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An honor, actually. She’d gone from
having to crawl into the beds of lords, doing
whatever they asked of her with a smile, to
fighting beside them. And she was now a lady
herself. One whom both the Lords of Suria
and the Lord of Allsbrook recognized, despite
Darrow spitting on it.
It might have filled her with gladness had
battle not worn her out so completely that the
walk back to the tent seemed endless. Had the
general-prince not filleted her spirit so
thoroughly.
Every step was an effort, the mud sucking
at her boots.
She turned down an alley of tents, the
banners shifting from the white stag on
emerald green of the Bane to the twin silver
fish on vibrant turquoise of those belonging to
the House of Suria. Only fifty more feet to her
tent, then she could lie down. The soldiers