be there.”

  *****

  Walking into a room full of senior officers with a group, even if it was just the four of them, left Quinten feeling surprisingly at ease.

  The war room was larger than the private chamber the Lord Marshal had used to host them in Avoncross. Northreach lacked the size to warrant a separate planning space for the Fort Commander, so Quinten assumed this served as the primary strategy room for the entire garrison. He was also thankful for the added space. It was standing room only with over two dozen Army and Core officers in attendance. Servants wading through the drown offering refreshments added their own kind of chaos.

  Quinten stepped to the side and leaned toward Harper. Speaking softly, he asked. “How often are these held, where everyone is expected to come?”

  “Every week.” She said with a pained smile, mumbling just loud enough for him to hear.

  Quinten couldn’t help but frown. Weekly meetings for a dog and pony show like this seemed like an utter waste of time and resources. Having just walked through the garrison, he had noted at least three items that would improve the fortress that he would rather be doing instead of standing there.

  Lt. Wells entered smoothly from a side door, and Ronan straightened. His attention drawn to the man like lightning to a rod. Mallory saw the change in his demeanor, too. Nodding to Harper, she stepped up beside Quinten and slid her arm through his, with Harper doing the same to Ronan.

  “We still have some time before the commander arrives.” She said, pressing his arm tight to her ample chest. “We should introduce you two to the rest of the Core.”

  True to her word, Mallory and Harper introduced Quinten and Ronan to the remaining Core lieutenants assigned to Northreach. Thankfully, they were standing together, or it might have taken more time than they had available. Even so, their group of four was waylaid three times just crossing the room.

  Twice, young officers stopped them to speak with Mallory. The kicked puppy looks that each walked off with left Quinten with an impression. She kept any irritation off of her face, but the easy connection of Empathy he created through her grip on his arm told him all he needed to know. She was annoyed—a little angry, even, and worried. He could feel the attraction she felt toward him, and the way the anger and worry intertwined… He could only assume she was concerned about his opinion of her.

  The third interruption was actually due to him.

  “Q!”

  His name, coming at near battlefield-volume, had him freezing in place.

  Quinten thought he heard Mallory say something, but her words were lost when the ham-hock seized him by the arm and pulled him into a nearby group of army lieutenants.

  “Lads,” Barty said, “This is Q. Constantine’s replacement.”

  Quinten shook each of the three men’s hands and forgot two of their names instantly. The one he could remember was only due to how close it was to his own. He never got the chance to embarrass himself. The focus shifting from himself entirely to the woman dragged with him into the group, still clinging to his arm.

  “Well, now…” Barty said with a pair of raised brows. “Digging your claws in early with this one, are you, Mal?” The tone wasn’t exactly biting—but there was an underlying sharpness to it that made Quinten curious. He still had his connection with Mallory in place and felt the spike of pain the big man’s words caused. Which only added to Quinten's curiosity.

  “No claws.” Quinten said with a direct look at Barty, that he seemed to understand. With a smile to the other three, he added. “If you gentlemen will excuse me. Barty, I still owe you a drink.”

  Not waiting for a reply, he led Mallory past the group to where Harper and Ronan stood with two women in Core brown robes.

  An amalgamation of emotions roiled within Mallory. Quinten severed the connection, having learned far more than he’d intended about the woman.

  “Thank you for not…” She said, trailing off without finishing. Her tone shifted, missing the playfulness it’d carried since they’d met a few hours earlier.

  Unsure of what to say, he remained silent, patting the hand resting on his forearm as they reached the others.

  Locking eyes with one mage, her lips curved into a smirk. “Leave it to you two to not only meet, but you escort the new meat in on a silver platter.”

  Quinten raised a brow at her choice of words. The other mage’s blush made for an interesting contrast.

  “And you think of yourself as the wolf, licking your chops and ready for a meal?” He asked, looking her up and down. She was thick for a woman and she had her outer-robe open and splayed behind her shoulders in a way that left her arms bare. Muscles stood out along her trim arms, as did a number of scars.

  Her smirk turned into a leer and she pointedly licked her lips.

  “Good luck with that.” Quinten said, ignoring the woman’s scoff and dismissing her from his thoughts. His focus turned to the wide-eyed mage staring at him. Dipping his head politely, he held out a hand for hers and introduced himself. “Good evening, I’m Quinten Ashford, light calvary.”

  She placed her hand in his and blushed deeper as he kissed it gently.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quinten. I’m Talia Kenaston with the Archers.”

  Smiling, Quinten released her hand and moved to Ronan’s side, needing a break from the attention.

  He was in luck. Not a minute later, the main door opened and in walked the Fort Commander, followed by who Quinten assumed to be his second, and a procession of Captains. One of which would be his own.