his teeth at him and swung away towards the tents.
“Well said,” Petrus said.
The prince glanced at him, his mouth tight.
Cora hurried over to them. “What—?”
“Gerit was being Gerit,” Petrus said. “Flin here apologized and Gerit slapped him down.”
“Pay him no attention, Flin. He’s cross because you made him look foolish. Dinner’s ready. Go eat. I’ll speak to Gerit.”
For a moment, the prince didn’t move. He looked as if he wanted to stalk away, as Gerit had done. Then he nodded stiffly at Cora and turned towards the fire.
Petrus followed. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The prince dismissed the words with a shrug.
Petrus lengthened his stride and grabbed the prince’s arm, halting him. “I mean it.”
Prince Harkeld’s eyebrows pinched together. “Unhand me, armsman.”
Petrus ignored the order. “The person who misjudged his magic tonight was Gerit, not you. Any shapeshifter who flies over a fire lesson deserves to lose a few feathers!”
Firelight and shadows flickered across Prince Harkeld’s face. Was the prince even listening to him? His expression was haughty, remote.
The prince’s mouth relaxed. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Justen.”
L ATER THAT EVENING , after he’d swapped back with Innis, Petrus looked for Cora. She was with Rand at the picket line, checking one of the horses. Petrus crossed the mud to them.
“About Gerit...”
Rand glanced up, but didn’t stop massaging the horse’s hock. Cora straightened. “What about him?”
“He was cursed rude tonight. The prince—I mean Flin—apologized, and Gerit just—”
“I’ve spoken with him about it.”
“He makes us all look bad.”
“No, only himself.”
Petrus conceded this with a shrug. But even so... “He shouldn’t be a Sentinel.” Sentinels weren’t meant to incite trouble, they were meant to prevent it, or at the very least, minimize it. A good Sentinel was calm, diplomatic, even-tempered. Not argumentative and rude.
“His last mission was difficult,” Cora said. “Both his companions were killed. He should have been given time to rest, not sent out with us.”
“Oh.” Petrus scuffed the muddy ground with his boot.
“I’ve suggested he leave us at Roubos. He has agreed.”
“Oh,” Petrus said again.
“I know it may be hard for you to believe, but Gerit has been an outstanding Sentinel. One of the best. He deserves our forbearance.”
In the dim light, he saw Rand nod.
Petrus ducked his head. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t realize—”
“How could you? This is your first mission.” Cora brushed strands of hair back from her face. “We’ve agreed—Gerit and I—that he shouldn’t be Justen any more. This is the ideal time for Hew to start taking turns as Justen, but I’m not sure it would be wise. Hew doesn’t know Flin as well as you three do. I fear him making a mistake.”
And he doesn’t know how to laugh, either . And Justen, whoever played him, had a sense of humor.
Cora sighed. “I realize that this places more strain on the two of you—”
“We’ll be fine,” Petrus said hastily. “Don’t worry about us, Cora.”
“Well... let me know if it becomes too much of a strain. Now, bed. Try to get some sleep before you go on watch.” She turned back to Rand and crouched. “Does it need more healing?”
Petrus walked to the tent he shared with Ebril, feeling small.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
B RITTA TALKED WITH Yasma and Karel late into the night. They sat at the marquetry table, the detritus of her and Yasma’s dinner pushed to one end. The armsman had refused a share of the meal. “I get fed at midnight.”
From blood, they moved to the sewer system and the river that flowed beneath the palace, and from that to kitchen trolleys and herbs and perfume vials and bondservants’ corridors and Jaegar’s coronation. Their plan came together.
Britta studied Karel’s face in the candlelight. In a
“Well said,” Petrus said.
The prince glanced at him, his mouth tight.
Cora hurried over to them. “What—?”
“Gerit was being Gerit,” Petrus said. “Flin here apologized and Gerit slapped him down.”
“Pay him no attention, Flin. He’s cross because you made him look foolish. Dinner’s ready. Go eat. I’ll speak to Gerit.”
For a moment, the prince didn’t move. He looked as if he wanted to stalk away, as Gerit had done. Then he nodded stiffly at Cora and turned towards the fire.
Petrus followed. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The prince dismissed the words with a shrug.
Petrus lengthened his stride and grabbed the prince’s arm, halting him. “I mean it.”
Prince Harkeld’s eyebrows pinched together. “Unhand me, armsman.”
Petrus ignored the order. “The person who misjudged his magic tonight was Gerit, not you. Any shapeshifter who flies over a fire lesson deserves to lose a few feathers!”
Firelight and shadows flickered across Prince Harkeld’s face. Was the prince even listening to him? His expression was haughty, remote.
The prince’s mouth relaxed. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Justen.”
L ATER THAT EVENING , after he’d swapped back with Innis, Petrus looked for Cora. She was with Rand at the picket line, checking one of the horses. Petrus crossed the mud to them.
“About Gerit...”
Rand glanced up, but didn’t stop massaging the horse’s hock. Cora straightened. “What about him?”
“He was cursed rude tonight. The prince—I mean Flin—apologized, and Gerit just—”
“I’ve spoken with him about it.”
“He makes us all look bad.”
“No, only himself.”
Petrus conceded this with a shrug. But even so... “He shouldn’t be a Sentinel.” Sentinels weren’t meant to incite trouble, they were meant to prevent it, or at the very least, minimize it. A good Sentinel was calm, diplomatic, even-tempered. Not argumentative and rude.
“His last mission was difficult,” Cora said. “Both his companions were killed. He should have been given time to rest, not sent out with us.”
“Oh.” Petrus scuffed the muddy ground with his boot.
“I’ve suggested he leave us at Roubos. He has agreed.”
“Oh,” Petrus said again.
“I know it may be hard for you to believe, but Gerit has been an outstanding Sentinel. One of the best. He deserves our forbearance.”
In the dim light, he saw Rand nod.
Petrus ducked his head. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t realize—”
“How could you? This is your first mission.” Cora brushed strands of hair back from her face. “We’ve agreed—Gerit and I—that he shouldn’t be Justen any more. This is the ideal time for Hew to start taking turns as Justen, but I’m not sure it would be wise. Hew doesn’t know Flin as well as you three do. I fear him making a mistake.”
And he doesn’t know how to laugh, either . And Justen, whoever played him, had a sense of humor.
Cora sighed. “I realize that this places more strain on the two of you—”
“We’ll be fine,” Petrus said hastily. “Don’t worry about us, Cora.”
“Well... let me know if it becomes too much of a strain. Now, bed. Try to get some sleep before you go on watch.” She turned back to Rand and crouched. “Does it need more healing?”
Petrus walked to the tent he shared with Ebril, feeling small.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
B RITTA TALKED WITH Yasma and Karel late into the night. They sat at the marquetry table, the detritus of her and Yasma’s dinner pushed to one end. The armsman had refused a share of the meal. “I get fed at midnight.”
From blood, they moved to the sewer system and the river that flowed beneath the palace, and from that to kitchen trolleys and herbs and perfume vials and bondservants’ corridors and Jaegar’s coronation. Their plan came together.
Britta studied Karel’s face in the candlelight. In a
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