Prologue

Pattin didn’t know what they were fighting for. All he knew was that when their commander yelled the order he was to let loose his arrows toward another trench opposite theirs somewhere in the Red Sands desert. Rumor was they were fighting over mines, dukes, power, and money. Nothing he’d ever be privy to. It didn’t matter. He was here because he’d been conscripted.

He’d been in this trench for nine days straight. Hot, drenched in sweat, sick to his stomach, and with little to eat or drink. Tired of swatting flies and stepping over the bodies of his comrades, he was ready to leave. No one wanted to be here, especially not the lads from Bidsworth, and especially not on the front lines.

He spat the dust out of his mouth and bit another piece of jerky.

“When is she going to come for us?” he asked his friend.

“Tonight, they said. Maybe,” Ivan whispered.

“What do you mean, maybe? She promised.”

“She can only take five at a time.”

“Bloody Marks, she’s been here every night for a week. What’s she going to do, get everyone but us? The more people who leave, the less chance of survival for those who stay. I’m too young to die in this rat hole.”

Ivan shrugged—a hint that he wasn’t happy about the situation either.

“We could try and make a run for it on our own,” Pattin whispered, his lips barely moving, glancing around the desolate countryside.

Over the sand, the heat waves danced, crafting a mirage of water, a deceptive illusion that only a fool would pursue. Bait for the enemy. Pattin licked his lips, wishing for a drink of cool water from the springs in Bidsworth, his homeland, a wealthy duchy whose stone structures mirrored the color of the red earth. Here in the wasteland, iron ore poisoned the vegetation, and there was nothing but dust as far as the horizon. The soldiers hated this place, and rumors of desertion were burning the ears of the agents at base. The officers were watching the troops like hawks.

“Fool. We’d have bolts in our backs, dead. Is that what you want? If I’m going to desert, I’m doing it with Kezia.” Ivan wiped the sweat from his brow; his face caked with red earth. Even his eyelashes were laden with dirt.

“What makes her so special that she can get us out with no one noticing?”

Ivan snickered and glared at him. “She’s the duke’s daughter, remember? Plus, she’s smart, crafty, and wicked.”

“Duke sabotages his own army through his daughter!” Pattin mumbled.

“Stop complaining or she’ll never come and get you.”

Pattin wiped his brow, his mouth fixed in a frown. She might not come for him at all. It’s everyone else’s luck to be saved by a duchess.

“Heads up!” The dreaded warning arrived just as a flurry of bolts blotted out the sun.

Pattin covered his head with his shield. Ivan lifted his own targe to cover his body while the plummeting projectiles thundered on it.

“Move!” came the command.

Like a terrified beetle, Pattin crouched on the ground and joined the others, locking his shield with Ivan’s as the company crawled through the trench, hands and knees bleeding, while avoiding the corpses of friends who didn’t survive. Away from the onslaught they moved, abandoning their supplies. Someone would be sent back for them when the sun settled on the horizon and the two moons rose.

Soon everyone here would have to leave the trenches and charge at the enemy. That was a standard maneuver, and it was just a matter of time. Hand to hand combat would kill him, Pattin was certain. With practiced ease, he could loose an arrow, always striking the mark. But his end would come by the cold steel of a sword. He hoped it would be tomorrow. He wasn’t ready to die today.

Maybe Kezia would draw his name and come for him tonight. Maybe he would live through this bloody war, after all.