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Since I had no orders to remain in the great hall, I went out amid the camps that day, thinking to bid Hedwig farewell. I don’t know why, save that it was better than enduring the resentment of Selig’s folk. The mood among the camps was markedly different than it had been upon our arrival. Men who’d eyed each other with veiled loathing clasped arms like brothers, vowing to guard each other’s backs in battle when next they met. Selig has done this, I thought, and wondered how Isidore d’Aiglemort could ever have been so foolish. I knew, though, in my heart. He did but make the same mistake with Selig that the realm had made with him. "Camaelines think with their swords," I remembered someone saying dismissively at Cecilie Laveau-Perrin’s fête so long ago. So we had thought, while the Duc d’Aiglemort plotted and secured his army. I wondered if he had said the same words of Waldemar Selig. Maybe not. I never heard a fellow D’Angeline credit any Skaldi with thinking, with or without a sword.

Thinking these thoughts, I failed to pay heed to my course and wandered straight into the path of a Gambrivü thane as he emerged from his tent. He grinned, showing bad teeth, and caught my wrist, shouting. "Look, Selig’s decided to give us an early taste of victory, eh? Who’s for swiving like a King, lads? First luck to me, and seconds for the rest!"

It happened too fast, between one instant and the next. One instant I was still gaping at his rot-toothed face, drawing breath for a reply, and the next he bent my arm behind me with a quick, expert twist and shoved me down in the snow, one hand pinning the back of my neck. Shouts of encouragement rang out-and a few cautionary protests-as my face was pressed hard against the trodden snow. Even then, it wasn’t until he dragged my skirts up, exposing my bare buttocks to the cold air, that I believed it was happening.

One must understand, rape is not merely a crime in Terre d’Ange-as it is in all civilized countries, and indeed, even among the Skaldi, for their own women-it is heresy. Love as thou wilt, Blessed Elua said to us; rape is a violation of that sacred precept. As a Servant of Naamah, it was always mine to give consent; even for an anguissette., which is why no patron would have dared transgress the sanctity of the signale. Even Melisande honored it, within the bounds of Guild-law. What she did to me that last night…she would have ended it, if I’d given the signale. I do believe that. It was my choice to withhold it.

With Gunter and with Selig, I’d been taken against my will with no choice at all, and I thought I knew some measure of the horror of it. As the packed snow melted and froze against my cheek and the Gambrivü thane fumbled with his breeches while yelling Skaldi gathered around, I knew I had grasped only the smallest part of it.

And then another voice roared into the fray, and the weight was lifted from my neck. Scrambling out of the way and yanking my skirts down, I gazed up to see Knud-whose homely face looked positively beautiful to me-lifting the Gambrivü up by the scruff of the neck, landing two solid left-handed punches to his face.

It lasted that long, and then the other Gambrivü swarmed him, all brotherly goodwill forgotten. Knud went down struggling. Forgetting my own terror, I grabbed the nearest thing at hand-a cooking pot-and dashed it against the back of the closest Gambrivü head. One of their thanes caught my arms and held me back, rubbing himself against me and laughing.

In the melee, no one noticed Waldemar Selig’s arrival.

He sat atop his tall horse staring down at the struggle with supreme annoyance, drawing breath to order an end to it. What he would have said, I don’t know, for Joscelin was behind him amid the White Brethren, and he was off his horse before Selig could voice a command, shouting my name like a battle-paean.

It was his sword he drew.

Two Gambrivü died, I think, before anyone knew what had happened. The one who held me dropped my arms with a curse, drawing his sword and running forward. Red blood stained the snow. What had been a brawl turned abruptly into a deadly battle, with Joscelin at its center, a moving dervish of grey and steel, sparks striking from his sword and vambraces. Another man went down before Waldemar Selig dismounted and drew his sword, wading shouting into the violence. I watched with my hands over my mouth.

I had not seen, before then, why the Skaldi revered him. I saw it now. He didn’t have a Cassiline’s skill and grace. He didn’t need it. Waldemar Selig wielded a sword as simply and naturally as he breathed. The Gambrivü thanes fell back before him, while continuing to engage Joscelin.

"D’Angeline, I order you to stop!" Selig shouted fiercely, his face pale with rage. A Gambrivü spear darted at Joscelin, who dodged, striking back at the thane with a well-aimed blow.