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Lyondi when I had him brought back. He said something in Lyondi when he woke up.”
    Violette’s eyes went wide, and she lowered her voice to a scandalized whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything? Tell someone when you brought him into the camp?”
    “He was injured, barely able to stand. We are not at war with Lyond any longer.” Aliénor sighed. “We’re all so far from home. The Lyondi are here to defend their territories from the Tiochene raiders as well. In this strange land, doesn’t it make more sense that we be allies with them?”
    Violette opened her mouth, then closed it with a small snap, her uncertain gaze darting to Noémi.
    Aliénor knelt in front of Noémi, reaching to press her dear friend’s hand. “Noémi?”
    “A wise and practical thought, Your Grace.” Noémi’s voice was utterly flat.
    “Noémi, please, how do you really feel about this?”
    Her handmaiden was silent for so long that Aliénor thought she wouldn’t answer, but at last Noémi wet her lips and gave Aliénor a level stare. “Sometimes when I forget myself, I can still remember the taste of my favorite horse, still smell my old home burning from the flaming arrows the Lyondi shot over our walls.”
    Gut churning, Aliénor rose to her feet. “Noémi—”
    Noémi waved her hands to ward Aliénor off, and her face was calm as she spoke. “I’m a practical woman like you, and we are far from home. The raiders that killed the Lyondi force still roam these mountains. I think by the end of this road we shall be grateful for all the help we can get. Even from our enemies.”

Chapter Four
    Dinner was an awkward affair, with poor Philippe trying to make stilted conversation with King Thomas. A difficult transition that, to go from torturing Thomas’s men in the afternoon to fêting them with the sunset. Aliénor could have helped, perhaps, except Philippe had set out a table just for her and her ladies, “so you are not bored by all our military talk.” Rather so she would not speak too much with King Thomas. She noticed Mistress Helen still sat with Philippe, which seemed to Aliénor a social faux pas at best and, at worst, a grave insult to King Thomas.
    As dinner finished, Aliénor gazed at the darkening sky and studied its ominous blanket of clouds. The army had made camp on the slopes by the river, and now the whole shore seemed transformed into a jolly little city with tents and banners arranged on one side. The horses had been turned out to pasture in meadows nearby, and all her husband’s fearsome soldiers seemed transformed to country lads as they laughed and splashed each other on the river’s shore. Aliénor longed to take a swim in that cool water herself, but there was nowhere private enough for her and her ladies to bathe. For a moment she missed the warm waters of her island home with an almost physical ache.
    A chill wind kicked up and blew a tendril of Aliénor’s hair into her face. The tents whistled and flapped all about them. The air blew heavy and cold, damp with a promise of coming rain. Dinner had been concluding anyway, but with these ominous signs from the weather, Philippe rose and formally took his leave to return to his own tent.
    “Prince Philippe, a word?” He kept his voice low, but King Thomas caught up to Philippe very near Aliénor’s own table, so she could not help but hear their quiet murmured conference.
    Philippe raised an eyebrow. “Yes, King Thomas? Is there something I might assist you with?”
    “I wanted to drop a word of advice into your ear.”
    “Oh?”
    Aliénor winced, hearing that chill tone. Philippe did not like advice. He did not like anything that might call his authority or knowledge into question.
    King Thomas, either oblivious to the uninviting tone or determined despite it, shifted closer to her husband. “I don’t think you should let your men camp so close to the river. It looks like rain is coming on, and the water—”
    “King Thomas, I thank you for