“It makes for good press, which we need if we’re going to keep pulling in recruits,” Theodor said. “And we didn’t have a better way to go about it, honestly. The companies elect their NCOs and company officers, we select the regimental officers from that pool.”
“Sianh is just a crab apple about it because a couple of the lieutenants need improvement.” Kristos shrugged.
“Need improvement! They need to be demoted. They are ouajin crai.” He responded to our silence by adding, “It means a cup with a hole in it. Translated literally. An item meant to do a single task but unfit to do that task? You understand?”
“Ah! In Kvys we say a pastry crust made of custard.” Alba laughed.
“A sieve can’t hold much soup,” I added.
“And in the spirit of democratic ideals,” Theodor interrupted, “we will ask for volunteers for artillery regiments. Which we only have thanks to Sophie and Alba.”
“And a navy?” Kristos asked, smile creeping across his face. “We’re harried on our supply line by the Royalist navy, and it puts us at a disadvantage—on our ability to move our troops, we can’t blockade their ports—”
Alba held up a hand. “We negotiated contracts for the cannon, shot, powder, and cloth. But there is some unrest in Fen, workers’ strikes. The factory owners laid blame on us—”
“Figures,” Kristos snorted.
“And a nasty little caucus of them was ready to accuse Sophie of witchcraft,” Alba continued. “We had to leave.”
“Before you could complete the contracts for the ships?” Kristos’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “We need those ships.”
“We did the best we could,” Alba protested. “I couldn’t wait to finalize the arrangements before leaving for Fen, and then we had to leave Fen before we could go to the shipyards and entertain bids.”
“You did enough,” Theodor said, pulling me closer to him as though he could absorb me. “More than enough.”
“Not really,” Kristos retorted.
“What would you have us do?” I asked. “You got your charmed cloth and your cannons. If we were arrested, we wouldn’t be getting your ships in any case.”
“But we need ships!” he exploded. “We need some way to counter the blockaded ports and the ships that keep sniping our supplies. You should have started with the shipyards.”
“We agreed to start with the mills,” I said tersely. “It was the lowest-hanging fruit. We got the charmed cloth quickly. You agreed to that,” I reminded him.
“I expected that the ships would still happen!”
“Enough,” Sianh said. “Enough. We will not make ships materialize by fighting, and what is done is done. We did agree to begin with the fabric, for the very reason that it would be completed and shipped if any interference prevented completion of the mission in Fen.”
“I’m just thankful you weren’t captured,” Theodor murmured. He cleared his throat. “Both of you. It was dangerous, I surprise myself I ever agreed to it.”
“It wasn’t your place to give permission,” I chided him gently. He closed his eyes, suppressing an argument.
“So you have cloth. And you have cannons. And the rest of the Fenian contracts are well in hand—the supplies will not be charmed, but you’ll have powder and shot and linen for shirts and everything else this outfit needs.” Alba glanced around. “And food? You are well supplied?”
“Well enough for the time being,” Sianh said. “I worry about winter, but an army always worries about winter.”
“Tentage? Firewood? Drums and pennants and flags and—oh, what all does an army need?” Alba pressed.
“Brush shelters to supplement the tents, plenty of firewood, requisitioned a few drums when we took the Royalist fort at Herring’s Wharf.” Kristos grinned. “But flags. We could use one, actually.” He raised his eyebrows at me with a look I knew too well.
“Last year you were asking me for red caps,” I said. “Who would have thought it would come to flags? I’ll see what I can do.”
“I suggest we dismiss and reconvene tomorrow morning,” Theodor said. “I am sure you’re both exhausted.”
Alba raised an eyebrow. “Yes, exhausted.” She shared a flippant smile with Sianh while Kristos pretended to ignore the insinuation.
“You’ll share my room, if that’s all right,” Theodor said.
I suppressed a smile as Kristos pretended to be very busy with a stack of maps. “That’s fine.”
I followed him upstairs, the narrow stairwell opening to a hallway brightly lit by twin windows facing one another. Four doors stood sentry, and Theodor opened the one nearest the landing, held the door for me, closed the door gently behind us, then fell into my arms. I stroked his hair with my fingertips. There was no pomatum or powder in it, and his usually carefully dressed queue was tied sloppily with a bit of leather. “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m all right.”
“I almost couldn’t—I couldn’t believe you would be,” he said, his voice strained with what I realized were badly suppressed tears. “Not when we didn’t hear from you for weeks.”
“Damn sea travel.” I smiled faintly.
“And Fenians.”
“And everything. Everything keeping us from what we could have been.” I traced the thin gold chain on my wrist, still bright, still there. My fingers traipsed over Theodor’s hand and found the chain’s match on his wrist.
“No.” He straightened. There was determination in his red eyes, but his face looked thinner and tightly drawn. “No, this is what we are supposed to be. I’m sure of that.”
I hesitated. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?” He cracked a smile that looked like it might break his face. “I’m fine. Turns out I remember enough from my tutelage to be useful in training troops, and the men elected me their general, so the Rebel Prince cachet must be worth something. I’ve proven useful despite myself.”
“I meant more… you.” I traced the faint line between his taut brows.
“I’m fine. You’re here. I’m fine,” he repeated. He held my face in his fingertips, brushing wayward hair away from my cheeks, melting my months of anxiety into a single sigh.
Then he kissed me, strong and full of anticipation. I pulled him toward me, wanting to envelop him in me or let myself be absorbed into him, not quite sure if there was a difference. His fingers moved over my hair, my neck, prickling my skin with the promise of his continued touch. I pulled at the lacings of my jacket, corded linen catching in the poorly stitched eyelets.
“Let me,” Theodor whispered, and pulled the lacing from the jacket and then the cord from my stays, as well. “Ah, and here is my Sophie, under all that Fenian wool.”
“And my Theodor, still looking ready for a full military parade,” I said. He shucked the coat, the wool far less fine than any of his old clothes. No embroidery, no gilt, no lace. The smallclothes beneath were even coarser, made of the unbleached gray linen I knew the poorhouse bought in bolts, but it suited him. He wasn’t a prince any longer, I wasn’t a seamstress, and all of the layers that had separated us were gone. I unbuttoned the plain brass buttons of his waistcoat, finding underneath them one of his old, fine linen shirts, now much patched and growing yellow for want of a proper laundering.