“But the boy—”

“The boy is driven by what lies inside himself. You were born a comely maid. You shine above the others in looks, in deeds, in abilities. You are a princess, child. Your lineage stretches back three hundred years. Foolish boys and men will always be drawn to you, but you are not responsible for them. Were this ungodly blight not upon our land, you would be home, safe within your father’s protection. No one would dare assault you, and respect toward you would be strictly enforced.”

“But I do not live within my father’s castle,” she said.

He sighed. “No, you do not.”

“Draysinko must go,” she said. “He must be driven out. But first I am going to force him to return my property. I want everyone in camp to know he is a despicable thief.”

“Take care, child.”

She frowned. “But why?”

“If you call council, accuse him, and run him out of camp, you will make a grievous enemy.”

She snorted scornfully. “I do not fear him.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“What can he do?” she said scornfully. “He is nothing!” “You know better,” Uzfan rebuked her. “Because he is not a warrior does not mean he cannot do harm.”

“Do I let him stay, then?” she asked. “Thod knows, I’d prefer to gut him in the woods.”

“A natural sentiment. But I advise you to consider the matter with a cool head.

Your own father would tell you the same.”

“My father would have him flayed.”

Uzfan snorted. “There are ways to shame him and see him gone without bringing harm to the camp.”

“Are you saying he will betray us to the soldiers?”

“I think he would.”

“Aye,” she said bitterly, “and especially if he could collect a reward.” “This is why I wanted no one to overhear. Draysinko can become a dangerous man if mishandled. Right now he is merely sly and venal.” She drew in several breaths, trying to master her anger. “What would you have me do?”

“The solution will come to you.”

“No, Uzfan!” she said angrily, slapping at a nearby bush. “I can’t wait for solutions. This has to be dealt with now. Firmly and decisively. If I am to be a good leader—” “Alexeika,” he said in soft rebuke, stopping her tirade in mid-sentence.  She hung her head, her eyes stinging with angry tears. “I will not let him get away with this.”

“You cannot prove it.”

“I have you to testify.”

Uzfan said nothing.

“Will you not—”

“A priest cannot testify. You know the law.”

Frustration filled her. “This is our law, camp law. We will—” “No, Alexeika,” he said firmly. “Find another way.”

Angrily she shook her head in the dark. “He will grow worse,” she said. “He must go now.”

Uzfan patted her arm. “You will think of the right solution. I will pray that your thoughts are clear.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” she asked, weary of evasion and hints. “If

there is something more I should know—”

“Alas, child, if I could tell you, I would.”

“Uzfan—”

“I have uneasy feelings. When Draysinko crosses my thoughts, I know that something is wrong. Yet I do not know what.”

“I do,” she said grimly. “He is a thief and a troublemaker.” “Look beyond your petty complaints, child,” Uzfan rebuked her sharply. “Do you think my gifts would warn me so strongly if mere thievery were all?” Abashed, Alexeika stood there with her hand curled tight around a branch. She said nothing.

The silence stretched out, and Uzfan sighed heavily. “Go now and get your rest.

You’re tired, and it grows late.”