Arcadia reads the note slowly, the color draining out of her face as she goes. I can tell when she reaches the end, because her eyes stop scanning from left to right. For a moment they’re fixed on the General’s signature, dumbstruck.

She hands the parchment back to Ragna, and shuffles over to the nearest chair as if she were sleepwalking, only to flop down onto it, lean her head backward and gaze up at the big candelabrum made of antlers hanging over the war room table.

“Not that it matters, but I’m no fugitive,” she says, her voice flat.

The Jarl watches Arcadia as she sits, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What are you to them?” she asks.

A wry smile twists Arcadia’s lips. “An embarrassment.”

She continues to stare up at the candelabrum, before her gaze comes town to meet Jarl Ragna’s. “I wasn’t born looking like this,” she says, gesturing at her body. “Sigrun helped me become my true self. At least outwardly. Before that I was called Arcadius, Prince of Ecea.”

For once, some emotion touches Jarl Ragna’s face. Her eyes widen, and I see something like grief in her expression. “I see.”

“I’m only telling you because they wouldn’t want people to know,” says Arcadia, a mirthless smile on her face. “I wonder how painful it was for Metellus to ask for me as Arcadia the Sorceress.”

The Jarl’s gaze moves away from Arcadia then, toward the war room table, and a little jolt of alarm shoots through me as I wonder if she’s considering us valuable hostages now. Ragna sets Metellus’s note down at the edge of the table, and gazes at it a moment longer, before turning again to face Arcadia.

“I will not surrender you to them,” she says.

Arcadia’s eyes widen, and a bit of color returns to her cheeks. “I… Thank you.”

“You fought by our side. It is the least I can do.”

Arcadia looks at me plaintively for a moment, like a silent apology for what she’s about to say. “Going with Metellus is the last thing I want to do. And I don’t want to leave you either. We’ll stay and fight.”

Now it’s Ragna’s turn to smile wryly. “We beat back their advance force but a day ago, and now their true numbers are revealed. That can mean only one thing. They were already coming, and they believed four cohorts would be sufficient to overwhelm us. Now, sadly, we are outnumbered ten to one, rather than four to one.”

Five hundred warriors versus two thousand. And that doesn’t count all those ships in the harbor. I can’t help but feel a cold fingertip of fear along my spine, thinking about it. There doesn’t seem to be a way to win this. None that I can think of, at least.

Apparently the Jarl’s mind is in the same place, because she half turns to gaze at the map again. A few moments pass in silence before she speaks.

“If they claim Kellheim, the Eceans will have a better platform to spread out across the whole continent. I believe your General’s letter is a bluff. The Eceans will want this keep, regardless of what happens to you.”

Arcadia shifts her gaze to the map as well. There's a number of new red pieces surrounding Kellheim. "What if we broke the blockade?"

That makes one of Ragna’s slender eyebrows arch upward. “To what end? Even if you could free the harbor, that gives us an avenue of escape. But not attack.”

"It could let reinforcements in,” says Arcadia. “If we get word to any. Also, it gives us a supply route to keep them from starving us out."

Now both of Ragna’s brows are up, and there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Indeed it does,” she says, her tone low, impressed. “But we would have to send word to our allies. Such a thing will be difficult to hide. There are many eyes on us.”

Arcadia nods and looks away for a moment, chewing her lip as she thinks. I imagine she’s wondering where Sigrun is, why she hasn’t answered. “I may be able to do something about that,” she says. Then she hops to her feet, takes a breath to collect herself, and offers Ragna the most reassuring smile she can manage.

“I’m going to return to our chambers for a bit, to try and reach Sigrun. When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Ragna gives her a nod, and I fall into step with Arcadia as she turns to leave the war room. Things don’t feel quite so hopeless as they did when we walked in. If Sigrun is alright, and we’re able to coordinate things with her, we have a real chance. I’ve already seen what one Sorceress can do. But two of them working together, that may be what tips the scales.

We return to our quarters, and once we’re through the door Arcadia goes straight to the scrying bowl on the table by the bed. I’m only a pace behind her, so I peek over her shoulder into the bowl and see… A doe, and her fawn, gazing down at us as they lap up the water. Sigrun must have used some little pond in the woods as an improvised scrying bowl. The deer look alarmed to see us, the doe stopping to look over her shoulder and around the clearing before returning to drink.

Huh. Deer understand what reflections are, I didn’t know that.

Arcadia smirks down at the bowl, and takes a long breath that releases as a sigh. She grips the rim of the bowl in her hands and carefully brings it to the bed, sitting down in front of it cross-legged, leaning back against the headboard to get comfortable.

“I might be here a while,” she says, turning an apologetic smile my way.

I grin at her, slide down onto the bed at her side and slip my arm around her shoulders. She lets out a cute noise when I squeeze her against me a little, and put a peck of a kiss on her temple.

“I’ll keep you company,” I say.

Arcadia’s smile grows the moment I’m touching her. She sets the bowl aside for a moment, then she climbs around my legs and kneels between them. Her head tilts back and those big green eyes look up at me as her eyebrows arch inward. They dart over my face searchingly.

"Why are you so good to me?"

“Because I love you,” I say.

She places her hands on my hips, leaning up closer until, at last, our lips meet. When she’s done kissing me she dips her nose down a little, to nuzzle at my jawline.

“I love you too.”

I wrap my arms around Arcadia, and she melts into my embrace. We exchange a few more slow, sweet kisses, each one getting longer and more serious than the last. My hands begin to wander, and at first it seems like she approves of us passing the time this way. Until I’ve slipped my thumbs under the waist of her tight britches, that is.

She stiffens, her hands latching onto my wrists. “Wh-what are you doing?”

I smirk down at her. “What do you think? We have time, don’t we?”

She blushes vividly, glancing over at the scrying bowl. “What if Sigrun comes back? I don’t want her to see that.”

“We could just cover the bowl.”

She gives my shoulder a slap. “That defeats the whole purpose!”

I roll my eyes and sigh, in a deliberately over-dramatic kind of way, and settle for cuddling and kissing. It isn’t so bad.

But the wait is interminable. After a time I grow too restless to sit still anymore, so I part from Arcadia with a kiss and set out to take a walk about the keep. I hope Sigrun turns up soon. We have time, but we don’t have all the time in the world. The Eceans may still be fearful of what Arcadia can do with her magic, but they don’t have to lift a finger to bring Kellheim to its knees. On a long enough time frame, starvation will do the trick just fine.

I make it down the stairs to the main hall of the keep, and I’m about to walk out the doors when a whistle catches my attention. I turn to see Posca, sitting at the end of one of the hall’s long tables. He has his back to the table edge, legs stretched out in front of him as he picks his fingernails with the tip of his dagger. Next to him sits Gredder, facing the proper way. He’s leaning over a half full tankard of ale, looking down into it thoughtfully.

“I take it you’ve heard the news,” says Posca, as I approach. He doesn’t look up from his self manicure.

“I imagine everyone has,” I say.

Gredder chuckles darkly, and nods. “Indeed they have.”

Posca finishes picking his nails, looking up at me as he slips his dagger back into its sheath. “And as always, the enterprising act quickly.”

My brows draw together, as I give Posca a hard look. “What did you do.”

He smirks at me, holds his hands up at his sides. “I didn’t do a thing! I did, however, overhear a few interesting discussions last night at the feast.”

“Go on.”

Posca rests his elbows on the edge of the table, the smirk lingering on his face. “I was playing a dice game with a fellow named Bjolf, who turned out to be quite the talker once you’ve poured a few tankards of ale into him. He said he was expecting the Eceans to lay siege to Kellheim, and that a few of his partners in crime were planning on stealing food from the keep’s granary. He asked me if I wanted in. I declined, but I thought it might be prudent to bring it up.”

My eyebrows rise. “He didn’t waste any time.”

Gredder frowns into his ale. “If this does become a long siege, people will trade their life savings for a sack of grain.”

“And I don’t think it’s in our best interests to let that happen,” says Posca.

I nod grimly. “Alright. Let’s get this sorted out.”

“Now?” asks Posca.

“What better time?”

He grins, and hops to his feet. “Excellent. Though… You’re sure you don’t mind being my muscle once again?”

“It’s for a good cause this time.”

He scoffs. “It’s always for a good cause.”

And so we depart from the keep onto the streets of Kellheim together, to sniff out a thief. Gredder reluctantly comes along to play interpreter, though I think it would have been easier to simply loan one of us the Star of Advuri. But he doesn’t want to be parted from it, which is understandable. I know I wouldn’t trust Posca with the thing.

Bjolf is well known around the town, as luck has it. The hideout of his gang is a dilapidated old building that used to be a tavern, and it’s out at the perimeter of the town, right against the northern part of the curtain wall. There’s a broken sign hanging on a single hinge outside the door, and I can barely make out the words The Lucky Shepherd through the dirt and grime.

“Not so lucky today,” I say, gazing up at it.

Posca grins at me. “Is meeting you ever a lucky day?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

I take the lead, pushing open the creaky front door to find the interior of the tavern surprisingly well kept. The floors are clean, the bar is stocked, and the furniture and fireplace are all in good condition. A dozen men lounge about the room in various places, a few by the fireplace, a half dozen sitting around a table playing dice. Everyone looks my way when I open the door. Their glares would be enough to cow most people. But I’m not most people.

A man stands from the bar and walks right up to me, sneering. He’s about my height, with red hair and a beard to match, and he’s wearing a very fine cloak. It’s dark red, with a fluffy, fur-lined collar, and it has a pair of gold clasps with a chain joining them.

I really like this cloak.

He barks something at me in his language, and I don’t have to speak it to understand that he’s trying to be intimidating. I’m too busy examining this handsome garment of his. I reach out to touch it, and he slaps my hand away.

I hear Gredder’s voice behind me, glance over my shoulder to see him and Posca coming through the door. The red haired ruffian in front of me cranes his neck to have a look at them, tries to step around me. But I get in his way.

The group of brigands at the table are rising from their seats now, coming over to form a ring around us as Gredder enters into conversation with this man. They’re all scowls and sneers, fingering the weapons at their belts. Their cloaks aren’t as nice as this one though.

I’m guessing the man in front of me is Bjolf. He tries to step around me again and I shove him back, making him shout something right in my face.

“What did he say?” I ask Gredder.

Gredder flinches. “Ah, are you sure you want to know?”

I smirk, and nod. “Yes.”

“He said the K’zar are a race of whores, and to go back where you came from.”

My smile is brighter than sunshine. I strike the first blow, and several more come my way.

I love thugs. Really, I do. I love their lack of discipline, cohesion, training. I love how I can land any blow I want, at will. I love how easy it is to make them stumble over each other trying to get at me. I love how men like this think they’re strong, until they meet someone stronger than they are, then they all become simpering cowards. The ones who survive, anyways.

It’s a good little fight, but it makes a mess. Bjolf turns out to be the toughest of the lot, which isn’t saying much. I finish him with an uppercut that sends him sailing into the table, and it splits in half under the force of his fall.

I hurry over to check on that cloak of his. Ah, good, it wasn’t ripped. I guess it’s my cloak now.

Posca and Gredder both peek up from beneath the bar at the same time. Evidently they took cover there.

“Is the coast clear?” asks Posca.

“The big bad brigands are napping now,” I say. “It’s safe to come out.”

Together we do a search of the tavern, and it is Posca who finds the hidden door in the floor of the kitchen. We go down into a basement that is stocked to the ceiling with sacks of grain and potatoes. They even have a chicken coop down here.

“How did they make off with all this food in one night?” I ask, looking around at it all.

Gredder leans against the chicken coop, folding his arms. “Twelve men or so lie unconscious up there,” he says. “If they worked their arses off, they could have done it.”

“But they would have been seen,” says Posca, who is tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Unless…”

Unless they had friends guarding the granary, who looked the other way. Apparently we all come to the conclusion at the same time, because the looks we give each other make it plain it’s the only logical way any of us can come up with.

“We should tell the Jarl about this,” I say.

Posca nods his agreement, and the three of us return to the tavern above. It takes a bit of asking around on the streets, but eventually we find an old fellow with a horse and cart to help us haul our catch to the keep. I throw Bjolf on the top of the heap, but not before taking my trophy.

Posca chuckles at me as I clasp on my new cloak, shaking his head. “You’d make a good pirate,” he says.

I… Don’t know how to feel about that.

Gredder sits up by the old fellow driving the cart, while Posca and I walk alongside it, all the way back to the keep. We park it in front of the big doors to the main hall, and Posca goes off in search of someone to help us with the unconscious brigands. I part with them there, heading back into the keep to check on Arcadia.

As it happens, she’s coming down the stairs as I’m climbing up. There’s a big smile on her face when she sees me, though she cocks her head to the side for a moment as she looks me up and down.

“Where’d you get the cloak?” she asks.

I grin, and pose a little. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Arcadia blinks, smirks, shakes her head. “Anyway. Sigrun is okay. We just talked, and we have a plan.”

We may be surrounded by an army, but today is shaping up to be a pretty good day.