35. Bridge Crossing #2
As orders rang out and the wagons began their awkward turning on the narrow road, I caught Maise’s eye for just a moment. Her slight nod told me she understood both the praise she’d earned and the price it carried.
The rain kept falling, but at least we had a way forward.
◇ ◆ ◇
I needed to think of a reward.
Something public enough to matter, subtle enough not to seem like favoritism. The Red Gale would have just given her extra coin and a night off watch duty, maybe a word of thanks when no one else could hear.
Danarre de Blaise had to be cleverer.
The column moved slowly through the mud, wheels grinding against stone as we crossed Maise’s bridge. The arch held solid under the weight, just as she’d said it would, just as she’d known it would from a journey she’d never wanted to take.
She rode with Perrin and Grit, maintaining proper distance while I stayed near Baldir’s formation. It felt wrong, like wearing armor that pinched in all the wrong places, but Armand’s words sat heavy in my head. The closer you are to them, the less you can do for them .
Maise had saved us hours of work in driving rain. Had kept us from mistakes that might have cost lives. That deserved recognition.
“What would you give a soldier who found you a crossing?” I asked Armand quietly as our horses picked their way across the muddy approach.
I knew what I’d have given my Wolves in that other life. Drinks, coin, and a nudge toward a warm bed. But my people now lived under different rules, and generosity had to wear a formal mask or it became a weapon someone could use against them.
He considered the question, water dripping from his hood. “Depends. Extra rations if supplies are tight. First pick of quarters when we make camp. Position preference when you can manage it.”
Small things. Subtle things that wouldn’t attract notice but would be felt by the person who mattered.
I nodded, filing the suggestions away.
Armand slowed his horse, matching my pace as the column stretched ahead through the rain. The bridge was behind us now, Maise’s bridge, and the road wound on toward whatever came next.
Behind us, one of the supply wagons lurched as a wheel found a hole, sending crates sliding. Men scrambled to secure them before anything valuable got soaked, cursing the rain and the road and everything else they couldn’t control.
“Find ways to get your people back into your circle,” Armand said quietly. “Formal authority that can’t be questioned. If you’re thinking of the girl, and she’s capable, make her team leader when you’re not around.”
The suggestion was a good one, and obvious once he’d said it. Maise had the sharpest instincts after me, and Perrin and Grit already deferred to her judgment when things went sideways. When I wasn’t there to make calls, she was the one they looked to.
“Baldir won’t like it,” I said.
“Baldir doesn’t have to like it. You’re responsible for your team’s performance, not him.
” Armand’s voice carried the hard-won tone of a man who’d paid for his lessons in blood and learned to pass them along before the cost was wasted.
“Give her authority when circumstances demand it. Scouting ahead, managing supplies, coordinating with other units. Build her reputation through action.”
I watched Maise ride through the mud, her posture straight despite the weather and whatever memories she couldn’t shake.
She’d already proven herself today with the bridge.
Making her my second would formalize what already existed, make it real in ways that mattered to people like Baldir who needed titles before they could understand loyalty.
“What about the others?”
“Grit’s your anchor. Steady, dependable, the one you trust to hold a position no matter what. Perrin’s your eyes and ears, quick and clever, sees things others miss.” Armand gestured ahead. “Different roles, same circle.”
He was right. They’d already sorted themselves into the positions that fit them, and I was just giving it a name. A title. Armor that the hierarchy couldn’t strip away as easily as affection.
His horse splashed through a puddle. “Authority flows down, loyalty flows up. Make sure both currents are running.”
I’d have to be careful how I implemented it. But careful was all I’d been since the day I woke up in a body that wasn’t mine.
◇ ◆ ◇
The rain stopped as we reached the inn where we’d spend the night, a large building on the merchant road with stables big enough for our horses and a common room that could hold most of our column.
Baldir’s men claimed the spots near the fire before anyone else could move, establishing their territory with the casual arrogance of legitimate blood. My team made do with what remained: corners, drafty spots near doors, the hierarchy’s leftovers.
I watched Armand’s squad claim their own section near the main door, close enough to respond to threats and far enough from both the fire and the noble conversations to maintain their position. Veterans knew how to read a room, knew how to be present without being noticed.
Cromwell appeared beside me, shaking rain from his traveling cloak. His usually perfect appearance had suffered from the weather, collar damp and hair slightly disheveled, but he’d maintained his dignity despite the miserable conditions.
“Lord Danarre,” he said quietly. “Might I suggest reviewing tomorrow’s route while the maps are still dry? The weather may complicate our timeline.”
Always thinking ahead. I nodded and followed him to a corner table where he spread the charts, weighted them with cups and candle holders to keep them from curling.
“The servants understand their place,” Armand said, joining us at the table. “They’ll follow your lead, but they answer to Lord Henrik first. Don’t mistake courtesy for loyalty.”
Cromwell’s pen paused for the briefest moment. He’d heard, and it was better that everyone understood the dynamics clearly .
“Respect flows both ways,” Armand continued. “They keep you fed, clean, and informed. Smart commanders listen when experience talks.”
Across the room, Maise wrung water from her cloak with efficient movements, not wasting energy on complaints.
Perrin gathered kindling from the pile near the hearth while Grit checked our gear for water damage.
They worked without complaint, understanding their place in a structure we’d all been forced to accept.
Good soldiers adapting to circumstances beyond their control, making themselves useful and small and forgettable in spaces meant for their betters.
“Your team knows their business,” Armand murmured, accepting a cup of something warm from a passing servant.
They did. But they also knew the price of stepping out of line, of speaking when they shouldn’t, of existing too visibly near people whose blood the world considered more valuable than theirs.
I sipped the bitter tea and watched my people diminish themselves for survival.
Someday, that would change. There would come a day when I’d be strong enough that Maise wouldn’t have to swallow her pride every time Baldir decided she’d spoken out of turn.
When Perrin could offer a suggestion without being reminded that his blood made his voice worth less.
When Grit could stand in the warmth of a fire he’d earned without being pushed to a corner by someone who hadn’t.
When Maise could remember where she’d learned about bridges without that flat, dead look in her eyes.
Today wasn’t that day .
I caught the innkeeper’s attention and ordered extra blankets for my team’s quarters. Hot soup, dry firewood, whatever small comforts coin could buy without drawing notice.
It wasn’t much. But keeping them warm meant keeping them ready, and whatever was waiting for us at Hemmrich’s estate was getting closer with every mile.
◇ ◆ ◇
「Hel’s Ledger」
Vessel: Danarre de Blaise | Year 828 | Age 13
House de Blaise | Status: Bastard (Unacknowledged)
Location: Road to Hemmrich, Roadside Inn
「Knight of Swords」 — Burning
「Emperor」 — Sleeping
「Magician」 — Sleeping
Active Charge: Find the Hierophant. End what was begun.
The vessel learns the shape of command. Not the sword kind. The other kind, the kind where keeping them alive means pretending they don’t matter. He carries the dead well, but the living are heavier.