That long, cold day faded slowly.
The lone surviving Chalcedean died quickly. I tried to ask him about Bee, but he only shook his head and groaned. Any information the others knew had been lost with their lives.
I stood, shaking my head. The commander of the Ringhill Guard, one Spurman, was already giving his men orders to gather the bodies. Foxglove rode over to me. Her face was full of hope as she dismounted. “No,” I said softly to her unspoken question. “She was here and so was Shine. But the Chalcedeans and the captives fought a day or more ago. Bee and Shine fled when the Chalcedeans turned on one another. They are at least a day gone, perhaps two. Where they are now, no one seems to know.”
“I’ll organize a search,” she replied calmly. “They can’t have gone far. Fitz, we’ll find them.”
“So we all hope.” I lifted my voice as I turned to my guard. “Captain Foxglove will be conducting a search for escaped Chalcedeans. Watch for any of their captives or any stragglers.” I turned a firm gaze on my Rousters, where they had assembled in a rough formation separate from my guard. “Alive,” I cautioned them. “Any pale rider in white furs, any captive of theirs, or any Chalcedean mercenary you find, take them alive.”
Foxglove was shaking her head. “Not likely. We’ve seen two bodies in white furs. Both looked as if they’d cut their own throats. Probably rather than be taken by the Chalcedeans. We ambushed some Chalcedeans on their way to the ship. And chased what remained of them back here.”
“Do what you can, then,” I said quietly.
I left Foxglove to organize the search while I returned to the tent where Bee and Shine had slept. A more leisurely inspection of it turned up nothing that I connected to either of them. A very pale Lant had followed me there. He stared at the corner where they’d slept.
“How do you know they were here?” he asked me as Riddle came into the tent.
I picked up a blanket and tossed it to him. “Shine’s perfume lingers on some of the bedding. It’s not strong, but it’s there.”
He nodded slowly, and held the blanket to his breast. Slowly he turned and left the tent, still clutching it. “He shouldn’t be here,” Riddle said to me in a low voice.
“On that, we agree.”
“I mean that he’s injured. And heartsick. Not that he’s incompetent.”
I kept silent.
