The calm before the storm was over. The war had begun in earnest. The Valoise were on the move. Deva noticed mostly because of the hundreds of refugees that were streaming into the city every hour.

They came by foot, on carts and horses, some of them by train. Some went to other cities first, where the authorities were even more overwhelmed than in Deva and pushed them onto the next train—or trek—to the capital just to get rid of them. Which in turn created multiple hotspots within Deva of people arriving.

And Duke George Louis was barely fit to stand. Barely able to hold a conversation with his son.

Lane was a little hazy on why that meant that she was the one who had to come up with a solution for the unfolding crisis, yet here she was: Standing in the largest watch house of Deva’s city watch, explaining to a bunch of watch officers—and military officers—what she wanted them to do. Commander Bacrot and a bunch of generals were standing behind her looking over her shoulder, but didn’t seem to be about to speak up.

Maybe they thought this needed a woman’s touch.

Inwardly, Lane rolled her eyes. That would be just like them, wouldn't it?

Out loud she said: “First thing we want to do is gather them all in one spot. So we can count how many there are, get them some hot food. A place to rest before we send women and children further north. That’ll be the Watch’s task. The men will need to be assessed, so we’ll know if they’re fit to serve as soldiers. That’ll be the army’s responsibility, just like training them up if they are.”

She looked from the officers in front of her to those behind her. “I hope the army is prepared to do that.”

A round of nods was the answer, so she went on: “As to where to gather the refugees, Lady Ariana Desmarais has offered up Windish, where the werewolves were previously housed.”

“What if there are more werewolves amongst the refugees?” one of the watch officers asked.

“We’ll take care of that at Windish,” Lane said. "They can stay right there."

Monroe could do it, or Malinda. They were both easily old enough to force any hidden werewolf to reveal themselves. And the house was still there.

Not that Lane thought there would be many werewolves coming into Deva.

They had barely finished discussing the details of where Lane wanted the watch men to report for helping to set everything up at Windish--and the calls for volunteers they would need--when a runner came sprinting into the room, breathlessly informing them that Count deVale and his vanguard of soldiers had just boarded a train and would arrive within an hour.

Finally.

Lane turned to Bacrot. “Please send a message to let deVale know that I’ll greet him at the palace. Also, I’ll need to be on my way right away.”

“I’ll see to it,” he assured her.

Lane took a step, then stopped herself. “You have a telegraph, don’t you? Please inform Lord Mire at the palace that Count deVale is on the way and to prepare a meeting place and refreshments right away.”

One of the watchmen actually saluted her at that, and marched out of the room. Lane nodded at the rest of the men, pressing the palms of hands together in front of her chest. “Please, gentlemen, get to it,” she said. “I will likely have further orders once I have spoken with the count.”

Antonio was waiting outside the watch house with the carriage for her. He got her across the city in time for her to find the duke at his own quarters and inform him of deVale's imminent arrival, then check on the room Lord Mire had had set up. It was named “the Woodland Room,” for the green tapestries depicting trees and other flowers. A cozy little salon close to the duke’s accommodations.

DeVale still got there before Duke George Louis managed it.

A servant led the count inside, and Lane felt her heart beat faster. She hadn’t faced deVale alone since the day David had killed the lynx in the hunt for her favour. He’d never quite taken her seriously before that. Would he try to rip it all out of her hands now? Did he know how to handle the thousands of refugees coming into the city? Or would he think he could do better?

His gaze travelled around the room. When he realised that there was no one else, he looked at her sharply. His cheeks were gaunt and his eyes sunken, somehow masking the rather weak chin. His uniform was dirty and torn. Of the obnoxious peacock that had bothered her so, there was very little left.

After a second of silence, he bowed deeply.

“Lady deLande. Did I understand correctly that I am to present myself to you?”

“I believe Duke Stuard will join us momentarily,” Lane replied. “Please, sit. You must be exhausted.”

He smelled faintly of old sweat, but smoke and gunpowder were stronger on him.

“What—is the duke’s condition?” deVale asked. He waited until she moved to sit before slowly taking a seat himself.

“His condition is good, considering the circumstances.”

“Which are shite,” Duke Stuard drawled, joining them.

“Your Highness!” deVale jumped to his feet at once, looking both shocked at his appearance and scandalised at his words.

The duke waved him off as he bowed. “Sit. Sit. I hope you have at least some good news. What’s going on in the south? Where’s David?”

DeVale looked back and forth between Lane and Duke Stuard, but sat down again. “Lord Feleke chose to stay behind, to harass the Grande Armée with the remaining werewolves. He sent eleven of them with Marquess deBurg to Southshire, to secure the Berrin river against the Rot and to retake the provinces there.”

“Why secure the Berrin against the Rot? What battle is David expecting to give the Valoise that the Rot would be an issue that deep in the south?” Stuard asked.

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DeVale hesitated again, this time looking the duke up and down. Lane wondered what he would make of Stuard’s ruddy skin, the yellow around his eyes. The still swollen legs and belly. He certainly didn’t look very kingly right now.

“He decided our only way to win is to raise it,” deVale finally said. “Lord Feleke said he will raise the Rot. He is raiding villages as we speak, sending the people north, burning the fields and slaughtering every animal he comes across. A scorched earth tactic. No doubt he will use the werewolves to drive the Rot against the enemy, too. And to bite as many of them as possible. I have been sending riders ahead to warn the population, too. That is why we did not take the train as soon as we reached a railhead.”

That explained the sudden increase in refugees.

“He said—he said if the people of Loegrion insisted on calling him Lord Relentless, he should show them the true meaning of that word.”

Lane shuddered at the reference. She thought Duke Stuard shook, too. He caught himself, though.

“Of course he did,” he muttered.

“I do not know if he’s aware yet you survived, Your Highness,” deVale added. “According to the last word we had received before we parted ways, you were lying on the deathbed. His mother, too.”

“And he decided to burn down the Heartlands in revenge? I’m touched,” the duke said dryly.

DeVale didn’t look happy. “The Rot is the only hope we have left to defeat the enemy,” he said. “Lord Feleke did mention he worried you would make him a scapegoat for that.”

Stuard sighed. “Why am I not surprised by that, either?” he asked.

“Will you?”

“I’m sorry?”

DeVale looked at him intently. “I approved of Lord Feleke’s plan. It would be nice to know now if you are going to hang him out to dry for it.”

The duke sighed again. “Half of Loegrion’s higher nobility is in a worse or similar state as I am,” he pointed out. “The other half still needs to prove they weren’t in on this plot to murder us. There’s nobody to make him a scapegoat for. Asides, I don’t have a better plan to deal with the Valoise.”

He looked at Lane. “Can the werewolves hold back the Rot? Stop it from getting beyond the White Torrent? Or into Deva?”

“I believe so,” Lane said. “We will need to spread them out along the river, possibly reinforce the source.”

She’d have to ask Laurent to replace Fenn. Move Pierre a bit upriver, keep Morgulon in Deva, split up Monroe and Malina. Have one of the true elders at each fifth of the river, roughly. Spread out what few stable werewolves remained between them. Not much longer until the survivors from the village outside Deeshire were stable, that would give them a bit more flexibility…

“Who is taking over command of the army?” deVale asked.

“Do you intend to step down?” Duke Stuard asked back.

Again, deVale looked to Lane and back to the duke. “There are still generals of Loegrion left, are there not?” he asked.

“Well, then I’ll promote you,” the duke said, waving with a shaking hand. “Unless you don’t want the position.”

At least he seemed to be mentally fully present today.

To Lane’s surprise, the count appeared to seriously think about the question. “While I will gladly accept a promotion, I believe I would like to discuss the matter of high command with General Vermount first,” he said slowly. “This is not the moment for infighting in the officer corps.”

“By all means,” the duke sighed. He stared down at his hand, gripping the armrest of his chair weakly. “Tell me, do you believe Lord Feleke’s plan to be feasible? What state were his troops in—and he?”

“There are about two hundred werewolves with Lord Feleke,” deVale said. “We were mostly out of food by the time we parted ways, but I believe the werewolves to be quite resourceful in that regard. There were certainly more of the older ones left, who’ll generally be experienced at surviving in the wilds. Several of the convicts deserted, though if I’m not very much mistaken, the captains may yet call them back to the fight. We left them with a musket each and all the powder and ammunition they could carry. I believe Lord Feleke intends to resupply by raiding the enemy.”

“And how was David?” Lane asked, before the duke could try again. “Was he—well? All things considered?”

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then deVale inclined his head to her. “As my messenger probably let you know, your fiance was captured by the enemy for a time. He received a blow to the head during the battle, but appeared to have recovered quite well by the time we freed him. The werewolves managed to recover his weaponry, too, so he is well armed. I cannot think of a better man to lead the werewolves, and they said themselves that this is what they do best.”

“Thank you,” Lane said.

“Of course.” DeVale paused. “I do hope he will return to you.”

“Thank you,” Lane whispered. “I wish I could be there.”

“It seems to me that you are exactly where you were meant to be,” the count said. “Unless my messenger exaggerated your feats here?”

“They were not,” Duke Stuard said before Lane could say anything.

Lane had to fight the urge to duck her head and avoid deVale’s admiring gaze. “I believe Lord Mire has prepared accommodations for you,” she quickly changed the topic. “You must be tired. And I can arrange for you to meet General Vermount. He’s in charge of training the new recruits.”

“Today would be good,” deVale said. “Though I’ll take a change of clothes.”

“I’ll see to it,” Lane said. “If the gentlemen will excuse me.”