Joveric always counted his men at every meal. He treated them like family despite their rough edges, so he noticed at once when not one but three were missing.
Dani. Len. Gul.
These were not fresh hires he might forget in the dark. They had ridden with him for two years.
Len in particular served as his pigeon messenger. Of course Joveric remembered him.
He moved through the camp with a growing knot in his chest.
On the way, he passed Alaric, Lena, and Daisy and gave them the sort of cordial greeting habit demanded. A few paces behind them stood the tent.
Alaric felt his heart pounding so hard he thought it might betray him before his face did. Lena kept her expression steady, though fear pressed cold against her spine.
Joveric was a large man, and there was something deeply unsettling about the way he carried his size. Only Daisy remained calm. She sat there eating her soup as if the night held nothing worth fearing.
