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T he next morning, Bronwyn met Theobold on the outskirts of the camp. He came leading a horse in tow. “I thought we’d need this. I can always say I’m on the empress’s business.”

She looked up at the horse. It was so big, and with simple trappings. She’d only ridden a horse once before and had found it a very unpleasant experience that had left her sore. She did not relish repeating it.

“Um, can’t we walk?”

“And take ages? You want to go or not?” He tilted his head to the side. “You’re not scared?”

“No.” The animal in question was tall, a light-grey mare with a snowy-white velvety coat and silvery mane.

“You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

She hitched a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I rode once, but that’s it. We don’t often ride horses when we’re baking.” She gave him a slight smile.

He grinned back at her. “Of course not. And here I was, thinking all bakers are talented riders as well.” He rubbed his cheek. “Learn something new every day. All right, come here. I’ll give you a foot up.”

He stood by and tied the horse’s reins to a tree as he helped her get a foot in the stirrup and then helped boost her up into the saddle.

She was ungainly, awkward and ungraceful, but after some harried fumbling and rearranging of her skirts, she was there.

She sat up, seeing him snort, and pulled her skirts down over her legs as best she could.

“Stop looking at my legs,” she said.

His gaze darted to her legs. “I wasn’t, but I am now.”

She furiously tried pulling her skirts down more to cover her legs and wobbled in the saddle, almost slipping.

He laughed and put a hand on her thigh to steady her. “Whoa there. I promise not to look at your legs if you agree to stay in the saddle, all right?”

She frowned at him. “It’s not like I was trying to lose my balance,” she said grumpily.

He smiled again.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You.” He left her side and went to untie the reins from the tree. He easily climbed up into the saddle behind her, which made her tense, and settled his weight behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as he held the reins. “Hold on.”

She stiffened at the feel of his arms around her. They were warm, and a part of her wanted to relax, but she couldn’t. She felt nervous all over again.

“Relax, I won’t let you fall,” he told her.

That’s not what I’m afraid of , she thought.

He nudged the horse gently with his heels and the mare started to walk. They took a path out of camp, away from the large encampment, and slowly picked a way across and around a bridge to the city’s entrance.

“Why were you laughing at me?” she asked.

“Because. Usually, it’s women who are trying to show me a glimpse of their legs, but not you. You’re the opposite.”

“Oh.”

They kept riding. In no time at all, they were at the castle gates.

The guards didn’t recognize them, but Theobold tossed one a coin and announced they were there on the empress’s business.

The guards let them in, and as they passed through the stone gates and under the arch, Bronwyn took a deep breath.

Part of it was seeing the city from a new height, but also, some of the city had changed.

The battle had only been about a fortnight ago and yet things were already different.

Some buildings had collapsed and fallen from the destruction, the streets had new people wandering them, different folk.

Bronwyn recognized no faces at all. It was like entering a new town, and yet one where she knew the layout.

But the streets were dirty, and the scents of human waste, butchery, blood, and smoke were in the air. It wasn’t pleasant, and it wasn’t the normal city smells, either.

“Let’s halt for a moment.” Theobald pulled back on the reins.

“What is it?” Bronwyn wanted to turn in the saddle and look at him, but to move too much made her lose her balance. She contented herself with looking straight ahead, eyeing the buildings and rubble of places she’d once known.

“I don’t think we thought this through.”

“What do you mean? We’re here.” She turned in the saddle to face him and he locked his arms around her so she wouldn’t fall. She glanced up at his eyes. “If you don’t want to go any farther, then fine, but I mean to see my family’s bakery. I want to know if they’re still alive.”

“But—”

“Enough. Thank you, Theobold. You’ve been very kind.” She faced forward and began to lift her leg, when he stopped her.

“For God’s sake, Bronwyn, just wait a minute.”

“What for?”

“Think for a moment. How do you know they’re still alive? You don’t. They could be…”

“Dead?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to go in there and see their bodies if that’s the case.”

She stiffened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to say it.” He let out a small sigh. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Just stay on the horse, and let me go in first, all right? Just to make sure it’s safe.”

“It’s my family home. Of course it’s safe.”

She felt him let out a noisy breath. “You haven’t seen a city after a battle until now, Bronwyn.

I have. It changes things. The people, the places.

They’re different after a battle. You think things may be the same as before, but I assure you, they’re not.

No one thinks the war will ever reach them, but it can and it does, from Southampton to Lincoln and back.

Their Graces brought their war here, and Lincoln did not escape unscathed.

” He nudged the horse on. “Tell me which way your family’s home is. ”

She gave him directions, and they took the streets at a slow walk, the mare’s hooves striking the ground in the early morning.

“What if they’re still alive?” he asked.

“That’s my hope,” she said quietly.

“But if they are, what will you do?”

“Return home. Live with my family. What else?” she asked, thinking of Rupert. He would never have a future with her, anyway, she realized with a pang of sadness. They were besotted with each other, if Rupert’s shy blushes and Lady Alice’s smiles were any indication.

“But you’re a part of the empress’s camp now. Will you give that up to return to your life here?”

“Of course I will. I—” She paused.

She had wanted her independence, to see other parts of the world.

The empress’s camp promised to do just that for her.

In another day or so, they would begin traveling to Gloucester.

It was another part of the country, and a part she had never seen before.

She’d never been out of Lincoln before. It was an enticing prospect.

But then she felt guilty for thinking that.

“I just want to know if they’re okay. Anything else can wait.”

“Are you sure? What if they’re—”

“I want to know. Wouldn’t you want to know if your family is alive and well?”

“I know. My family is…” His voice was dull. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

“Oh. All right.” She let the conversation stop for a beat. They were likely dead. “I’m sorry.”

“’S all right.” He nudged the horse on. “Promise me you won’t make any rash decisions right away.”

“I promise,” she said as they turned around a corner. “Oh.”

The bakery was a ruin. Bronwyn slipped off the horse, ignoring Theobald’s protests.

She walked toward the building, quiet as a spirit.

Her footsteps were light against the dirt road, and yet she felt as if she were returning home, and for a split second, she wanted to turn and tell Theobold it was fine, her family was here, safe and sound.

She’d invite him to dinner and they’d all laugh about what a worrier she’d been.

But that wasn’t the case.

The door hung off its hinges, and leaves fluttered inside the building. An ill wind blew, sending Bronwyn’s hair across her face. She brushed the strands away and opened the door, pushing it aside.

Inside, the shop was empty. It was cold. No fires had been lit; the stone oven she had known to burn since she’d been a child sat abandoned. The worktables were empty, bare of bread rolls and loaves. The wind blew the door open, making it squeak and groan against the doorframe.

Bronwyn’s eyes adjusted to the shadows and the darkness, and she saw a few huddled figures there, curled up for warmth.

The air smelled of urine and feces, with none of the traces of bread, flour, or baking she’d known.

It was as if her family had never existed, and all that was left of the home she’d known was an empty shell.

The figures were sleeping. She wanted to know… was her family among them? Was Wyot there?

She stepped forward—and paused. None of the figures there she recognized. They were refugees, having fled from the battle. All traces of her family were gone.

She climbed up the ladder to her family’s room and peeked her head above the floor space. It was bare, and empty. A few poor souls slept in what had been her parents’ bed, and her old pallet. No one she knew was up there.

She climbed back down and saw a few of the people awake, watching her with cold, sunken eyes. Their faces were long and drawn with hunger. She stepped back.

“Please…” A man stood and came toward her. “Do you have any food?”

She shook her head. “No. No, I don’t.”

He reached for her and she shied away, stumbling backward.

Bronwyn landed on the floor and hit her rump hard, banging her elbows.

She bit back a cry and scuttled back on her hands like a crab before Theobold burst through the door, his sword out and gleaming in a small ray of sunlight.

Dust floated in the air as the sword flashed with warning. “Get away from her. Get back.”

The man, an older man of some middle-age years, whom hunger and the cold had clearly worn down, lowered his hand and drew away. Some of the shadowy figures clung to each other and retreated farther into the dark corners of the room.

“Are you all right?” Theobold asked.

“Yes.”

He held out a hand and she took it, allowing him to help her up. With his sword still extended, they backed out of the bakery, until she said, “Wait.”

“What?”