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Duncan nodded, surprised by the easy offer. “That would help.”

“I’ll add reinforcements westward,” Garric said, tracing the edge of a map. “More eyes on the crossings. If Kryovarre advances, we’ll see it before they reach the reclaimed east.”

Before Duncan could respond, a messenger appeared in the doorway. “Your Grace,” he said, offering a parchment sealed in crimson wax. “A letter. From Ardor. Marked urgent.”

Duncan broke the seal and read in silence. His chest tightened.

He looked up sharply. “Go to Trivolen,” he told the messenger. “Find Captain Isander and tell him to bring the duchess here. Immediately. Ride hard.”

Chapter 56

Duncan

“Is something amiss?” Osric asked carefully.

Duncan folded the parchment and slipped it into his coat. “Nothing that affects the war. Let’s continue.” He glanced at Garric. “Where are Valdir’s forces concentrated?”

“Smaller encampments by Crenn and Tarnholt,” Garric said, then his fingers drifted to the southwestern edge. “But most are near Alewyn. The city controls the last major iron mine.”

Duncan studied the map. “What about a split strike? One force on Crenn, the other on Tarnholt.”

Brannoc frowned, rubbing his blond mustache. “Risky. We are already stretched thin.”

“There is another approach,” Osric said. “Feign toward Crenn with a smaller unit, draw their attention west, then strike Tarnholt in force.”

Jeffren leaned in, interest quickening. “We could move men through the tunnels. From here to Tarnholt. Unseen.”

Debate swelled.

An hour later, boots sounded on the stairs.

Isander entered with Kora just behind him. She coughed softly as she crossed the threshold, lifting a hand to her nose against the metallic dust.

Duncan forced himself not to stare. “You made good time.”

“What did we miss?” Isander asked, stepping closer. His gaze swept the table, faltering for a fraction of a second on Merrick before settling back into indifference.

“We are considering how best to feign at Crenn without thinning ourselves to the point of folly,” Duncan said, returning his attention to the map. Though from the corner of his vision, he watched Kora take an empty seat and fold her hands in her lap.

Cairon leaned forward. “I can rig launchers for the tar canisters. Flame and smoke. Blind them, throw the lines into confusion as we feign an advance.”

Brannoc let out a low whistle. “I like it.”

Duncan considered this. “How long do you need?”

Cairon’s goatee tipped with an easy smile. “A week. Less, if the smiths behave.”

“Do it.” Duncan turned to Osric. “Supplies?”

Osric opened the small ledger he carried as faithfully as any blade. “Holding, though only just. Grain flow is tight.” He glanced toward Kora. “The duchess has been reworking shipment schedules. She can explain it better than I.”

Kora blinked as if pulled from distant thought. In the lantern light her face looked pale.

“Kora?” Duncan said, some of the command easing from his voice. “Are you well?”

She straightened, offering a faint smile that did not reach her eyes. “Just tired, as we all are.”

Duncan could not believe it. A sheen of sweat touched her brow, and there was strain in the way she held herself. “Perhaps you should—”