After they tied her ankles they bound her wrists behind her back against the tent pole. Why had the lady mage been gagged? They didn’t gag Leisa. After her panic wore down she was able to think more clearly. She’s a mage, silly goose, she told herself. Were mages able to use their magic through incantation? It was possible, not that it mattered very much. Lady Casen was still slumped over, unconscious from the blow she’d taken from one of those vicious cavalrymen.

At least the tent was warm. A large brazier crackled quietly a few paces away, giving off enough heat to keep her from shivering against the cold. She could hardly believe she cared about warmth at a time like this.

Captain Caldron was dead... so much blood as he clutched at his neck before slumping dead in his saddle. Poor man.

And Jasen... what happened to him?

Apart from being tied up, the only other discomfort beside her uneasiness of mind was the hunger. She felt hollow. Her belly growled when the limping guard entered the tent. He sat, lifted a cover from an earthenware plate and began to eat, all the while keeping an eye on them.

It was only midday, but it felt like days had passed since the ambush. The guard’s leg wound seemed fresh. Could he have gotten that injury during the skirmish Falan spoke about? She wondered, eyeing the man’s red-sashed half helm.

The guard ate sloppily at his roast chicken and potatoes. Her stomach made a noise in protest. The guard heard, smirked. He paid her little more attention while he ate, sticking at bits of his meal with a short dagger.

She glanced at the Sorela. What would happen now? Leisa hadn’t seen anyone from the camp. None of them were brought into the tent, but perhaps that was simply because she and the lady mage were women. Women were treated better. But it didn’t seem that way, eyeing the purple welt on the Sorela’s temple. She was sleeping, so Leisa tried not to disturb her, since during the night, she had moved a lot. At one point, Leisa had thought she heard the mage moan, but that must have been her imagination.

For some long it had seemed that nothing could harm Sorela—or any mage for that matter.

But that’s not the truth.

It had been a full night and another half day and a physician still hadn’t looked at her. Nelothans certainly took their time. If not to check on Lady Casen, shouldn’t they have at least sent someone to talk to them? “She might have a concussion,” she told the guard for what seemed like the tenth time. “Bring a physician! Please.”

Her guard dropped a chunk of meat onto his plate. No, he tossed it. “I said shut it, you little wench!”

Leisa exhaled in frustration.

She imagined the others taken from a palisade with guards on all sides, then lead to a gibbet for hanging. Jasen’s face materialized within her mind. It wouldn’t be far off from expected.

Would they hang the lady mage? Herself perhaps? Her stomach heaved when she imagined her own corps swinging from a noose, crows atop her head gouging out her eyes. She winced.

They wouldn’t hang Sorela—it just wasn’t done—not to mages. But Leisa was just a handmaiden. It was probably best they didn’t offer her any food or she’d surely wretch it back up.

Maybe some of the others escaped... If they had, they were probably leagues from there by now. There was nothing to do, just wait. Wait until these Nelothans decided what to do with her.

They would probably hang Leisa. Soldiers were always harsh during wartime, no matter what country they were from, weren’t they?

Why had she wanted to come? The lady mage warned her it would be dangerous, but she didn’t think it would be like this. Not like this.

She blinked away wetness. More came. She should have stayed in the castle. She should never have wanted to rise above her station—not even to become a mage. Leisa wished she had never met Sorela. She tried to hold it in, to not show the angry man shoving food into his mouth with that ugly little dagger that she was afraid.

But it was too late, and it was normal to cry when you were afraid of dying.