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“Darling, against the Sels, everyone lacks the numbers for a direct frontal assault.”

Erik made a half-agreeing sound, and tapped the jagged border he’d drawn to indicate the mountains ringing the Crownlands. “There’s a pass? Up and over? They’ll have scouts on the peaks, in the old watchtowers – I’m assuming there’s watchtowers? Any monarch worth his salt would have watchers on the mountains, especially at his rear door.”

Oliver smothered a grin – and then winced. “Yes, there’s watchtowers. And signal fires, even. I think you’d approve. But we won’t be going up and over. We’ll be going under.”

Erik arched a brow.

“There’s a river. The logs came down the road in wains, and got dumped into the water to travel downstream. But a tunnel was bored, here, through a series of natural caves, to create an easier way to get the timber to the city, without having to deal with a steep climb. Gold deposits were found there was well, so it’s a bit of a mine, and a bit of a secret entrance.”

Erik’s other brow went up. “And how secure are these mines?”

“No one can ambush you, that’s for sure. The tunnels go straight through, with no murder holes, or sight lines for archers, or–”

“No. Howstableare they? Are they well-supported? Or will the ceiling come down on our heads?”

“Ah. That I can’t tell you.”

Erik gave him a look.

“I’m not a builder.”

“Of that I’m well aware.” A reluctant grin tweaked Erik’s mouth. “We’ll need to present it to the council, and come to a joint decision, but the idea has merit.” He sighed. “I wish we could conference with the Southern forces, all of us face-to-face.”

“I know. I’m not sure it’s possible to take anyone who isn’t…magically inclined…to the other plane. I suppose we could try it.”

“No.” Erik shook his head. “I have no great desire to go tampering in magical places.” He didn’t shudder, but scratched at his beard in a way that suggested he’d felt the urge to. Then he sent a quiet, devastating smile Oliver’s way. “I trust you to play messenger on the other side.”

Inwardly, Oliver twisted with guilt. He’d come from their enemy – not one of them, not a random solider, buttheenemy. The emperor. The villain to Erik’s hero.

He didn’t deserve this gruff, darling man’s trust, and his stomach was knotted with the knowledge.

His face must have betrayed him, because Erik’s smile slowly slipped, and he said, “What is it?”

The urge to tell him everything, to bow his head and spill his guts, and confess like a child caught stealing sweets boiled up within him, and nearly choked him. He’d never in his life thought he’d get to experience a love like this, to be loved by a man like Erik. To jeopardize by hiding, by sneaking, by lying…

But he did what he did for the good of them all, he reasoned.

He said, “I–”

Blue crowded his vision. A bright crackle of it on the edges, and a moment later, he heard the accompanying shrill cry of alarm from Percy: inside his head, and outside of it, echoing across the camp.

Then the horns sounded.

~*~

The worst part of going walking for Tessa was the way she got a little bit lost on the way back. The day that Amelia’s party was attacked, and she’d been dragged through the veil by her sister’s desperate cries for help, Tessa had come to as she was being dragged down off Alfie’s back, with no memory of landing. She’d hadn’t truly fainted, had still been sitting upright, still gripping the reins – in fact, her fingers had been pried from them, when she refused to let go – but she was keenly aware of how vulnerable she was, lost somewhere between realms.

Tonight, she closed her eyes in the Between, Oliver reassuring and smiling across from her, and when she opened her eyes again, she lay flat on her back, looking up at the ceiling of a tent. Her own tent, rather than Náli’s: she recognized the shape of the smoke vent above. She recognized, too, the dust-sweat-hair-oil mélange of scents that surrounded her, that clung to the clothes of the person supporting her head on his lap.

Rune’s face leaned over hers, carefully-braided hair dangling down to tickle at her face, lover’s and prince’s beads clicking softly together. His smile was soft, his brow furrowed. He spoke quietly, as though afraid her hearing might be too sensitive.

“Are you well?”

“Mmhm.” She reached to finger the beads that hovered over her, their now-familiar carvings warm from resting against his chest. “Are you? You were laughing quite forcefully before.”

He snorted, smile twisting wryly, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “I expect to make a full recovery.”

She smiled, and then sat up – which set the tent to revolving. She groaned, and let Rune help her. Once she was upright, he leaned aside and returned with a cup of what proved to be strong-brewed tea with lots of sugar.