Jeran stared at her, chest heaving, the world going gray at the edges.
"Who—"
"General Anasuya Heppuli. Imperial Expeditionary Corps, Narakasthi Command." She said it the way someone says their own address — flat, habitual, bored. "Your father sent a letter. Requested I take you under my wing." The smirk deepened. "His words, not mine. I do not have wings. I have a sword, a commission, and very little patience for baron's sons who get themselves half-killed before they reach the frontier."
She glanced at the dead men on the road.
"Raaykal's work. Sloppy. He should have sent twice the number." Her eyes returned to Jeran. "He will not make that mistake again. Be grateful he made it tonight."
Jeran opened his mouth to respond — to thank her, to curse her, he was not sure which — and then he saw Ragi.
