Around them, the line was breaking.

She moved in again, feinting with her left and jabbing with her right. She heard a surprised grunt and pressed forward, bringing both knives up and in as she drew close enough to smell the Marsher’s foul breath. She twisted the knives again and heard him howl. “Who told you that?” she asked. “This Child of Promise. he’s dying. What kind of promise is that?”

“He will not die, Great Mother. He cannot, for he brings forth the Crimson Empress from afar. She who will make all things right.”

I should stop, she told herself. I should question him. But the rage in her-anger that had hidden in her tears of late-required otherwise. And she felt the white heat building behind her eyes with every word he uttered. She drove the knives into him again and felt him buckle to his knees beneath her blades. Again, and the Marsher collapsed.

The voice gurgled now. “I am honored,” it said, “to die at your hands, Great Mother.”

Jin Li Tam gave the knives a final twist and then withdrew them from the still form. Only then did she realize that she tasted iron in her own mouth, that her breath came in ragged gouts of steam and that she shuddered from adrenaline and exertion. Stooping, she wiped her blades clean of that magicked blood as best she could upon the invisible corpse at her feet.

When she looked up, she saw that the line had re-formed and all eyes were upon her. Finally, Philemus scanned the line that had not held and then looked back to her. He nodded slightly, and she saw great approval in his eye.

When he shouted, his words were sharp and clear on the morning air. “Hail the Gypsy Queen,” he cried.

And as one voice, the Wandering Army hailed their general’s wife. She bowed deeply to them.

Then, sheathing her knives, Jin Li Tam called out for her horse and mounted up to finish riding the line.

She would general now, and in an hour or so, she would return to camp, wash herself clean of the morning’s violence, and feed her infant son.

Winters

Winters walked the muddy footpaths between tents and pondered the difference between queens and mothers.

The Gypsy camp bustled with activity as word of a bird from home spread like fire in a dry summer thicket. It had arrived while they were at dinner the night before, just as it had no doubt arrived to the other camps, under the white thread of kin-clave and calling Windwir’s former allies to council. Winters had already packed, though she was not yet certain of her place in this new development.

She’d not met Petronus during the last war, and following it he’d vanished back into obscurity. And certainly, the Marshfolk had not held kin-clave with the Order, attacking its protectorates with ruthless frequency until her father’s encounter with Rudolfo’s father in the Ninefold Forest. This was clearly a matter for the Named Land states, and no bird would seek her out for it.

But she’d seen the look of concern upon Jin Li Tam’s face and knew from Tertius’s meticulous history lessons how infrequent a Council of Kin-Clave was. Of course, until recently-until her dreams had pointed the Marshfolk toward the Ninefold Forest-her people had held kin-clave with none. And now, their only ally was the Ninefold Forest. The thought of attending proceedings she was not welcome at went against her nature, though her hostess insisted that her kin-clave with the Gypsies was sufficient. Still, her place was with her people, and it felt wrong to leave them even for this purpose. She already felt negligent being so far south at this time, though the birds and couriers she received daily assured her that matters were well in hand.

“You are a queen,” Jin Li Tam had told her, her voice heavy with weariness from her fight the day before. “It calls for difficult decisions. And often,” she said, “these choices are not between good and bad but good and best.”

Those words still resonated with her the next morning as she wandered the camp. She’d finally relinquished her weapons and armor-there’d been no need for them here. She had no army here to bolster with such accouterments and she knew of a certainty that she could not face down one of these magicked skirmishers in the way that Jin Li Tam had. Instead, she wore the simple breeches, woolen shirt and fur jacket of a Marsh boy and she walked with her hands buried in her pockets and her breath fogging the cold air. Mud sucked at her sturdy boots as she went.

Tents were coming down about the camp, and she suspected the same happened among the armies to the south. They would leave the bulk of their forces behind, still locked in a Queen’s War stalemate, though she wasn’t certain why at this point. The Wandering Army had not yet successfully held the line, and the armies of Pylos and Turam had yet to press farther north, though she suspected it could happen any day. It was an in effective policing, more an image of action than any real staying force. The sheer power of blood magicks combined with the skirmishers’ willingness to fight until they were dead made for an untenable situation for all involved.

Especially me. Something was happening among her people-something that had grown up beneath their noses-and she did not know what to do about it. She simply felt some pressing need to be near them, to offer them some kind of assurance and be the leader that she was intended to be.

“Lady Winters?” The voice rose up above the clamor of the soldiers who bustled about rolling tents and packing saddlebags.

She turned and saw a familiar Gypsy Scout approaching. “Yes?”

“Our scout company from the north is in audience with Lady Tam; they’ve brought one of your men with them.” His face was blank, and there was a secret in his eyes that made her stomach lurch. “She requests your presence.” But his tone did not say request-it said requires.

Turning, Winters let the young scout lead her back to the tent where she’d spent so much time of late. Her time with the women there and little Jakob had been the only light in these dark times. With Neb vanished now from her dreams, they were filled only with blood and blades and pink scars upon pale breasts. But little Jakob, despite his obvious illness, was bright as the full moon in this darkness. And watching Jin Li Tam with him and then with her soldiers was an odd juxtaposition-a quiet canticle buried within a greater song.

She kept up with the scout and followed him to the tent. Then, she slipped inside as he held the flap for her. A somber company awaited her, and seated in the center of the room, Seamus sat trembling, his cheeks white from tears and his face bruised and battered. His clothing hung from him in bloody shreds. When he saw her, he looked away, and she raced to him to kneel and take his hand in hers. “Seamus, what’s happened to you?”

Jin Li Tam sat to the side. Lynnae and the River Woman were nowhere to be seen, but a small group of tattered and dirty scouts huddled near the heating stove.

Seamus bit his lip. “The Twelve are no more,” he said. “I’m all that’s left.”

Winters exhaled, her stomach suddenly clenching. “How is that possible? Just this morning, I received word from you that you were moving on to Kinsmen’s Rest to search for the mark there.”

Jin Li Tam’s voice behind her was gentle but firm. “Tell Queen Winteria what you told me, Captain.”

“He could not have sent word,” the officer said. “We found an encampment and took him from a cage within it. I lost six men getting him out, but I recognized him from the Summer Palace and couldn’t leave him.” Winters looked to him and saw the hardness in his eyes. “Things are awry in the Marshlands.”

Winters felt heat in her face as her eyebrows furrowed. “But what of the army, Seamus? You rode with the army. what happened?”

“Broken,” he said. “Scattered or dead by now, those that didn’t surrender and take the mark.”