The dawn broke the horizon, their camp organized to military precision, the squires and the knights they'd reunited with swelling their numbers twofold. Two small pots burned over open flames, carrying the smell of scavenged herbs.

  Horseradish, some fish then?

  The squires were up and at it very early in the morning, drilling the basics of their swordplay in mechanical synchrony.

  Last I'd seen such coordination the Gigantomachia of Mecone started, the tyrant titans, marching to their doom against the Olimpiads.

  Wonder if they've broken through their constraints or not.

  She made a note to visit the Choleran mountainside and check whether it had turned into a volcanic wasteland when she found the time.

  Getting ready come morning was a fast routine, using supplies hidden in a secure pouch, she kept the snakes of the torment her flesh had sustained hidden. She had observed the squires for a time already.

  Lynara watched from her position near the edge of camp, a blanket still wrapped loosely around her shoulders in the cool morning air. A week of travel since Porto Agile had established patterns and hierarchies among the expanded party, the reunited knights maintained their stoic distance, while the squires operated in their own nervous orbit, stealing occasional glances at the Sverdish noblewoman in their midst.

  One squire in particular had caught her attention, Matteo, a boy no older than sixteen with soft eyes and deft hands, currently tending to the morning meal with unusual care. Unlike the others who regarded her with suspicion or fear, his glances carried curiosity, perhaps even admiration. He'd been watching her when he thought she wasn't looking.

  An opening presents itself, she thought as she rose gracefully, stretching as though to ease sleeping muscles, a performance for anyone observing. Caldus was occupied with his senior knights, reviewing maps and plans for the day's journey. Perfect timing.

  She approached the cooking area with a casual gait as though merely seeking warmth from the morning chill.

  Ser Tomas noticed her movement immediately, his eyes drifting to her in an moment, his body like a coil ready to spring, but he didn't intervene when he saw her destination. The cooking fire hardly constituted an escape route.

  "The horseradish is too strong," she said conversationally, stopping a few paces from where Matteo crouched by the cooking pots. "It will overpower the fish."

  The squire started, nearly dropping the wooden spoon he held in the pot. His eyes darted toward the knights' gathering, clearly wondering if he was permitted to respond.

  "I—I wasn't certain of the proper amount," he admitted after a moment, his voice low. "We found it growing wild near the stream."

  Lynara smiled, an harmless look. "In my homeland, we balance it with sweetroot, but I don't suppose you've any of that here." She tilted her head slightly. "May I?"

  She gestured toward the pot. Matteo hesitated, conflict evident in his young face. A knight's squire was not supposed to fraternize with diplomatic guests of uncertain status, yet the prospect of ruining the morning meal for his superiors was equally concerning for a boy his age.

  "I've prepared meals for fishing parties before, during the harbormaster festival." she added, her tone light. "Consider it a small repayment for your protection."

  After another moment's hesitation, Matteo shifted slightly, making space beside the fire. Not quite an invitation, but permission nonetheless. Lynara moved forward and knelt beside him, careful to maintain a respectful distance, not close enough to alarm, but near enough to survey the contents of the pots.

  One pot contained a simple porridge, but the other held freshly caught river trout, their skin still glistening. The horseradish had indeed been added with a heavy hand, likely by someone unfamiliar with its potency when fresh.

  "You have good instincts," she noted, pointing at the fish preparation. "Cleaning them this way preserves the flavor. Is cooking one of your assigned duties?"

  "We rotate, my lady," Matteo replied, gradually relaxing as the conversation remained focused on the innocent topic of food. "But I learned from my father before joining the Order. He was a cook in Lord Vellani's household."

  Interesting. A connection to the noble family of Vellano, however distant. Lynara filed away this information as she examined the available herbs and seasonings laid out on a small cloth beside the fire.

  "What else did you bring besides the horseradish?" she asked, her fingers hovering over the small collection.

  "Watercress. Some dried onions. And this is something I found growing nearby, I scavenged other things too." He held up a small bunch of delicate leaves with a purplish tinge to their edges.

  She recognized it instantly, blood thistle, rare in these parts, and not something a novice would typically identify as edible. More intriguing was its alchemical properties; when properly prepared, it could temporarily enhance perception. Nothing dramatic, but enough to sharpen the senses for a brief time. In small doses and when wielded by an amateur at least.

  "Ah, throat mint," she lied smoothly, using a common name for an entirely different, but easily mistaken for, plant. "An excellent choice for fish. It grows in the cold mountain streams of my homeland as well."

  As she spoke, she subtly shifted position, allowing her sleeve to brush against the collection of herbs. With practiced ease, she palmed a small amount of the blood thistle, concealing it within the folds of her garment. The movement was fluid, natural, adjusting her position by the fire, nothing more.

  "May I?" she asked, gesturing toward the wooden spoon.

  Matteo handed it to her without the earlier hesitation, curiosity now evident in his expression. Lynara stirred the contents of the pot slowly, assessing the consistency and aroma. his fingers, and stirred the contents slowly.

  "First, we should add more water to dilute the salt," she instructed, her voice low and conversational. "Then some roots to thicken it. Do you have any herbs?"

  "Right, yeah, I think I gathered some." Matteo admitted, reaching for a small pouch. "let's see, wild thyme, more horse radish, water mint, and nightfern, sorry for the poor choice, but I'm not very familiar with the local flora."

  She almost drooled openly for a second, but with the power of control she smiled instead.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "yes, that will do nicely, in fact, it's a key ingredient!" she replied with a gleeful expression.

  As she worked, she spoke softly about cooking techniques, asking occasional questions about Federation cuisine that required only simple answers. Gradually, Matteo's stiffness eased, his responses becoming less clipped, more natural.

  "Have you served Ser Caldus long?" she asked casually as she chopped the nightfern with practiced efficiency.

  "Three years, my lady," Matteo replied, now actively helping by cutting roots as she'd shown him. "He chose me from the academy himself."

  "A great honor," she observed, noting the pride in his voice. "He must see promise in you."

  "I hope to earn my armor under his command," the boy admitted. "Though that's years away still."

  "And what does a squire learn, besides cooking and caring for horses?" she inquired, genuine curiosity mixing with strategic information-gathering.

  Matteo glanced up, suddenly remembering himself. "Many things, my lady. Combat, history, the order's teachings..." He trailed off, clearly uncertain how much he should reveal.

  "Of course," she said, smiling reassuringly. "I've been trying to learn your customs myself. Ser Caldus has been... instructive, though somewhat limited in his calm at times."

  The squire relaxed slightly. "He's not exactly patient, yes." he acknowledged, then immediately looked guilty for the minor criticism.

  "Indeed," Lynara agreed with a conspiratorial smile. "I find myself curious about so many aspects of Federation life. The Order of Simon, especially. Such a storied history."

  She added the chopped herbs to the pot, stirring slowly. The aroma improved immediately, rich and savory, of course, there was an added touch.

  Just a test.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the knights glancing their way, drawn by the scent.

  "We study the Order's history extensively," Matteo said, pride returning to his voice. "From its founding after the Heretical Wars to the present dayt. The grey feast alone alone takes two years to memorize properly."

  "Impressive," Lynara murmured. "And the armor... They way it shines is almost magical." A dangerous question, perhaps.

  Matteo's stance closed immediately, confirming the sensitivity of the topic. "The Order's blessed armor is sacred, my lady. We don't discuss its properties with outsiders."

  "Forgive my curiosity," she said, mild embarrassment on her face. "I meant no disrespect. In truth, I only noticed because it reminded me of certain ceremonial garments from the temples in my homeland."

  The squire nodded, accepting her apology but clearly unwilling to pursue the subject further. Lynara decided not to press, better to retreat and preserve the fragile rapport she'd established.

  "I believe our stew is saved," she said, changing the subject smoothly. "Would you taste it to be certain?"

  Matteo hesitated, then took the spoon she offered. His expression brightened as he sampled the transformed meal. "It's good!" he exclaimed with genuine surprise. "Much better than anything I've managed before."

  "Cooking is like diplomacy," Lynara observed with a smile. "Both require patience, balance, and knowing when to add heat."

  The comment drew a tentative smile from the squire.

  "Is everything in order here?"

  Caldus's voice cut through their moment of rapport. He stood several paces away, his expression neutral but his posture radiating authority and displeasure.

  Matteo jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the pot in his haste. "Yes, Commander! Lady Brahe was assisting with the meal, sir."

  "Was she indeed?" Caldus's gaze shifted to Lynara, who rose more slowly, maintaining her composure.

  "The fire was warm and I was cold," she explained calmly. "I merely offered some assistance while passing by."

  It was a plausible excuse for her proximity to the cooking area, though they both knew she hadn't "needed" protection from the cold, she had deliberately approached the squire.

  "Matteo," Caldus said, his tone even, "you're relieved. Join Ser Tomas for perimeter duty."

  "But sir, the meal-"

  "Will be finished by someone else. Go."

  The squire bowed hastily and departed, casting one apologetic glance back at Lynara before hurrying away. Caldus stepped closer, his voice lowering.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, his question an echo of their confrontation in Porto Agile.

  "Helping," she replied simply. "The boy was struggling with the meal."

  "You know that's not what I'm asking."

  Lynara met his gaze evenly. "I was bored, Ser Knight. Days of riding in silence with only brief exchanges about route and rest. Is it so surprising I sought conversation?"

  "With the youngest and most impressionable member of my company? Yes."

  A flicker of irritation colored her tone. "I'm a noble diplomat from a foreign land. Yet you expect me to behave like a prisoner, speaking only when spoken to, existing in isolation despite being surrounded by people."

  Something shifted in his expression, not softening, exactly.

  "If I am to play my part convincingly when we reach more populated areas," she continued, "I need practice in Federation social customs. Your squire presented a safe opportunity to practice harmless conversation."

  Caldus considered her for a long moment. The campfire crackled between them, casting shifting shadows across his face.

  "You have ulterior motives.," he said finally. It wasn't a question.

  "I'm engaging with him," she corrected. "As I would with any servant in the flayed king's household." The lie came smoothly, her servants had not need for tongues. "Is that forbidden as well?"

  His jaw tightened at the challenge in her tone, a headache building. They both recognized the delicate balance being negotiated: her status as 'diplomat' granted her certain freedoms that actual captivity would not.

  "What did you discuss?" he asked instead of answering her question.

  "Cooking. Herbs. I asked about his training." She paused, then added with calculated honesty: "And I inquired about your armor, which he refused to discuss."

  Caldus's expression darkened at the mention of the armor, but the admission seemed to work in her favor, if she had harbored truly nefarious intent, she would hardly volunteer that information.

  "The stew smells better than anything we've had since leaving Porto Agile," he observed after a moment, changing tack.

  "Nightfern," she explained. "It grows along these forests. Adds flavor and helps preserve the meat."

  He studied her with that penetrating gaze that always seemed to be searching for deception. "You know local herbs."

  "I studied extensively before my journey," she replied smoothly. "Knowledge of local flora can mean the difference between hospitality and offense in diplomatic settings."

  A quirked brow "perhaps your king should've sent you to politic with the fae, this knowledged would certainly be more appreciated there."

  Either way, Caldus seemed to accept it, or at least decided not to challenge it for now.

  "In the future," he said after a long moment, "if you wish to converse with my men, you will inform me first."

  It wasn't the prohibition she had expected, rather, a concession wrapped in an assertion of authority. Progress.

  "Of course, Ser Knight," she agreed with perfect composure.

  Caldus nodded once, then gestured to the pot. "Finish the meal. We'll eat soon, and tomorrow's journey begins before dawn."

  As he walked away, Lynara returned her attention to the stew, adding the last of the herbs. Beneath the mundane act, her mind calculated and adjusted plans. The encounter had yielded valuable information beyond what little the squire had revealed.

  Caldus was protective of his men, especially the youngest. He was vigilant about the armor's secrets, unsurprising, but confirmation nonetheless. And most importantly, he was beginning to realize that keeping her in complete isolation was neither practical nor realistic.

  Small cracks in the fortress of his caution.

  The nightfern floated in the stew, releasing its properties. By itself, harmless, a simple flavoring. But combined with a particular capacity in potion making, it could create a mild compound that enhanced suggestibility. Not control, nothing so crude or detectable, but a subtle lowering of mental barriers during conversation, like a father's smile when doing something right, a pat on the back from a friend when the going got tough.

  Tonight, when they shared this meal, the knights would find themselves slightly more receptive to her presence, a fraction more inclined to see her as human rather than enemy or mere diplomatic cargo. Caldus too, though his discipline would fight the effect more successfully than the others she expected.

  Lynara stirred the pot once more, satisfaction curving her lips into the barest smile. Some victories were measured not in blood or broken bodies, but in shared meals.

  The stew bubbled, aromatic and inviting. Around the camp, knights began to gather, drawn by the promise of hot food after a long day's ride. She noted their expressions, curious glances, subtle shifts in posture as they approached. They had been told she had prepared the meal, and uncertainty warred with hunger in their eyes.

  Caldus was the first to accept a bowl from her hands, a symbolic act that set precedent for the others. His gaze met hers briefly as he took it, something unreadable passing between them.

  Message received, Ser Knight. She thought as she continued serving. I understand the rules of your game. For now.

  But games could change, and players with them. Time remained her most potent weapon, and patience her greatest strength.

  The knights ate their fill, tomorrow a new day.