unbuttoned at the collar and cuffs, her uniform jacket hanging over the back of her chair. She looked up over the top of her book as Vlora took the empty chair across from her and set both glasses of beer on the table.
“Hi, Verie,” Vlora said.
“That’s Colonel Verundish to you, Captain,” Verundish responded coldly. Her eyes went back to the book in her hands.
That hurt. Vlora closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to leave. Would it be so bad to fail this assignment? Surely Tamas would have put more men on it if he really thought Wohler had intelligence of importance.
Would her success even gain her the approval she desired?
Giving up would be the easy way out. She would only fall even further in Tamas’s eyes and—perhaps more importantly—in her own.
“Colonel Verundish,” Vlora said. “I need your help.”
Verundish turned a page. “I’m surprised you’re showing your face around here after what you did to Taniel.”
“I suppose it’s too much to hope that there’s anyone in this Kresimir-damned army that doesn’t know?”
“That you cheated on the field marshal’s son? Everyone’s favorite powder mage, who just so happens to be on the verge of death?” Verundish snorted.
Vlora stared at her glass, feeling the anger boil in her blood. This was a waste of time. She had no friends here. “Not that it’s anyone’s goddamn business.” Her voice rose sharply at the end, and Vlora found herself gripping the edge of the table. She was trembling.
The outburst drew enough glances to make Vlora’s cheeks grow warm. She stood up. “But yes,” she continued calmly, “I did do that. It was a foolish, juvenile mistake that has cost me the respect of everyone I hold dear.” She turned to go.
Verundish sighed and set down her book. “Sit down.”
“No, it’s fine,” Vlora said. “Forget I was here.”
“Sit. Down.”
Against her better judgment, Vlora returned to her seat. She gripped her glass to keep herself from shaking with anger.
Verundish noticed the extra beer Vlora had brought her and picked it up. “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said, letting out a sigh, the cold demeanor softening a little. “I’ve made a few myself. What do you need?”
Vlora drained the rest of her second beer to give herself courage. “I’m looking for someone,” she said. “A Prielight guard by the name of Captain Wohler.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“It should. He was the head of Charlemund’s personal guard.”
Verundish turned and spit at the mention of the name. “Traitorous sack of shit.”
“Agreed,” Vlora said. “Wohler escaped the battle at the villa, and he’s got a whole case of army intelligence that he’s going to hand to the enemy. I have three—sorry, two days to find him and capture him.”
Verundish idly flipped the pages of her book with the fingers of her right hand, drumming the fingers of the left on her glass. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “And believe me, I’d tell you if I did. Everyone in this room wants to get a hold of one of Charlemund’s men after what happened to Commander Sabon. Anyone who escaped has been keeping out of sight.”
“Shit,” Vlora said.
“My guess is the Prielight guards are hiding in some church cellar. Maybe even Kresim Cathedral. Any place that will give them sanctuary.”
“Think they’ll stick together?”
“Wouldn’t you, if the city suddenly turned hostile?”
“No,” Vlora said. “I’d ditch everything I owned and hide out in plain sight.”
“Yeah, well, you were tutored by Tamas. Normal people don’t think like that. Normal people are like sheep. They huddle.”
Vlora nodded unhappily. If Wohler was hiding out with a group of his compatriots, he might be easier to find, but capturing him would be a whole other story.
“When do you leave for the front?” Vlora asked.
Verundish shook her head. “No time soon. I’m on special assignment with a few squads. I’ll
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