Shadowcaster (Shattered Realms, #2)

by Cinda Williams Chima

father’s words came back to him. Right now it doesn’t suit King Gerard for you to be a successful soldier. Hal added his own coda to that. But it does suit him for you to be a dead one.

“Perhaps not a potion to kill, but one to . . . to turn us into something we’re not.” “You mean . . . like a toad or—or—a billy goat?” Her lips twitched, as if it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. “I know! A flock of chickens. We could use some fresh eggs around here.” Hal stared at her. Did she really not understand what he was talking about? “We’ve heard stories of spells and potions that steal a man’s courage or his strength. That cause him to turn against his fellow soldiers and kill them. That give him such a massive case of the itches that—” “Believe me, Captain, if I had that power, I would have sent you all home with the itches a long time ago,” Gray said, wiping at her eyes.

“So. Anyway. It might be that an advantageous marriage could be arranged that would bring the kingdom of the Fells into the fold.” From the look on her face, he might have just asked her to bite into a turd. “Queendom, Captain,” she spat. “This is a queendom. Your king made that offer to our queen more than twenty-five years ago. She refused him then, and he invaded, launching this war. Since then, Arden has murdered her husband, and her daughter, and”—she stumbled a bit—“and tried to kill her son.” “This is war,” Hal said. “People die—even innocents die, unfortunately.” It sounded weak, even

to him, even though it was true. “I’m not talking about killing enemy soldiers in battle,” Gray said. “I’m not even talking about civilians caught in the cross fire. I’m talking about Ardenine assassins sneaking into our cities and ambushing us on the street and in our beds.”

Overhead, he heard the boutmaster call, “Match to Captain Matelon.” But he scarcely noticed. Gray squirmed under him, trying to flip him off her, and to his mortification his traitorous body reacted to this with great and obvious enthusiasm. Captain Gray noticed, of course. She didn’t pretend not to, like any southern lady would do. She didn’t seem embarrassed at all. Instead, she lifted her head so her breath warmed his ear, and said, “Sword in your pocket, Captain?”

“That’s when I heard some good news, Captain, that I just had to share in person.” “Arden surrendered?” Gray guessed. “Almost as good,” the queen said. “The monster is dead.” Gray frowned, looking puzzled. “The monster?” “Gerard Montaigne. We just received word from our agents in the south. He’s dead.”

she was no great beauty, compared to the women he’d been introduced to at court. Yet, when they were together, she elbowed everything else out of his mind. “Matelon?” He looked up, and she was studying him with her amber eyes. Did she know that she had this effect on him? He prayed to all the gods she did not. “Would you like to kiss me?”

“Forget it,” she growled, spots of pink coloring her cheeks. “Let’s walk back. I’ve spent less time dickering over a horse.” Hal’s father always said that a good soldier adapts to a changing battlefield. “Wait.” When she turned back, he cradled her chin with his gloved hands and kissed her. Her lips were warm and rough and perfect. Encouraged, he slid his arms around her and pulled her close, extending the kiss. They were of nearly equal height, and they fit together like the two halves of—of something fine. Even through several thick layers of clothing he noticed the way her breasts pressed into him—he’d thought she was all muscle—and the tidy way she curved down to her waist. She smelled like fresh air and sweat, metal and horse—perfect.

ears. “Are you addressing me, Lieutenant?” “Somebody needs to speak up, for safety’s sake,” Bosley said, looking to the bluejackets for support and getting none. “And you’re thinking that someone is you?” Captain Gray cocked her head, as if she was just now figuring that part out. “You are out of line, Lieutenant. How and where I choose to interrogate a prisoner of the crown is none of your concern.” Of all the terrifying stories Hal had heard about northern torture tactics, this particular interrogation technique had never been mentioned. “You expect us to believe that you were interrogating him?” “I have absolutely no expectations of you, Bosley, except that you return to your tent and stay there. While there, I suggest that you study the Officer’s Rules of Good Order. Pay special attention to the chapter on the chain of command.”

“The princess Alyssa . . . was here?” Breon nodded. “Still is, as far as I know.” “She couldn’t be here,” Hal said, with conviction. “We’re all going to be slaughtered.” Breon was finding out that Hal was a pessimistic sort. “She’s a tough, military kind of princess. She’s probably out there in the thick of the fighting.” Breon paused, and when Hal kept frowning and studying on it, added, “I mean, it’s possible she left. Last I saw her was dinnertime yesterday.” “Yesterday? But . . . why haven’t I seen her, then?” Breon shrugged. “Don’t feel bad. She’s a busy person, and I guess she has to focus on the important prisoners. Maybe there’s nothing she wants to pry out of you.”

Hal had been hearing that name for years. She was a legend on both sides of the border, known as a fierce and savvy fighter. The Gray Wolf was Captain Gray. Of course she was. Also Alyssa ana’Raisa, the heir to the Gray Wolf throne. Also Lyss. As he thought on it, as fragments of conversation came back to him, his mortification grew. Hal blithely assuring her that, as soldiers, their lives wouldn’t change much, no matter who sat on the throne. Hal suggesting that a royal marriage might put a big fat bow on the peace accord. How could he ever look her in the eye again?

“Matelon,” Gray said. Hal leaned toward her. “What is it?” To his surprise, she gripped his shoulders and kissed him, hard and thoroughly, while everyone else in the boat gaped at them. “In case this is good-bye,” she said. “I’m sorry about a lot of things, but I’m not sorry that we met. I’ve learned a lot, and—and—” She swallowed hard, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m just sorry that we had to meet as enemies.”

“Do you want to hear my theory?” “All right.” “I spent a fortnight with the busker. He’s a liar, and a charmer, and too fond of the leaf for his own good. I’ve seen him scared, and I’ve seen him shoveling scummer.” She paused, and Hal said, “So?” “So when he saw that ship coming, he was terrified. I’d stake my life on it. When he told us to get out of the boat, he was trying to save the rest of us. And he would have, except Lyss wouldn’t jump.”

If Lyss Gray wasn’t a soldier he could plan a future with, maybe she was a queen he could serve one day. Once he’d seen to his family’s safety. “It’s not good-bye,” he said again, this time so softly that it was lost in the sound of the wind and waves.