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It meant they had to stay alert through what should have been the easy part of their journey, still deep within Kassia.

“Do you think they’ll attack?” Kikir, the Skäddar warrior, asked as they passed yet another clear trail, freshly broken branches indicating someone had been through here less than half an hour before.

“Not if they’re sensible.” Luc kept his tone dry, because people who felt threatened were not always sensible.

Kikir sent him a look of surprise, saw his expression, and gave a small grin of agreement. He was wearing the scarf Ava had embroidered for him around his neck, the pattern in blue and green now more clear and sharp than the lines on his face, which had faded a little over the weeks since he’d joined the Rising Wave.

He noticed Luc looking at the scarf and touched it with his fingertips. “They won’t believe this when I get home. No one has ever sewn this pattern into cloth.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Luc asked. Ava had told him the pattern indicated that Kikir was the Skäddar’s top warrior, the best they had to offer.

“Only one person gets this pattern drawn on their face each year, so perhaps that is the reason.” Kikir let his hand drop back to the reins of his hardy mountain pony. “It will be much admired. I might have to give it to the next person who earns the honor.”

He didn’t look pleased by the idea, but Luc knew he wouldn’t wear it if he no longer held the rights to the marks on his face.

“I will speak to the Collective as soon as I get home and I’ll tell them about this new move the Jatan have made. Although I’m sure the generals will already be aware of it. If I can send you help, I will.”

When Luc heard General Ru had asked the Skäddar to watch the Jatan border for her, in exchange for more trade opportunities in Venyatu, he’d been impressed.

He had neither the connections nor the reach at the time to ask himself. And nothing to offer on the trade front.

They had still been just a mismatched group of soldiers, marching toward Fernwell.

His own missives to the Jatan themselves had gone unanswered.

The Jatan’s neighbors, the Skäddar, were an excellent second choice.

And in answer to General Ru’s request, the Skäddar Collective had sent their best warrior to see what the Rising Wave was up to, to negotiate a deal, and no doubt learn as much about their tactics and weapons as he could.

Kikir had fit right in. He had become a friend to the Venyatu, and General Ru had even given him a prominent role in the battle she’d fought on the plains against the Kassian forces that had been diverted from the Jatan border.

Kikir, however, was a single warrior. Luc didn’t know how much influence he would wield when he reached his home.

Anything was better than nothing, but he would not expect help until he saw it with his own eyes. But he would not be so rude as to say that out aloud.

“Thank you,” he said, instead. “Your soldiers would be most welcome and appreciated.”

Kikir nodded and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

“You must miss Avasu.” Kikir glanced at him. “She is certainly one surprise after another. Strong and fierce.” He gave a sudden chuckle. “The stories I will carry back to Skäddar about her will earn me many cups of milk beer.”

Luc tapped his heart with two fingers and brushed them downward. “I am lucky.” It went without saying that he missed her.

He worried about her, too.

He wanted to know she was safe, and he couldn’t do that out here.

He knew she was as strong and fierce as Kikir said, but there were ways she could be taken. And they had tried to take her so many times.

He was frightened one day they’d succeed.

To those who knew her secret, her magic, she was a font of power and gold.

She had been locked up for a long time by someone who had wanted to wring every drop of magic from her for his own ends and she’d been free a lot less time than she’d been imprisoned.

He knew all too well it could happen again.

“You’re worried about her?” Kikir must have read his face.