“Uzfan, as soon as I deal with these—”

“Nay,” the priest said, laying his hand lightly on her arm. “Rest yourself, child. Have your supper, and then I will come.”

She bowed her head in agreement.

“My mother said you’re to share our supper tonight,” Willem spoke up. “It’s our turn.”

“Yes, of course I will come,” Alexeika said. Since her father’s death, she had assumed many of the leadership responsibilities for the camp. She also did most of the hunting. Accordingly, the women of the camp took on the task of inviting her to their fires for supper. She accepted their invitations gladly, for it was a way to keep on good terms with everyone, as well as to know their complaints.  Often she could soothe disagreements before they grew into quarrels. She settled disputes, dispensed encouragement, and worked at keeping her people’s spirits strong.

Hunting and trapping furs were men’s jobs, nothing for a woman, but Alexeika had never been raised to sit about with her hands folded. A lady born, and a princess by rank, she wore a tunic and leggings like a man. Destiny had gone a crooked path when it made her, for although born a maid, she’d been forced to fill the shoes of a son to her famous general father. Accordingly, she carried twin pearl-handled daggers, and in her rare private moments she slipped away into the forest to work at strengthening her body and arms so that she could better wield her father’s sword. Since the massacre, the camp had kept far from towns and settlements, risking no contact with the king’s soldiers. But Alexeika knew that they could not hide forever. There would come a day when they would have to fight again. She took no chances in letting her skills grow rusty. Maid or not, she intended to carry on the rebellion her father had died for.  Leaving Vlad in charge of the pelts, Alexeika sent Willem home with his tunic tail full of berries and promised to follow in a few minutes. Uzfan lingered, the smell of his spell-casting pungent on his clothes, and shot her another look of warning before he returned to his tent. Draysinko was still examining the pelts, making little cooing sounds of greed and approval.  She frowned at the man, wanting to punish him for putting the camp in danger, but she was all too painfully aware that her authority here was not the same as her father had held. The general had been the undisputed leader. His orders were law. Alexeika had to lead by suggestion and cajoling. When she snapped out direct orders, the women looked hurt. If she criticized the old men, they acted insulted. Sometimes Alexeika felt on fire with frustration. Had she been a man, they would have obeyed her without question. As it was, they held their council meetings weekly and discussed actions for the camp to take, then dithered and deferred the matter to her judgment.

Jerking her fingers through her wind-knotted hair, Alexeika abandoned the pelts and took the chance to escape to her tent.

It was large enough for two people, and all her life she had known no other abode. Until a few weeks ago, it had held two cots, and at eventide Alexeika was always there when her father came home. She made sure there was a pot boiling on the cooking fire, the lamp was lit on the small folding campaign table of exquisite inlaid wood, and a pail of oiled sand was waiting to clean her father’s weapons. Now, there was only one cot. Her father’s possessions and clothing had all been folded away in the chest. She seldom took the time now to adorn her little home with freshly picked flowers. Instead, she usually came in wearily, unbuckling her daggers and glad to lower the tent flap on all the problems of her day.

Tonight, however, the tent felt different inside. Something was awry. She stopped in her tracks, her nostrils flaring as she looked about. A faint, elusive scent lingered here that did not belong. It was not magic, but it made her wary.

The tent was full of shadows and gloom. She moved forward cautiously, certain that nothing lurked in here. Yet something, or someone, had been here earlier.  Intrusion was unthinkable. No one entered another’s tent without permission. It was the inviolate rule of the camp. Yet that rule had been broken while she was gone today.

She shuddered, there in the darkness, and drew her dagger.  After a few minutes’ hesitation, she crossed the tent in the darkness and lit the lamp. Its flaring wick cast a glow of golden light that drove back the shadows. Swiftly she glanced around, but saw no one.  She sniffed, but there was no stench of Nonkind, no whiff of magic. Slowly, she sheathed her dagger.

All seemed as it should be. Her clothes chest was strapped shut. The little map cabinet’s door was closed. Her cot blanket was smooth and tight, just as she’d left it.

No, it was not. She frowned, seeing one corner of the blanket that had been pulled out and retucked hastily, sloppily.

A chill ran through her, and Alexeika stiffened. She stood frozen, certain now that someone had been in her tent today, prowling or searching for something to steal. A sense of violation overwhelmed her.

Suddenly she could not bear to be inside. Her own home disgusted and repelled her. Yet anger made her stay.

Swiftly she conducted a search, checking first to be sure that Severgard, her father’s sword, was safe. She found it in her father’s chest, lying secure in its scabbard. But the clothes beneath it had been rifled. Drawing in her breath sharply, she dug to the bottom of the chest, her fingers searching for the leather money pouch.

It was gone.

Withdrawing her hand, she curled it into a fist of rage. A thief, a petty weasyn of a thief, had dared come in here and steal from her.  The money pouch itself contained only a few coppers, nothing of much value. It was a decoy to thwart petty thievery such as this, but she was infuriated just the same.

Slamming the chest shut, she shifted it around on the rug of brightly woven colors and checked the false compartment cleverly fitted into the back. There she found the real money pouch, with its fifteen precious gold dreits still safe. The jewel pouch containing her father’s marriage ring and Alexeika’s own emerald necklace and ear bobs were also there.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, she replaced these treasures and resumed her search.

In the end, she discovered that the thief had fingered everything she owned, including her father’s maps and her spare set of clothing. A lace-trimmed handkerchief, dainty and exquisitely embroidered, was missing.  Alexeika sat back on her heels and slowly lowered the lid of her chest. Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears, although she told herself not to be silly. The coppers and a handkerchief were minor things, unimportant things, especially when there were far more vital treasures at risk.

But the handkerchief had been her mother’s. Sometimes, Alexeika would take it out and press the exquisite linen against her face, closing her eyes and pretending she smelled the lingering scent of her mother’s perfume. King Muncel had ordered her mother killed when Alexeika had been an infant. She had grown up motherless, forever conscious of a void inside her that evoked intense longings.  There had been many things, womanly things, that she could not ask her father.  At eighteen, Alexeika often felt herself to be more boy than maid. She liked it that way. She valued her freedom and loved her independence. But when she sometimes felt soft and feminine, she enjoyed holding the dainty handkerchief in her hands and fluttering it the way court ladies did.

Now it was gone, the least yet most precious of her possessions. She wept for it, furious and hurt. Who could have taken it? Why? Who had broken her trust like this?

A faint scratching on the tent flap made her lift her head. Realizing someone was outside, she swiped her tears hastily away and bent over the water pail to wash her face.

“Yes?” Her voice came out wavery.

“Alexeika?” It was Willem. “Are you coming for supper?” She stood up with a jerk, dripping water down the front of her tunic, and realized she’d forgotten all about eating supper with Willem and his family. Her appetite had deserted her, but although she wanted to remain hidden in her tent, she refused to let the thief see how upset she was.

Extinguishing the lamp and emerging from the tent, Alexeika paused a moment with her head held high and imperious. She swept the camp with an angry glare. But folks were busy eating at their own fires. No one save Willem was paying her any attention.

The mundane scene made her even angrier. She shoved aside the temptation to rouse the entire camp and start hurling accusations. A cool head was needed for any successful strategy. She could not think right now, while she was so upset.  Later tonight, she would decide what to do.

“I’m sorry, Alexeika,” Willem said. His eyes gazed up at her as though he could sense her wrathful mood. “Mama made me come because we don’t want to eat without you, and Katrina gets—” “Of course I’m coming,” Alexeika said, forcing herself to be courteous to the boy. “It was wrong of me to keep your mother waiting like this.” “Oh, no,” Willem said, falling into step with her. “She doesn’t mind, really.