Jess had not come.

Though Aylee had stared into the darkness until the sun began to lighten the canvas above her, she heard nothing, and disappointment warred with her relief.

So, she would receive no resolution to her questions. If that were the case, then she knew the answer – she was no wise as significant in all of the maneuverings as she had thought. And if she managed to get away unnoticed, likely Jess would send no one after her. Rising from her bed, she dressed and made her way along the edge of the clearing determined to set out for home at once. When she had requested her mare from the corral master, however, he informed her that the horse had just strained a muscle in her leg and would require several days to recover. When she inquired after a different horse, the hand informed her that he could not, at the moment, part with a horse as he had received instructions to wash down, test, and shoe every horse in the corral with the understanding that the troop would put out as a whole in the next few days and would need the horses battle ready.

How could the gods be so far against me! she lamented. She had seriously considered whether or not she could venture out on foot, but when she realized that the camp lay farthest through the woods to Bennigton from any other town in the region, and that somewhere within the wood lay Malchus Lorne and a large contingent of soldiers under his command, she decided that she could not dare it. Could she just hide at the edge of the camp and wait out Chester's return? Wracked with indecision, she could only determine to wait for an opportunity to get away.

Without Chester around, Aylee could lay claim to no friend. She had destroyed any semblance of rapport with Itchy, so could not seek him out in secrecy. Though Jess had not sought her out, she grew aware that at least one soldier seemed always to stand near her, as if attempting not to appear to watch her. The first two of them failed, and Aylee had found sardonic enjoyment in their distraction when she approached them and began to speak to them as if in casual conversation. So, she would not be able to leave unless she could evade detection by her apparent guards. Irritated, she determined to ascertain what Jess intended, so she swept through the trees around the outside of the clearing and watched the entrance of the tent.

When she finally spied him, his demeanor bore signs of distraction. If she had not known better, she would have named his affliction as misery, but a man like him – a noble like him – would surely not mourn for the loss of a woman who had done as she had. No, he would have fabricated a charge against her so he could indict her of some crime and detain her.

Instead, she stared at him from across the clearing, and he did not once look up as if seeking her. He did not call over soldiers to hand them orders, and he spoke not a word to Itchy. He seemed distressed and disheartened, not arrogant and vengeful, and guilt clutched at Aylee’s chest, though she told herself it was misplaced. In the same manner, three days crept by – Aylee, confronting and surprising her guards, Jess despondent and distant. Every morning, she would return to the corral and check on her horse, only to be turned away. Disoriented by her uncertainty and impotence, she made her way to her tent and hid inside.

She had awakened suddenly on the third morning, not remembering when she had let herself sleep, and once she recognized that, once again, nothing had happened in the night, she peeked out of the opening of the tent. One of her regular neighbors waved to her, with his usual affability, and Aylee breathed in deeply to steady herself. Jess still had not told the troop about her offense to him, if the men’s cordiality indicated anything.

When did he intend to unleash her punishment? Before she had outright defied the commander of the troops who protected her, Aylee had deluded herself that his power had not intimidated her in any way. Her current anxiety now proved that a lie.

Unfortunately, she could manufacture nothing to distract her from the insanity of what she had done. The horse would not heal, and her brother did not return. It was hard to make herself plunge into the unseen dangers of the woods when she had so few resources. Something told her that if she just held out for a little while longer, a solution would present itself. She wanted to talk to Itchy, to make sure she hadn’t caused him too much trouble, but she couldn’t exactly regret creating a breach between the men – Itchy was too virtuous to play sycophant to a scoundrel. Still, she knew that Itchy would only resent her, unconvinced as he stood. At some point, she would approach him, but she would have to attempt it with caution.

What had she been thinking, to do something so thoughtless to a man who had shown her only kindness? Jess did not punish Itchy, though. Instead, he showed only a slight terseness in the men’s speech to each other – mostly on the part of Itchy, as if he regretted an insult he had personally made to Jess but that Jess had forgotten.

“Jess,” though, had not forgotten. Once he recovered from the utter shock of what he had seen, Jameson had found himself immobilized by hurt and astonishment. He should have approached Itchy with his frustration, certain that he could still count on the friend, but he held just enough doubt to hold back his tongue. In half his mind, he wished to castigate both Itchy and Aylee, certain that they had perpetrated some personal treachery against him, but though he still thought it unlikely that Itchy had done so, Jameson held just enough respect for the lymer that he could imagine the young maid falling for the kindness and intuition of the man.

Having raised himself up to command an army, all of Itchy's best traits had risen as well, and Jameson could almost view him from the perspective of an objective observer. Tall and handsome, smart and caring, Itchy possessed first-rate qualities that, when removed from the realm of class, would prove attractive to many a young lady. On the off chance that Itchy actually cared for Aylee, Jameson could not mention the thoughts to his friend. If Jameson discouraged him, Itchy would defer. If Jameson communicated his own preference for Aylee, Itchy would concede as servant to master. Whatever Jameson chose, if he forced the issue with Itchy, Itchy would cave in to the desires of his master, and if Itchy and Aylee had formed a genuine affection, then Jameson could not in good conscience interfere with his friend. Even if refraining devastated himself.

In fact, if his concerns had existed entirely in the personal realm, he might have set aside his personal sense of injury and taken the first step to reconcile with his friend, but Jameson now considered the high likelihood that something more insidious than a secret romance brewed between Aylee and Itchy. From the moment Jameson had seen Aylee, she had attracted him, if not intrigued him. Malchus Lorne had proven a scoundrel, but he had spoken rightly about Aylee. Aylee Hembry, the miscreant had insisted, stood apart among young maidens. With an intelligence and insight, a determination and drive, she had intrigued him. Cover that with a façade of unmatched kindness and sensitivity, and Aylee seemed to have few peers among women.

He had to ask himself how he had missed her duplicity – it seemed so obvious now. She had picked Itchy out as a friend almost at once, and a point in her favor at the outset of his knowledge of her. Where others noticed the servant’s slightly provincial mannerisms, Aylee seemed to notice all the virtues that had earned the servant Jameson’s respect. With the other troops, she had brightened their daily existences, softened some of their hardship, but she had not invested herself in them. She guarded herself carefully, only dedicating her time and energy to a privileged few.

When she had manufactured some horrendous identity for him, he had at first imagined her distressed from her ordeal. He could have done nothing more than he had done to clarify her misconceptions, but she refused to give him any quarter. Only after he had admitted his nobility had she succumbed to his attentions. And now she had broken that which Jameson had considered beyond danger of destruction – his friendship with Itchy. Maybe Itchy had wished to protect Jameson from a disappointment that might interfere with his resolve to accomplish his current purpose.

Perhaps Jameson could understand such a course from Itchy, but to allow him to pursue Aylee so publicly? To open him to the ridicule of the troops? Jameson could not quite forgive such avoidance, if it had occurred. What had Aylee said? Long friendship can afflict one with blindness to flaws in character that an objective observer might easily discern. Is that what had happened to Jameson's father? One could distrust all evidence of virtue when once a question of vice crept into the mind. Jameson's experience with his father had educated him through pain, so could he really be surprised that even Itchy might deceive him?

Once Jameson considered it a possibility, he began to wonder what else Itchy might prove capable of. And if he could not rely on Itchy, he did not know how to move forward. For three days, therefore, Jameson, Lord Capigan, heir to the Duke's estate, did nothing but succumb to exhaustion and despondency. He had left his home with heroic intentions, but he now found himself encumbered by his own distraction. Even the fact that he had let his mind wander weighed him down, creating guilt at his inattention to the imminent threat on his father’s life.

For Itchy, the three days wore on with excruciating sluggishness. He had settled himself in his youth to the idea that he should guard himself closely. A servant, favored by his master's son, could never fulfill the expectations that he might imagine for himself nor those his superiors might place on him. Better to refuse all overtures of friendship, offer competence and steadiness, but refuse to engage in any further personal investment.

Itchy had not intended to transgress his training, but the circumstances had thrust on him a level of intimacy he had never experienced with any friend. Not only had he deepened his friendship with his master, he had found an unexpected friendship with an excellent woman. Now he stood in danger of losing not only his new, easily-made friendship, but also his long-standing, once unshakeable friendship – even his occupation.

He blamed Aylee – how could he not? But he did not disdain her. Who could not understand the difficulty and insecurity of finding oneself ripped from the comforts of a good home only to land in an uncomfortable and untenable situation? A young lady, thrown in among a near legion of troops, unsure whether her companions possessed a good character or bad, alone and without resource. Pursued, against propriety, by romantic overtures from her nameless rescuer? Surely she had reason for her foolish blunder.

When she finally approached him just as dusk had settled on the third day, therefore, he did not turn her away. He could not see her with the same affection, and she could tell by his expression, but he readily agreed to walk with her to the edge of the camp.

“Forgive me for seeking you out – I cannot justify it. I just wanted to assure myself that you are alright.”

She hung her head, obviously disheartened, and Itchy found his resentment waning when he saw that she suffered, too. “I’ll survive, dear girl. Jess is more damaged by this than I, at the moment.”

“Always so ready to make excuses for him,” she sighed. “But I guess that is what makes you a good friend – as you are doing so for me as we speak.” Turning to him, she wanted to reach for his hand, but after her earlier transgression, it seemed inappropriate. “I have no explanation, Itchy. There can be no justification, Only, I hope I have not created too much of a dilemma for you.”

“In truth, Miss Aylee, you have done just that, yet I am sure you did not mean it.”

“Do not excuse me, Itchy. I have treated you in an infamous manner, and I would not blame you if you never spoke to me again.”

Itchy shook his head. “Miss Aylee,” he began cautiously, taking a seat on a nearby stump “though another man might chastise you for such behavior, I cannot. For one thing,” Aylee watched the slightest twinkle return to his eye, “if you had not kissed me thus, I would likely not find another opportunity to kiss a woman such as you.”

Though miserable, Aylee allowed a small smile to break through her sobriety.

“And for another, I understand. I understand your predicament. I believe that your thoughtlessness stemmed from the overwhelming events that have occurred in your life over the last few weeks. You would not intend me harm, and under normal circumstances, you would not have caused it.”

Aylee began to pace, her wringing hands worrying for her as she considered his words. “What you say is true, Itchy, but it does not excuse me. In my defense,” she turned to smile at him, “I had not thought of you as a servant these last few weeks, mentally classing you with a merchant or a smith or something. I only found out for sure what I had suspected - that you were Jess's servant – a moment before you appeared, and regardless, you deserve to be raised. And I had wondered, at the beginning, if you might prove more than just a friend.” Her eyes sought the ground, slightly embarrassed at the admission. “I saw quickly that you were not open to the possibility though, so I gave over – ”

“Though you played at it…”

“Itchy!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I was rather impressed. Surprised to find that you are not quite all goodness, though mostly. You would have added some much needed wiliness to Jess’s noble retinue, with me there to keep you in line.”

“I will not be joining any retinue, especially not Jess’s.”

“It is a loss to the nobility, then,” Itchy grinned.

“You jest, but I cannot consider myself such a great loss to anyone. That I would treat you so! I should have protected you from your master's censure once I knew. You were my equal, though, my friend. And still will be if you will have me.”

“If I will have you, then?” he teased. “I suppose I must, but please explain to me.” The twinkle transformed into a full-on grin. “Am I to expect you always to treat your friends in such a manner? Because I would request that you refrain from kissing me thus unless you mean it.”

Aylee glared gently at him. “I promise I will not, since you have made it abundantly clear on several occasions that you are not open to that option. It might help, though, if you could convince your friend to leave off his deceptions.” Though she had begun the exchange in jest, she finished it in sadness, slumping down onto her own wooden stump as her spirits sank again. “He confuses me so. The man I think I know would have me in the stockade, yet he has not said a word to me, not sent a proxy to detain me. Am I ever to know his true character? I know your opinion of him, and I understand why you believe thus, but the things I have seen! Render yourself objective, Itchy, and help me understand!”

“My dear maid,” Itchy patted her hand, “I know his identity, and I know his character, and I swear on my life that you can trust him.”

“Objective, Itchy. He has hidden things from you. Think less of loyalty and more of reason. Since that day when I notice he was hiding something from you, I have observed on several other occasions engaged in the same behavior. He reaches in his pocket…” She reached in her own pocket, somehow surprised that she still carried the medallion. Hadn’t she given Jess up? Without drawing attention to the action, Aylee dropped the little coin onto the grass and continued her discourse. “He pulls something up, and he looks at it – it seems gilt or metal – and then he glances at you with a guilty expression and presses it back into his pocket. Maybe you could find out the reality of his intent if you could see what he was hiding from you!”

Itchy pierced her with his eyes. “I have seen this habit, dear Aylee – once you brought it up – and it signifies nothing. I trust him, and nothing you can say will undo that. Who that knows him would not? Who that knows his situation would not have infinite patience? He has justification for the actions he takes, and he takes not that needs justifying!”

“Then you would explain away any infamy – perhaps I should not appreciate so highly your forbearance with me.”

“What exactly do you accuse him of in your thoughts that would create in you such anxiety?”

For a moment, Aylee could not speak, and when she did, her voice barely rose above a whisper. Itchy moved to her side so he could hear her. “I observed him among the troops of Malchus Lorne, the man most dangerous to me in all the world. He was interacting with the soldiers, he attacked me that night, in Glowigham.”

“Attacked you?”

“Tackled me to the ground,” she insisted.

Itchy peered at her skeptically. “You are not being fully forthcoming – what were the circumstances?”

She could not look at him. “It matters not. Once my mind opened to the possibility of his connection with Malchus, so many evidences arose before me. All of the towns. When he visited a place, it soon burned – or in some cases had already burned. Then I saw him in his cape, with his crest. It was the same. The soldiers near Glowigham wore the same insignia. He tried to persuade me within the walls that he had not colluded with Malchus, but when I realized how ready I was to believe him – as if he had woven a spell over me! Even knowing what I had seen with my own eyes, I wanted to trust him.”

“Woven a spell?” Itchy scoffed, a tad too incensed. “Scheming with Malchus? You have truly constructed an impermeable accusation. No wonder you conflict within yourself. To have your heart committed while your mind conceives such vivid obstacles in order to resist him? It is a wonder you have not gone mad!”

“But I have!” she cried. “He has driven me mad! To hold every possible appearance of goodness but bear such infamy! To single me out for favor while guarding such virulent secrets? How could I entrust my virtue, my future, my existence to a man of whom I hold no knowledge? I am mad. Why else would I cause you so much inconvenience? Kiss you before your master! Is that not madness in light of how much I care for you – in light of the trouble it caused you? I have completely lost my mind, though I will not agree with you that it is because my heart is committed. I began to trust him – greater fool I – until I realized why he had accepted no payment for my care. Because I was the payment, not the prize. My heart unleashed from his the night I witnessed him in league with Malchus Lorne.”

Itchy shook his head, growing frustrated. “I cannot tell you why, but you have to believe that one of the men you mentioned has donned the cape in masquerade, to hide his true intentions. It is not even the true symbol – it is a bastardization. Oh, Aylee! Do not commit yourself to hate him until you know the truth. If you cannot trust him, then trust me. I know it is difficult, but you cannot lightly dismiss his favor!”

Standing to her feet, Aylee paced away from him, spinning back with rage subdued by the surrounding silence. “You make it sound as if his preferring me is a great honor! Am I so bereft of other options that I may not choose for myself? Just because you have repudiated me, must I resign myself to the pursuit of a scoundrel? I know you are his servant, and I know you admire him, but I am not Jess’s servant. My admiration is dependent only on his merit.”

Itchy stood as well, unusually eager for her to understand. “Aylee, you deserve every great honor, and many would wish the favor of your affection, but you must understand that he deserves honor as well. He does merit it. I cannot explain more, but when you understand, you will see that his preference for you is a great honor, as is your preference for him.”

Ache and fury brought tears to her eyes, and she found herself glaring at Itchy. “Losing him has opened a deeper well of sadness in me than all the miseries I have so far suffered, but I will not be fooled again. From the first time I saw him, I have had my reasons to blame him.”

“You must have patience, Aylee.”

“No more, Itchy. It is time to act! When I have opportunity, I will leave the camp.

“But the peril! You will throw yourself in the path of Malchus Lorne to escape Jess?”

“Is a miscreant merchant really worse than a villainous noble? Malchus would hold no power if not for the consequence given him from on high. Never did I understand the grumblings in the streets of Bennigton, ‘spite the peer.’ Now that I understand how nobles can wield the unscrupulous for their selfish purposes? Now, I understand.”

“But, Aylee –”

Closing her eyes, Aylee reined in her upset, realizing that she had moved against friendship again in speaking thus with Itchy about his master. “Just,” she placed a hand on his cheek as she opened her eyes and sought his gaze. “Just protect this secret for me. Let me go. I will ask no more of you. You have proven a valuable friend, and I will remember your assistance forever.” Standing to her toes, she punctuated her declaration with an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

“I will keep your confidence for now, Aylee. Even if you are mistaken, I can promise you that at least. Will you not wait for Chester?”

“Chester has nothing to do with this, and though I worry for him among the troop, I fear trying to get him out. He will find an excuse to return home soon enough. But I will miss you, friend” Squeezing his hand again, she turned and wandered into the moonlight that bathed the clearing in a silvery glow.

“Where are you going?” Itchy inquired, not fully comfortable with the idea of her roaming the fields alone.

“I just need to think,” she asserted. “I will not leave tonight. I will stay along the wood's edge, keeping my wanderings to the boundaries of the camp.”

Itchy did not like the idea, but he shrugged his acquiescence. “Please have the courtesy to holler through my tent when you turn in for the night.”

“Of course,” she smiled again before leaving him to make his way back alone.

Perhaps Jameson should not have resorted to sneaking through the forest to spy on the woman he loved and his best friend, but Jameson had almost gone out of his mind when he had seen the pair wandering toward the wood's edge. For three days, Aylee had sulked around the camp, avoiding everyone, but especially Jameson. He couldn't exactly blame her based on what she had done. Itchy had performed his duties in silence, responding when spoken to, but never venturing an opinion. Jameson did not exactly know how to interpret Itchy's behavior. For Jameson's part, he had tried his hardest to plan his next move, but his mission seemed to have faded into the obscurity of the abstract while he stood with flesh-and-blood Aylee mere yards away from him. How would he manage his goals if he couldn't keep sight of them?

One last attempt to satisfy his curiosity, and then he would confine Aylee to the back corner of his mind until he found some new evidence that would help lend him direction. When he had found the two erstwhile friends seated on a branch, part of him wished that he had forgone the excursion and stayed to mope alone in his tent. He needed to know, though, exactly the nature of the pair’s relationship. Was it purely romantic? Was it political? Was it a combination?

Thinking back to the field where she had caressed his face, lifted her lips to him in invitation, Jameson considered another, more disturbing possibility. Had Aylee Hembry seduced Itchy – a sheltered man with little experience with women – into betraying his best friend? Or had Jameson fallen entirely to the same deception as his father, missing the signs of treachery in one who was too close to allow for perspective? The very smallest part of him, the human part, worried about something much less momentous but much more relevant. Would he witness a repeat of their kiss, the death blow to his own heart in an expression of the tenderness of theirs?

Then he had heard the tenor of their conversation, though he could not catch every phrase. What he heard proved enough. Think less of loyalty and more of reason, Aylee had insisted. At least it spoke of Itchy’s loyalty that she considered the servant conflicted. Before Jameson could discern more, a soldier had happened past, and Jameson had found himself forced to manufacture an excuse for his loitering. By the time he turned back, he heard the phrase that overthrew all of his other concerns…spite the peer.

Since the day she had kissed Itchy, Jameson had played a thousand possibilities in his mind of how he could exonerate her. He had also played over several that painted her as a conspirator against him – he had to consider the possibility, as distasteful as it was to him. What had materialized rang much worse than his other speculations. “Spite the peer.” He had imagined her in league with Maximus, but what would it mean if she had conspired with the dissidents?

It is time to act! she had proclaimed. When I have opportunity, I will leave the camp.

Jameson did not know which pained him more: the potential political implications or the personal ones. In truth, they led to the same conclusion: if Itchy would protect Aylee over his master, then all that Itchy knew threatened the existence of the duchy.

Wandering to the downed log where the duplicitous couple had sat, Jameson lowered himself to a seat and then rested his chin on his hands. How was he to move forward when he could not trust the man he most needed to trust? When his eyes lowered to the ground, they rested on something that did not derive from nature. The bronze disc that Aylee carried in her pocket! He had first seen her with it when she stood outside his tent, but there had been other moments when he had noticed it; she would reach in her pocket and pull the disc out, rubbing her fingers over its surface before replacing it in her pocket.

It had seemed a strange habit, and always left Jameson curious. When he had seen it fall from her pocket onto the ground, he wondered that she had not noticed. Now as he reached for it, his pulse quickened, with rage and fear. Moonflower. Aylee carried the seal of the moonflower, the seal of his greatest enemy. Now Jameson could believe anything of her. Maybe like attracts like. Jameson had never known a soul as brilliantly conniving as Paulus Maximus. Could Aylee have been an agent of his all along?

But “spite the peer” was a dissident cry, wasn’t it? Then again, if fomenting unrest in the region would serve Maximus, would he not do it? And using a woman in need would play his tune directly. A girl from Bennigton, the base of operations for the Steeple Society. A girl who had happened upon him in the city square, who interacted regularly with the second-n-command to the high counselor.

He had first encountered her with Malchus Lorne – in fact Lorne had pointed her out. Almost every time Jameson had encountered her before she joined his troop, she had stood with what turned out to be the favored commander of Paulus Maximus. She had seemed distressed, but was she truly? Would she let the man flay her cheek?

Though he did not want to believe it, history would say that, yes, a woman committed to a cause would endure much for that cause. He did not want to believe it, but he dare not reject it. His own thoughts had confirmed, in the garden when he first recognized the breach Aylee had made between himself and Itchy. Then his own words confirmed it, as well. You are in a camp full of young men, he had said, yet you have paid them no heed…She had paid heed to the only man in camp from whom she could manage political gain.

Jameson thought over his time with Aylee. Had she shown any signs of scheming? Perhaps no direct signs, but what of her persistent pursuit of Itchy? If she could garner his friend’s affection – which she seemed to have done – she might wreak untold damage to Jameson’s cause.

With a furious growl, he flung the offending coin into the woods where it sank a half-inch into the trunk of a tree. Glancing around, he forced himself to calm. The spot lay just far enough from the camp that he did not believe anyone had seen him.

Jameson did not know that he believed every conjecture he had made, but in the end, the only truth he needed for sure was that Aylee had deceived him and had weaseled her way into the heart of his closest friend and ally, whatever her motives. Apparently, Jameson had nearly fallen – may have fallen – to the same deception as his father. Jameson had imagined the world a different place than he had now experienced, and he did not understand exactly how to proceed. His father would have known, but Jameson's last excursion had left him with less certainty than he had possessed before he began.

Returning to his tent, he paused at the section of elite troops who had aided him on each important expedition, instructing two of his most well-known men to follow and monitor Itchy and Aylee. Unlike Itchy, the two men did not possess a knack for analyzing or evaluating plans and information, but they could execute with discretion, and Jameson needed exactly their skills. For one night, Jameson would let the couple roam free. He would allow himself one night's rest before he had to face his future alone.