We set off from the capital, riding furiously north-northeast to Castle Greymane. Once again, I found myself holding on for dear life, burying my face in Rocher's back so the wind wouldn't rip the breath from my lungs.

  Neither Seraphine nor I knew how to ride. Evelyn and Rocher confidently held the reins, but as passengers we were subject to the whims of the twin armored mounts—Fritz and Friedrich.

  Frankly, they scared the hell out of me.

  Bck, bristling with coarse fur, with eyes that glowed red in the dark. Standing at least twenty hands tall and rippling with muscle, they must have each weighed four times as much as Damien's mare. Every thundering hoofbeat rattled my bones, and I couldn't fathom how anyone in the royal cavalry managed to tame such beasts.

  "Cire! How are you holding up back there?"

  Rocher's voice called out to me, but it quickly vanished into the wind. I couldn't bear to open my mouth, so I just pressed my forehead harder into his back.

  "Haha, look at her! She's usually so feisty, but now she's downright adorable!"

  "Damn it all! I wish I could see!"

  Heat flooded my cheeks as I clutched Rocher's waist. He was the st person I wanted to ride with, but the pn required Evelyn and Seraphine to peel off before we reached the castle walls. Fritz was packed light for speed—they couldn't spare a single second to be stopped for inspection.

  After only half a day, Castle Greymane came into view. It was nowhere near as awe-inspiring as the royal castle; in fact, it quite lived up to its name. Built of drab, gray stone and encircled by a moat, it was practical, unadorned. The main road led to a heavily fortified gate, while a series of ditches and smoke-filled trenches scarred the surrounding nd. The acrid tang of burning ash stung my nose.

  I gnced over at Evelyn and Seraphine.

  If I was having a hard time, Seraphine seemed to be faring considerably worse. She was the lynchpin of our pn, and the weight of that duty showed pinly on her face. It didn't help that Fritz, perhaps giddy from his unusually light load, had been acting up along the way. She cmped a hand over her nose and mouth, looking one jolt away from turning green.

  "Let's go already before I hurl!"

  Evelyn tugged on the left rein, kicking hard. Fritz snorted and leapt off the main road, causing Seraphine to scream.

  "You stupid horse!"

  I smiled apologetically. I'd have to think of a proper reward for her once we returned.

  The nd of Greymane was harsh. The fiefdom had sprung up on the banks of the River Greymane, which carried fresh spring water from Lake Pcid down to the lower pins. But titude and elevation meant that for half the year, the river was either frozen or slush. During times like these, the citizens subsisted on ice fishing and hunting, trading jerky and furs for goods from the warmer parts of the kingdom. The unique, rough-and-tumble way of life made them a hardy and proud people.

  It came as no surprise that Count Greymane gave us a difficult time as soon as we stepped into the great hall.

  "Now, look who's back! Has the boy finally finished licking his wounds?"

  The rge, bearded man ughed boisterously, fnked by several robust but haggard-looking men. Dim light filtered through the curtains, once brilliantly embroidered but now thin and ragged.

  "Uncle."

  Rocher gave a deep, apologetic bow. A beat te, I flinched and followed suit.

  Count Greymane was wed to the youngest of His Majesty's sisters, so I knew that "uncle" was literal. To the others, though, it must have sounded like affection. The Count's gruffness and familiar attitude only reinforced that impression.

  "A month ago, you treated our eyes to three beautiful women companions. But today, you bring us just one. Have we grown so unworthy of respect, my boy?"

  "On the contrary, Uncle. Consider it our gift—for Your Lordship and the brave men who've borne the burden of our previous failures. Two of my companions have already moved to reinforce the line."

  The Count stroked his beard, nodding in approval.

  "Just two is enough? As I recall, your group had struggled when all four were present. We Greymanes are a tenacious bunch, but our enemy shows no sign of abating."

  "This time will be different. The goddess of victory is on our side."

  Rocher turned to smile at me, drawing the Count's attention. I was dressed rather boyishly and drab—trousers that were a little too tight at the hips, a simple tunic hanging loosely around my shoulders. Far cry from the showy epithet he'd used.

  "Come to think of it, I don't recognize this one. You, girl—what is your name? Your lord compels you to answer."

  "Cire de Lune, my lord."

  I curtsied and seized the opportunity Rocher had given me.

  Count Greymane was a bit of an asshole. To him, the great hall was a pce for men, and only men, to conduct business. He expressly forbade women from entering unless accompanied—or from speaking unless spoken to.

  "If I may trouble Your Lordship: I have reason to believe the Demon Lord will make his move soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow."

  A clink resounded through the hall as one of his men stepped forward to punish my impropriety. The Count raised a hand.

  "Speak."

  I moved towards the window and drew back the curtain. Dark clouds brooded over Castle Greymane, pressing the already bleak atmosphere into an even deeper shadow.

  "It looks like rain today."

  "We've fought plenty in the rain before. It doesn't scare us."

  He seemed almost offended by my caution, the lingering traces of cordiality snuffed out. I shook my head.

  "But it's not just rain—it'll be a downpour. A flood. The conditions are ripe for one."

  I gestured towards the plumes of smoke now wafting from the trenches below.

  "Your Lordship's men have been burning the corpses of the undead, have they not?"

  It was only logical. The undead horde used human-wave tactics. Without wide-area holy magic avaible, Lumiere would've suggested the next best course of action: dig ditches, corral and immobilize the undead, then destroy the bodies with fire during the day, when their regenerative curse was weakest.

  It was a clever workaround. Only now, a cloud of ash hung over the nd—like a curtain. Or rather a net, trapping the moisture from the thawing Lake Pcid.

  By the time I finished expining, my throat was dry. Count Greymane had risen from his seat and joined me and Rocher at the window. His entourage followed, wary.

  "So be it. We pull our forces back into the castle and let nature take its course. We've earned a reprieve for one night."

  "I'm afraid there will be little time for rest."

  I swallowed. No, I couldn't show hesitation here.

  "When the flooding begins, I predict that the Demon Lord will mobilize the mer-beasts of Lake Pcid. We've given them a perfect base from which to unch their siege."

  My vision traced the ditches that had been so diligently dug around the castle. They seemed to extend endlessly into the distance.

  Mer-beasts were amphibious, but they seldom strayed far from water. Since they spent their lives hunting in the deep, their muscles had been forged by pressure and resistance. On nd, it would be like dropping weights. They were fast—faster than anyone could believe—and had enough strength to leap several stories high.

  These ditches might have deterred the undead, but to such monsters they'd become a boon once flooded.

  A low murmur rippled through the group of onlookers. The men looked at one another, mouths opening and closing, unsure of how to react.

  Count Greymane ground his teeth, the sound rough as gravel in the discomforting silence.