Free Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King by The Uncrowned King

kingdoms where a sword served as well as most speeches, and the people were as pale as the ice and snow that surrounded them for so much of the gods-cursed year. Duarte had done his time in the North, and had no desire to return to it; the ice had crept into his hair there, and the wind had frozen lines into his skin.
    /
am not a young man
, he thought, accepting it as truth although it troubled more than his vanity. War was coming.
    "I
am
aware of that, Fiara. It may surprise you, but as Primus and therefore commanding officer of this company, I actually do manage to hear a few words before the rest of you do."
    She had the grace to flush, but that was about as much grace as he could hope for; she was an Osprey, after all. They all were. Misfits, killers, mercenaries more than soldiers—their only real law was the loyalty they held to each other. And, by extension, to the Kalakar House Guards. He had gathered them; they were his.
    But it had been well over a decade since he had pulled their hoods from their faces to let them see the light of the open sky. To let them catch sight of their quarry.
    And that, he thought, was taking the analogy about as far as it could go without losing it entirely.
    "Sentrus," he said quietly, in a tone that brooked no interruption—even from an Osprey. "the time for peace is almost past. If you wish to be offended by The Kalakar's order, be offended
in silence
. What I accept from you in peace, and what I accept from you in time of war are, of necessity, two different things. It's been long indeed if you've forgotten it."
    "Primus," she said, tapping her chest with the curled tips of her fingers.
    He closed his eyes a moment. House Guards were expected to drill
and
present. Even the Ospreys. Given their reputation, probably especially the Ospreys.
    Still, no war had been declared, and the Callestan Tyr, or so rumor had it, was certain that
if
war was to be declared, it would be declared by the height of the Festival of the Sun. The eighth day of Lattan had come and gone; it would be two days yet before word could be expected to arrive in Averalaan, carried most likely by members of the bardic college. The Kingdom had time to mobilize.
    No doubt that was what the Dominion intended to do as well.
    "Primus Duarte," Fiara said, her voice rather chilly, "permission to speak?"
    "Granted."
    "We've never been allowed up to our full tally. We took the brunt of the slaughter in the valley—"
    "We were one of three companies, Fiara."
    "We were the only company that counted, as far as the Annies were concerned."
    "Ah, Alexis. I was wondering when you would decide to join us." His smile never started. "The term
Annies
is not to be used under this particular tour of duty." His tone and his expression indicated clearly that they'd both agreed to this at least a dozen times.
    Nor did she argue now. "News," she said grimly.
    "What news?"
    "You aren't going to like it."
    "Alexis."
    "Do you want to finish with Fiara?"
    Fiara's dark gaze had started to drill a small hole in the side of Alexis' face—or it would have, if eyes had that particular strength. Alexis, apparently, did not notice. Which fooled neither the woman standing beside her nor the man sitting in front; she was sharp as a Maker's blade; she missed nothing.
    "Yes," he said at last, hoping that he'd remember to tell her that, as Sentrus, she was being unconscionably rude—hells, as Decarus, before she'd been busted down a rank, it would still have been poor behavior among Ospreys. Of course, correcting Alexis in public had its own special consequences. It made Duarte uneasy a moment. This woman was his companion, as much of a soul mate as he had ever allowed himself to find. But that bond had been built
after
the war's end—formed in the fires and grime of the Annagarian dead. Formed, he thought, by a need to escape the war's cost, the war's loss.
    They had never faced combat together as a couple; he'd half-thought they never would. And he