The Royalists did not press us. They had set their trap and sprung it perfectly, effecting a demoralizing loss of life. Half of the Fourth Regiment had been caught in a pincer between the Royalist dragoons and had been captured. We had left behind many wounded, and we could only hope that the general conventions of war, which we had thus far followed, of providing medical care and quarter for enemies was respected by the Royalists. The only consolation was that our equipment and artillery had not fallen into their hands.
“It was Sophie,” Theodor said softly as Sianh copied figures into the cipher books Alba had used. “She covered us with charms as we were retreating off the field.”
I shook my head, numb. “They were well-trained and they did their duty.”
Sianh met my eyes. “I am quite sure that your influence made some difference to their composure and in the enemy’s aim. It is precisely what I would have ordered you to do,” he added, giving me a long, steadying look. I averted my eyes. It was because I stayed on that hillside to cast over the retreat that Alba was dead. Theodor and Sianh agreed that it was a chance round that strayed far from its mark on the dragoons who had been engaged below us.
I didn’t care how it happened. My friend was gone.
It didn’t matter how often I had cautioned myself to think of Alba as an ally, not a friend, the loss tore at me. I saw a little squirrel outside my bedroom window who looked like Kyshi, and I went to tell her before remembering she was gone. I found several Kvys books and hymnals in her trunk and a black hollow ache spread through me realizing that the little prayer book she always carried in her pocket was gone forever, buried like she was in a nameless grave in the Galatine midlands.
“I’ll write to the Order of the Golden Sphere,” I said. “And send her things to them.”
“Most of her things.” Sianh pulled a crisp white handkerchief edged in Kvys blackwork from his pocket. “If it is not disrespectful, I would like to keep something of hers.”
I nodded, fresh tears springing to my eyes. In their strange, sparring way, they had cared for one another. “She made her mark here,” I said softly.
“She certainly did.” Kristos ran a hand through uncombed hair. “I fired the quartermaster.”
“What?” Theodor started.
“He was doing a shit job. Alba was the only thing keeping him from overextending our grain and letting the fall vegetables rot. His records were a mess.” Kristos slammed a record book, whose thick pages were crisscrossed with corrections, closed.
“That is fair,” Sianh answered through clenched teeth, “but with whom shall you replace him?”
“I don’t know, the Second Artillery has a trained crow, maybe we could try that?” Kristos snapped. “It can count, so I’m guessing it would do a better job.”
“There is enough to be decided, given the annihilation of our campaign strategy, without replacing personnel,” Sianh replied, carefully controlled but terse. He gripped Alba’s cipher book with white fingers.
“Not now,” I said, weary. “Please.” I laid my hand over my eyes. What now? The thoughts swam fast and angry and colored by a thick band of black grief. We had failed in our campaign northward. We had lost many men. We were weakened. Winter was coming on quickly, and there was no way we could remount the Galitha City campaign now.
“We have to make these decisions now,” Theodor said, not unkindly but firmly. “And someone had better write to Niko, if anything can even get through.”
“He got a letter through to us,” Kristos said darkly, digging a folded missive out from the back of the ledger. “It came while you were gone. He—he rejects our charter and the council. He says none of this is legitimate until we include the Red Caps of Galitha City.”
Theodor cursed. “He can demand legitimacy all he wants but we needed a damn government now! Damn Niko Otni. He’s a mangy runt of a cur who thinks he can fight the wolfhounds because he has a loud bark.”
“We’ll sort it out once we take the city,” I said. “Even bringing the city’s Red Caps in, with their votes, they can’t undo what’s already been decided.”
Sianh huffed. “That means taking the city. And we cannot do that without rebuilding our army first. That must take priority.”
“That could take months if it happens at all,” Kristos said, his voice dull. “We can keep recruiting, but it’s going to be difficult to write good, motivational, optimistic broadsides on the heels of defeat like this. Where are we going to find enough men for this army?”
Sianh heaved a sigh. “It is no matter. We would be unwise to undertake a campaign on the cusp of winter. We will overwinter here, and in Hazelwhite. It is likely the Royalists will do the same.”
Kristos bit his lip. “What if they press us here?”
“Our position is quite defensible and we have the numbers for defense.” Sianh let no emotion slip into his face or his voice.
“But if we don’t? We can retreat south, and they could press us right to the cliffs of southern Galitha.” Kristos relinquished the cipher book to Sianh’s grip.
“The real problem,” Theodor said, “is that they could keep bombarding the city. If they overwinter near the city, they could have it captured by spring, easily.”
“If they breach the walls, they must still fight the combatants inside.” Sianh exhaled through his nose, controlled, careful. “That could take a very long time.” He didn’t add what I knew was also true—it could be a bloodbath for the citizens of Galitha City, as well.
“They could very easily turn their focus toward us, and damn it, they could outmaneuver or capture or—”
“Those were always possibilities,” Theodor said quietly.
“And if that possibility comes knocking? What then? We all hang!” Kristos threw his chair back as he stood.
“Then we’ll all hang together!” Theodor roared. “Yes, this is bad. It’s very bad. We played the best hand we had and we lost. But the game’s not over, not yet. And I promise you, we all hang together.”
“We will discuss strategy,” Sianh continued, “for every possibility we might encounter. Perhaps we should begin with our defensive strengths and liabilities.”
At that, I stood and swept from the room. I couldn’t think about our next steps, not now while I was buried in loss. I almost ran into Penny, who was carrying a load of linens from the laundry behind Westland Hall to the field hospital in its parlor. She almost dropped them as she gripped my hand.
“Sophie, I am so sorry—I know you and Alba were…” Penny paused. “Close is probably the best word, isn’t it?”
I hiccuped something between a laugh and a sob. “Yes, close whether we would have chosen to be or not. We went through a lot together.” Weeks of travel, months in foreign countries, a shared fondness for berry tarts and aversion to Fenian fish stew. How could I even begin to summarize our brief but profound time together? “I’ll miss her,” I said instead.
“Are the fellows holed up in there deciding our fate?” Penny asked.
“Yes, I—I fear we’re stuck here for the winter. We need to recruit to replace the men we lost, we need to rework our strategy, we can’t very well engage in a long campaign in winter.” I sighed. “I’m sure they’ll make wise plans for us.” I maintained the optimistic words of a leader, but my voice belied my exhaustion and disappointment.