“That went well,” Yechvan said to Zu with a laugh. He pushed open the door to his haven, the war room.

  With the threat of impending conflict now a relative certainty, Yechvan wanted to begin preparations, to discuss battle plans with Ulula, but the logistics would have to wait a few hours. His second-in-command was set to participate in a preliminary contest for the Dubao, and he didn’t want to disturb her before she rode.

  Zu raised the pitcher of mead, an offer. “You know how Grusk can be. Impetuous, reckless. He’d have declared war no matter what we said. He’s looking for one last hurrah before the end.”

  Yechvan slaked his thirst, wiped his mouth. “You’re probably right. It’s a foolish decision, given our limited resources. Still, I suppose the next few seasons won’t be dull.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were excited, Yog,” Zu said, letting loose a belch. “I thought you hated conflict.”

  Yechvan pondered his friend’s words. “I don’t care for it, true enough. Part of me wishes I’d never fought in the Great Northern War, that I’d been brought up to farm the land, like my parents had intended. But sometimes…tch, it’s difficult to reconcile. When I’m in the thick of it, blood boiling, life or death decisions being made with each passing second—I never feel quite so alive as in those moments. You understand.”

  “I do, and I knew you felt the same. So why do you struggle so with the aftermath, with your demons and ghosts?”

  “Because once that moment has passed, I have to live with the blood on my hands, friend and foe alike. I love the thrill of the fight, but sending men and women to their deaths…” Yechvan grew quiet. He stared at his hands, wondering if those stains would ever come clean. “Do you think this one will be the same?”

  “Why would it be any different?”

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  “I’m not sure I’ll be able to live with myself if I have to carry more of that burden.”

  “That is why I am here.” Zu squeezed Yechvan’s shoulder as he pressed their brows together. “So that I might help you carry it.”

  Yechvan was torn between guilt and relief. He hated to ask his friend to bear some of his burden, but he had never been strong enough to carry it alone.

  “I’ve been mulling over last night’s tactical conversation,” Zu said, a burgeoning smile revealing teeth. “If they bring knights on horseback, we could just use pikes.”

  Yechvan laughed long and hearty, the heaviness of the moment whisked away by Zu’s poor attempt at tactics. “Sometimes, I love your optimism.”

  And he loved Zu for steering his mind from darkness to strategy, his favorite topic. An hour into their discussion, Zu surely regretted his choice, but to his credit he asked yet another question and poured yet another drink.

  “Are we taking the eastern front?”

  Yechvan nodded. “The east will be the hardest to defend. If they push us back, we’ll be on the plains, leaving us more vulnerable to their archers and horsemen. If we push them back, we’ll be mired in the soft marshes and thick growth of unfamiliar territory. They’ll know how to navigate safely through the landscape. We won’t. Grusk will take the middle, as he always does.”

  “Which leaves Gorse in the west.”

  “He should have an easier time of it, though,” Yechvan said. He smoothed the edge of his map, tracing the line of the Terythalan Mountains on Banx’s western border. “Our usual tactics pair well with the rocky foothills.”

  “Must we visit in the war room when we stay at the castle? These chairs are hard as nails,” Zu complained. “I’ll never understand how you can lose yourself surrounded by all the maps in the world.”

  “We are to war. I must prepare.”

  “If only we could do so at Madame Sho’s.”

  “Ah yes, the most effective preparation for battle: a moist and willing woman.”

  “I’ve always found it to be,” Zu argued. “Infinitely preferable to a dozen maps, no matter how detailed.”

  “We can go tomorrow night, if you wish.”

  “We should take Little Grask. He is a man grown now, and they will treat him…well, like he’s the next qish, I suppose.”

  “How do you think the boy will weather his uncle’s betrayal?”

  “He’s resilient,” Zu said. “And he’s got your brains, though he certainly doesn’t have your prowess with a blade. I suspect he’ll push through. There’s really no alternative.”

  “I’ve seen men and women broken by less.”

  Zu shook his head. “Not Little Grask. I’ve seen his spirit. He won’t be easily broken.”