"You surprised us," the general said, fingers tight on the wine cup.
I lifted my chin. "Emperor's guard runs faster than bandits, apparently."
Knox Rocha shoved a lantern into the middle of the tent. "Your orders, sir—my lord, the sovereign demands a report."
"Report, then," I said. I folded my hands the way a commander does in front of a sovereign and let the men shuffle papers and maps. The sergeant fumbled a battered scroll like it was a confession.
"You made it," Knox said, eyes flicking from the maps to me, then to the tent flap that shuddered in the chill wind. He kept his voice low but steady. "Emperor Kellan rode with a small retinue."
I watched the flap. I let the men see an officer untroubled. They needed a steady figure to believe in.
"Why didn't you send word?" the sergeant demanded, full of the bravado that comes from too many victories and too little sense. "Sovereign coming without a formal summons—what are we to think, General?"
"That you're loud," I said. "And the emperor prefers surprises tonight."
Two men laughed. The laughter did not reach the corner where Knox stood still as a statue.
"Drink," the sergeant said, pushing the wine forward. "Old store. We celebrate the sovereign's favor."
I held my cup but did not lower it. I let the warmth stay on the edge of my palm and said, "Not tonight."
The tent flap opened without ceremony. Two
