Inspecting each as they passed, Quinten didn’t need to ask which Captain belonged to the Core, there being only one woman among their number. The Army’s upper ranks were filled predominately with men, a contrast to the Core being heavily slanted toward the opposite sex. Captain Elodie Leduc, according to his reporting orders, met his gaze briefly, shocking him when an empathic link formed instantly.

  Satisfaction at having spotted him—physical appreciation—curiosity and interest. The feelings flashed through him so quickly, he wasn’t sure who could claim which. Gasping, Quinten bent over, severing the connection. He looked up quickly, and just caught her sandy golden curls disappearing amongst the crowd.

  A familiar touch, and a sense of warmth flowing from it, helped him recover quickly. “What was that?” Ronan asked, concern lightly coloring his voice.

  “A surprise feeling.” Quinten said, ignoring the curious gaze he could feel centered on him.

  The procession reached the end of the room, where the main section of seating was arranged. Fort Commander Jensen Aldric shifted to face the awaiting junior officers. The man was wearing his full dress uniform with several medals of commendation. If his age were to be believed, he was late in his career. His large mustache having lost the majority of its color.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Army and Core, once again, we gather as the steadfast guardians of our great kingdom. While others sleep soundly in their beds, we stand watch, protecting the very foundation upon which future generations will continue to build on our legacy.”

  The more the man said, the words light of substance, and spoken in honeyed tones to a room full of subordinates, the more Quinten's stomach sank.

  “When our names are written in the annals of history, let it be for our discipline, our poise, and our unwavering commitment to tradition—not for scrambling about like common foot soldiers, desperate to scrape out a win.”

  He paused, glancing around the room with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Now then, onto the reports.”

  What followed, Quinten could only label a travesty of the Fort Commander’s own making. Each report was brief and seemed only to contain information that Commander Aldric wanted to hear. None of whom mentioned their inability to contain, nor anticipate, what the Drakovian’s would do next.

  Taking a glass from a passing server, Quinten downed its contents. Surprised at the taste, he sniffed the remnants. The wine being served was not bottom of the barrel quality.

  “Good shit, isn’t it?” Commented the as-of-yet introduced mage.

  He glanced at her, unsure if this was her way of trying to start over. Choosing politeness over being rude, he nodded at her in acknowledgement.

  Unable to resist the question, Quinten asked Harper. “Why isn’t anyone mentioning the fact we are getting strung around by our noses out there with no way to control the enemy’s movement?”

  Her eyes widened when he began, and she shook her head subtly. Quinten frowned slightly, but continued his question. By the end, he could see the whites surrounding her brown irises.

  “Is there something more important than the current state of the North?” The Fort Commander asked with a noticeable edge to his voice.

  Unfortunately, Quinten hadn’t realized that the Infantry Captain giving his report had stopped speaking. Commander Aldric’s hand still raised, asking for him to stop.

  The officers standing between their group and the commander drifted away like shadows retreating from the morning sun.

  “Ahh yes…” The Fort Commander said, meeting Quinten's gaze. “I heard we had two new lieutenants from the Core joining us this evening. Which are you?” He asked with a raised brow. The man gave Quinten a once over and shook his head. “You don’t look like a Healer. You must be the Lord Marshal's get, then?”

  Quinten frowned. Something about the distance between the Fort Commander and himself felt disadvantageous. Stepping away from Ronan and the support his presence provided, Quinten approached Commander Aldric where he stood beside the large map being used by those reporting to show changes. His eyes met Captain Leduc’s once more and again, Empathy twinged. Before it could develop into an actual connection, he turned to face the commander.

  Standing before the man, ringed by senior officers, Quinten saluted. “Yes, commander. I am Quinten Ashford.”

  "Hmm," said the Fort Commander’s second-in-command. “Welcome,” he finally said in a tone that conveyed the opposite. His lips pulling back to reveal overly large front teeth that met the lower row, but left enough space on either side for Quinten to catch glimpses of his shifting tongue.

  Aldric held out his hand with a flourish, and a servant ran over, maneuvering a glass into his palm. Taking a drink, the Fort Commander asked. “So… What would your fabled grandfather say about our progress?”

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  Quinten sighed internally. There is no way that this is going to play out in my favor.

  Considering his words carefully, he began gently. “You have done a remarkable job lowering response times and getting relief to those in need as quickly as possible.” Aldric smiled, nodding slightly, and taking another sip of his drink. It was the narrowed eyes of his second, and those of the Captains that had his throat going dry. He restrained himself from wiping his damp hands on his pants. The nearly three dozen gazes of those filling the room, baring down like a physical weight.

  “But…” he said, stopping when his voice grew scratchy. His eyes locked on a waiter carrying a tray of glasses filled with water. Drawing on his Gift, Quinten floated one over. He grasped it easily and took a drink, oblivious to the irritation that grew on Aldric’s face at being made to wait.

  “Excuse me.” Quinten said, clearing his throat and taking another sip of water. “But—everything I have heard is reactionary. What are we doing to force the Drakovian’s hand?”

  His question met with silence from the senior officers but hushed murmurs from those standing behind him.

  Aldric downed the remainder of his drink, gently placing it on the corner of a nearby table before signaling for another. While a servant rushed to comply, the Fort Commander asked. “We are in a defensive stance, in the words of your grandfather. It sounds like you think we should be doing more…” He trailed off, accepting a full glass. He raised it high and peered at Quinten through its contents. “What would you suggest, o’ Lord Marshal the younger?”

  Quinten bristled at the man’s tone, but kept the response from his face. The commander’s words deliberately chosen to provoke a reaction. Captain Leduc’s hand jerked, moving two fingers together to catch his attention. She shook her head, likely telling him to stop talking, but he ignored her.

  “I may.” He said slowly, adding a trace amount of his Gift into his voice so that it would carry to the entire room. “What have we done to limit their ability to cross into our lands? We chase them from village to village, hoping to catch them when they are slow and fat from plunder and slaves, rather than stop them at the border. Why have we not built a wall between fortifications? Just one would free up our forces to better cover the remaining gaps…” He trailed off, the dead silence of the room creating a tension that Quinten found difficult to speak through.

  The silence continued until the ringing tone of metal on glass filled the room. In what Quinten thought might be a nervous tick, Commander Aldric’s hand twitched in a way that caused the ring on his pinky finger to tap against the stem of his glass.

  Ting—ting-ting.

  The sound repeated several times before he appeared to get it under control.

  “Do you know what a wall signifies, Lt. Ashford?” Quinten went to answer, but Aldric’s raised hand stopped him. “No. I will tell you. It signifies weakness. And in this case, it would establish new borders. With everything beyond the wall, controlled by the Drakovians.”

  Quinten struggled to keep the frown off of his face. That is incredibly shortsighted, he thought.

  Aldric pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. He pinched the fabric between thumb and forefinger, using it to point at Quinten. “And that is without considering the resources required to make it happen. We’d need to pull every mage from the other forts to do it safely.”

  Quinten tuned the man out at that point, and when it became clear that the Fort Commander was done proving the Lord Marshal's grandson a fool. He slipped back into the crowd, rejoining the ladies and Ronan.

  “That went well.” Ronan murmured, knowing Quinten would hear him. He just sighed, nodding in agreement with his friend.

  Finding Harper’s eyes watching in concern, he asked in a low tone. “Do you know if Captain Leduc officially reports to him, or is she technically under the Mage Commander?”

  “Commander Taskin, but she’s expected to work closely with the Fort Commander.” Her eyes narrowed. The vulpine look from earlier making a reappearance. “Why…?”

  “Just wondering how much trouble we’ll get in for building the wall, anyway.”

  *****

  The next morning found Quinten up early, unable to sleep. He’d lain in bed for nearly half an hour before giving up and getting dressed for the day, even though the sun hadn’t fully risen. He did so quietly, not wanting to punish Declan for his insomnia.

  The boy waiting for him in his room when he returned from the officer’s meeting had been a surprise. Quinten had told the would be valet that he could stay with Layla and report to him in the morning after breakfast. It seemed the boy had a stubborn streak, though Quinten wasn’t sure how long it would last. He’d seen the look that Declan had given the room, likely surprised an Earl would be in such tight quarters. He couldn’t imagine the small cot the boy scrounged up would be more comfortable than staying with his sister.

  No special treatment for a lieutenant. He’d thought with a grin.

  Stopping to clean his teeth before leaving the room, Quinten pulled on a current of air, catching the scent of coffee. It wasn’t his drink of choice, but it was one that his Grandfather Henry had grown to love after too many late nights and early mornings. He followed his nose down to the third floor, where he found the source of the smell in a room he hadn’t noticed the day before. It was arranged with several chairs, couches, and a small kitchen. Seeing that there was plenty left in the clay jug sitting on the stove, Quinten poured himself a cup.

  He blew away the steam and took a sip, the bitter liquid burning the tip of his tongue. Satisfied, Quinten returned to the main room and the open door to his office that he’d passed coming in. The light shining onto the wooden planks through the doorway. It wasn’t hard for him to guess who he would find inside.

  Battle Mage Canton must have heard him moving around, because she looked up without surprise when he entered. She set her quill down and made to rise, but Quinten waved her off. He instead came to her and leaned against the desk.

  “I’ll get out of your office, sir. It’s just that everything was already here… and I’ll be heading back to my post soon—”

  “Don’t worry about it. Having you close will make getting up to speed easier, anyway.” Peaking at the document in front of her, he asked, “What is on the docket for today?”

  Canton leaned back in Quinten's chair with a slight upturn of her lips. “I—am riding out on patrol with about half of the unit. You.” She emphasized, “Will be meeting with Captain Leduc.” She pulled open a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, handing it to him.

  He read the brief message and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know if this came before or after the officer’s meeting?”

  “Before, sir.” She said, humor flavoring the woman’s voice. “If it were after, I imagine there would be more swearing.”