Chapter 4

The Duke Protector's house kept a hidden estate in the southern lands, an escape route my father had prepared long before.

I helped First Blade inside, told the steward to send for a physician to treat him, then took the tiger tally and went straight to the general's manor.

While he lived, my father had told me that if anything ever went wrong in the imperial capital,

I could take the tally to the southern lands and call up the old ranks of the Duke Protector's house.

This tiger tally could not move the Capital Garrison, but it could move the hundred thousand men of the southern garrison.

Because every last one of them was a soldier my father had trained with his own hands, and they answered to the tiger tally, not to any imperial order.

The southern lands were still at their music and dancing. Word of the vassal prince's rebellion had not yet reached this far.

I took the tiger tally and knocked on the gates of the general's manor.

The moment General James, who held the city, laid eyes on the tally, he dropped to his knees and knocked his forehead against the ground three times.

"This soldier greets you, my lady! I would die for you gladly!"

I set the tiger tally down on the table and looked at the broad-shouldered general in front of me, and my mind went, unbidden, to the five shadow guards who had died to protect me.

I murmured to myself, "Father... it's a comfort that all your years of care weren't wasted... Not every man is a traitor like Cyril Henson."

Then I reached out and lifted him from the floor.

"Uncle Lowell James, my father died on the northern frontier. Even Cyril, the man he trusted most, turned on me. The blood of the whole Duke Protector's house and the lives of five shadow guards are in the hands of the rebels now. I've come today to borrow your hundred thousand men and march with me back on the capital to crush the traitors. Will you?"

Lowell looked up, his eyes so red they seemed about to bleed.

He drove his fist down onto the table hard enough to make the teacups jump. "This soldier has waited a long time for this day! That battle on the northern frontier, His Grace could only have lost because some traitor at court sold him out. I've held it in far too long... Rest easy, my lady. A hundred thousand men stand ready at any moment. One word from you, and we cross the river at once!"

Lowell's words were like a brand pulled from the fire, and they burned until my eyes ached.

I clenched my sleeve, nails all but sinking into my flesh, and forced the surging feeling back down.

Then I bowed low. "For my father and for the brothers who died so cruelly, I thank you, General James!"

After that, we bent over the map and talked the whole night through.

From provisioning the grain and forage to the line of march, we went over every last piece of it for a long while.

Only when the sky lightened did I leave the general's manor.

Lowell was thorough. He understood how delicate my position was now.

He sent three thousand of his best men to guard me, and they sealed the estate tight.

And it was only from that moment that the fear I had carried finally settled.

Back at the estate, the first thing I did was call in the physician treating First Blade. "How bad are his wounds?"

The physician stroked his beard and shook his head. "My lady, this warrior took an arrow clean through his lungs, and he lost far too much blood on the road here... For now... all I can do is hold on to what breath is left in him... but whether he pulls through... that rests with Heaven alone."

I let out a long sigh at his words.

I crossed to the bedside and took First Blade's cold hand in mine.

He had already slipped into a half-conscious daze, his brow drawn tight.

Yet his lips still moved, murmuring, "Kill the rebels... guard the young lady... avenge His Grace..."

My throat tightened, and my tears struck the back of his hand.

I said softly, "Hold on a little longer, First... We're marching back soon. You have to live, live to see the day I cut down my enemies with my own hand..."

The words had barely left me when the steward's voice came from beyond the door. "My lady! There's a man at the gate with a young woman... he says... he says he's an old acquaintance of yours, Cyril Henson..."

I shot to my feet, and every trace of warmth drained from my eyes.

I smoothed the hem of my robe and told the physician, "You may go."

Then I gave a cold, mocking little laugh. "I didn't think he'd actually dare bring that wretch back here... Just as well. It saves me the trouble of hunting him down." And to the steward I said, "Bring them in!"