“They just had so many,” he said, barely audible above the vehicle’s noise. His gaze fell to his clasped hands, elbows braced on his knees. “And their supply of guns, ammunition, their more modern artillery …”
Lark’s hand settled over his, her fingers warm and firm. Improper for a soldier. Human all the same. Her care kindled a tiny seed of hope in Roderic’s heart, for which he was grateful.
“We will prevail,” she stated as if it were a foregone conclusion, as if the numbers meant nothing, as if the woman had never known defeat. Idealistic. Optimistic. Foolish? Roderic couldn’t say. He merely clung to the spark of hope and nodded.
“We’re almost there,” the lieutenant driving called over her shoulder. “Recognize that mountain, General?”
Roderic sat up straight, peering around the big, tan guy in the passenger seat. Hope flared hot in his chest. The weight inside him lifted—just a little. “Stonevale.”
“Really?” Lieutenant Rushing came alive at his side, shifting to see. “Thank the stars—we outran the invasion force.”
“They didn’t have a chance of matching our speed,” Wes said, a broad grin cutting deep into his dimples.
“So, the base or Highcrest Hall?” the driver asked.
“Both,” answered Roderic with a rush of energy. “We need to drop Lieutenant Rushing at the fort for debriefing. Then I must speak to Lord Calder and take a respite. Are you staying?”
“Skye, did Luke have any new orders for us?” Lark asked.
Skye. Navarro, perhaps?She had the look of the ambassador about her.
“We’ll send a pigeon to Nelanta,” Skye answered. “We’ll stay overnight for sure, General, then it’s up to Queen Frost. Our orders come directly from her.”
He nodded. “Thank you for accommodating me. And for the record, I’d love it if you stayed and helped us in the battle that’s coming—although I understand you might have other souls to rescue.”
Lark smiled at him. “We’ll see, sir.”
The vehicles slowed as they entered the city of Stonevale, beneath the mountain where his home, Highcrest Hall, nestled into the rocks. Oil streetlamps flickered to life as citizens crowded the thoroughfare, lanterns raised, voices swelling in the dusk. The air smelled of hot oil, damp stone, and buzzed with summer insects. For an instant, the world steadied, the horrors of the battle fading with the evening light. But beneath the cheers, dread beat steady as war drums. Tomorrow, or the next day, the Iron Army would rain fire on everything he loved.
Roderic thanked the queen’s team again for liberating him and bringing him home. The tall captain assisted him from the jeep, leaving him with a sharp salute before they drove away. The winding road up to Highcrest Hall was narrow but passable for the small vehicles. Roderic was glad, knowing he’d never have had the energy to make the climb on foot. Night pressed in as he gripped the railing, forcing himself up the few stone steps to the massive oak doors. His father told him the historic family estate had been a novelty a hundred years ago, with tourists arriving to take photographs. Far enough from any significanttarget, it had come through the War of Ruin unscathed. He prayed it would survive this one.
The house steward opened the heavy oak door just as he arrived. “Sir, we’re delighted to have you home in one piece.” The thin man, about Roderic’s age, dressed in traditional black tie and tails, bowed as he entered.
“Thank you, Giles. It’s good to be home.”
“You must be exhausted after your harrowing ordeal. Sit for a moment while I inform Lord Calder. Martha,” he called. A middle-aged woman wearing a white apron over her ample form, peered into the expansive front hall from a doorway. “Fetch the general some iced tea at once.”
Roderic lowered himself into a leather wingback chair, taking in a room familiar to him from his childhood. A candelabra hung from the high ceiling on a gleaming chain, its light flickering in the breeze stirring the half-drawn drapes. Walnut paneling contrasted with eggshell plaster, ancestral portraits looming from the walls. The massive stone hearth, a symbol of greeting to visitors, lay dormant in the late summer. He had played at soldiers before that hearth, wooden swords and tin battalions scattered across the hardwood. The sweet scent of pipe tobacco and pine settled in his lungs.
A rug woven in bold colors from the finest wool and silk formed a rectangle between the other cushioned chairs and couch. His father often entertained guests in this room, resplendent with Calder symbols and pageantry.
“Papa!” Marenne rushed to him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek despite his horrendous stench. Silky walnut hair cascaded around her shoulders as tears welled in her brown eyes. She was the finest daughter a man could ask for.
“Marenne.” He breathed her name like a prayer, his arms bolstering enough strength to return the hug.
Wiping her face, she stepped back. “Mama’s putting April and Robbie to bed, but Jacob is running around somewhere. They’ll all be overjoyed to see you. Let me run—”
“Not yet, sugarplum,” he bade her. “I need to wash first and speak to your grandfather. I so much want to pass around hugs and kisses. Soon,baby girl.”
Her nose wrinkled when she laughed. She was a vision, and Roderic wanted only the best husband for her—and a long, happy life.
“Certainly,” she answered. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in, her hair falling to frame her face. “Shall I pretend you haven’t arrived yet?”
Roderic’s chapped lips curved, a glimmer of vitality returning to his eyes. “That would be best.” His cheer slipped away as quickly as it had emerged. “Do you know what’s happening?”
Before him, Marenne transformed from a playful girl into a steel magnolia. “Yes. The Iron Army is headed this way. It’s all anyone talks about. The people are divided as to whether they should flee or stay and fight.”
“Your grandfather and I will have directions for them—and you—by morning.” When she began to protest, he held up a hand. “No arguments tonight.”