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“I thought you were sharing pillows with the Queen of Kassia,” the man with the sword said, looking over at Luc. “At least, that’s the impression you gave when we first met. But instead you seem to be doing so with . . .” He trailed off and tilted his head toward Ava, a smirk on his face. “Areyouthe queen of Kassia?”

Ava laughed and flipped her short braid. “I’m a Venyatux soldier.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luc had pulled the tunic over his head.

“You want to be warm before you die, Commander?” The man watched him put it on with the same smirk.

Ava smiled brightly at him, some of her fear evaporating as Luc became impervious to both arrow and sword. “Wearing the right clothing is important. Especially on campaign. Comfort is just as important as function, don’t you think?” She lifted her hands and brushed them down the front of her shirt. “I personally won’t wear anything that feels scratchy. Life’s too short for that, you know?”

“Are you stupid, girl?” The man with the sword took a step forward. “You and your commander are about to die, and you’re babbling on about clothes?”

Ava gave a half-turn as Luc passed her in a blur, and just for form’s sake, in case someone was watching, she bent to the side as the archer closest to her shot at her, his action more out of panic at Luc’s sudden explosive launch at them than out of fear for her, she guessed.

The arrow missed her by an arm’s length.

She wasn’t up to her old level of fitness—she had made peace with that. She knew she would be more in the way than useful if she tried to jump in and help, so she simply stood back and watched as Luc reached the sword man and slammed a palm into his face as he tried to chop at Luc’s chest. The blade glanced off him, and he ripped the sword from the Jatan’s grasp and swung it at his neck.

At least it was sharp, Ava thought with a wince. It was a clean job.

Luc spun, lifting the sword to block as an arrow came straight for him at close range. It struck the blade and ricocheted off, and the archer threw his bow down and knelt, arms wide, in a gesture of surrender.

Luc left him, spinning the other way and impaling the second archer, who was desperately trying to notch another arrow.

He turned again, facing the camp, and let out a piercing whistle.

While he waited for help to come, he searched the surviving archer, and when he had the man lying face down, arms extended, he finally looked up at her, blue eyes blazing.

“Ava.”

She shrugged. “You really shouldn’t go out in the cold without a warm tunic.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

Chapter 33

He had been foolish to think Hurst was no longer a problem.

He’d killed guards, broken free the prisoners, and tried to kill Luc and Ava.

Luc was coldly angry, as much with himself as with Hurst.

Not that Hurst would be a problem ever again.

After he killed him and his pet archer, his whistle brought Rafe and Rev and Massi and everyone who heard it, and they went hunting.

They rounded up most of the escapees in less than half an hour.

The Jatan prisoners had moved into the forest after Hurst had set them free, intent on working their way around the Rising Wave camp to find the Jatan army, and in the dark, most hadn’t got very far.

The anger amongst the Cervantes was palpable.

Of the guards, four were dead, and two were just hanging on to life.

Luc looked over everyone who’d been recaptured, and was sorry to see General Carvill was not among them.

Then Rafe had whistled for attention, and they found the general dead, a knife buried in his throat, almost right next to the place where the prisoners had been held.

Hurst again, Luc guessed.