They left before the birds, slipping into the blue between night and morning. Nell wore quiet for once. Josira wore it like a veil she’d learned to lift and lower as needed.

  Morric Vale’s edge was a tangled borderland—old trees shouldering closer than law or map wanted them to, ground gone soft, fog pooling in seams. To the west, the Everveil’s shadow; to the east, the Eryndral Coast and the long hills that fed Petric’s shoreline.

  They moved like rumor. Twice they lay flat as West patrols murmured past—crimson cloaks damp, boots smearing mud, the clipped cadence of men doing a job and hating the place they were paid to do it.

  “They’re doubling circuits,” Josira breathed, counting under her tongue.

  “Pushing eastward,” Nell whispered. “Like they own both halves of a loaf.”

  “Half is already ours,” Josira said. “We left bread crumbs.”

  The third time they froze it wasn’t for men. A dog’s bark snapped once, twice, then strangled in its own sound. The fog shivered. Somewhere to the south, a shape like soot and wings lifted above the trees and bled back into the low sky.

  Nell exhaled. “We didn’t hear that.”

  “We did,” Josira said, softer than he’d ever heard her. “But we don’t follow it.”

  They ghosted the line of old stones and saw what they’d come to see: West scouts digging in on the vale’s western half with a seriousness that said orders from higher. New posts cut, a rough palisade to make a point, mess kits hung in a tidy row under a tarp—men planning to come back again and again until the place felt like theirs.

  They almost made it out clean. A younger knight drifted too far east with a canteen and a yawn; he looked up as Josira brushed a fern. His eyes went wide.

  “Hey—!”

  Josira’s hand flashed; the dagger thrummed into the post an inch from his ear. By the time he flinched, Nell’s forearm had the man’s throat gentle but decisive against a tree.

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  “Shh,” Nell said, and hated himself for the softness. “You didn’t see us.”

  “I—didn’t,” the boy croaked. “I swear.”

  Nell eased him down. Josira plucked the dagger free, blew him a kiss she didn’t mean, and they were gone.

  — — —

  Bert was already awake when they returned, boots up on the war-room bench, shirt open to the morning, smelling faintly of cedar and fish scales.

  “West has the western half,” Josira reported, dropping a twig on the map where the palisade had sprouted. “And they’re getting comfortable.”

  “Comfortable men make mistakes,” Bert said. “We’ll bring them blankets.”

  Nell scratched his chin. “You didn’t sleep.”

  “Not much,” Bert admitted. “Went for a walk. Caught a familiar idiot trying to count your watch fires.”

  Petric’s head came up. “Who?”

  “Frannor,” Bert said, casual as rain. “Climbs like a cat; lies worse than one. I let him off with a warning.”

  Kelara’s mouth tightened. “A warning?”

  “He’s family, Kel. Pete’s family. And he’s still young enough not to know better.”

  Bert’s tone never hardened, but the stone in it could cut. “He’ll take the message back to his mother, Virella. We are not the soft east. We are the lion at midfield.”

  Tank—late to the map, early to the drink—scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “So who is this… Virella, exactly?” He caught himself, chose a softer word. “What’s her deal?”

  “Evil stepmother?” Josira said brightly, eyes dancing. “Did you literally get a Cinderella, Pete? Virella… Rella… it’s right there.”

  Petric’s mouth curved without humor. “Wrong story,” he said, voice flat as steel. “I’m still here. And she isn’t my stepmother — she’s my father’s second queen. Not evil. Dangerous.” He found the words as if he were setting them on a table he’d eaten at before. “Her voice can soothe like silk, but beneath it is steel. Virella believes the crown is hers by right of marriage, and she turns mercy into a blade—offering it only to cut deeper when it suits her. Treat her as a storm—don’t measure it by how pretty it looks over the sea.”

  Nell’s eyebrows rose. “So… not a dinner guest.”

  “Not if we’re keeping the silver,” Petric said.

  Bert clapped his hands once, light returned. “Good. We know what we know. We move before they do.” He tapped the map with two fingers, outlining a bite. “Here, here, and here. We’ll trim their patrol loops, cut their comfort, own the eastern half with enough force they stop thinking it’s a suggestion.”

  Kelara studied the arcs. “You mean to push them back without razing their posts.”

  “Exactly.” Bert’s grin flashed. “A gentleman’s eviction.”

  Petric met his eye, something uncoiling in his chest that had been tight for months. “I’m with you.”

  “Strength and honor,” Bert murmured.

  “Strength and honor,” Petric returned.

  Jerric hovered, trying not to vibrate. “Where do you want me?”

  Bert didn’t hesitate. “With us. Right wing on the first crush. And, Jerric—when it breaks, don’t chase. Let it come to you.”

  Jerric nodded like he’d been handed a blade with his name on it.