The Dread: The Fallen Kings Cycle: Book Two by Gail Z. Martin Page B

any attempt to get out of the way.”
    “That’s true.” Senne’s lips pursed as he thought. “Do you think it was a trap—for Tris?” He leaned forward. “Maybe we were meant to think another summoner was behind it, but perhaps they hoped that the king would use his power, risk himself to counter their magic. For all we know, there could have been something magical waiting to counterstrike.”
    A grim smile played at the corners of Tris’s mouth.
This
was the general that his father, King Bricen, had so valued for his cleverness in battle. Senne might not be as comfortable with magic as Soterius was, but the generalknew the value of any military advantage, whether he understood how it worked or not. And right now, Tris knew that the wheels in Senne’s head were turning quickly, looking for a strategic advantage.
    “I didn’t sense another summoner’s power,” Tris said slowly, thinking back to the scrying and trying to remember what his mage senses were telling him. “Then again, we’re quite a distance from the action, but I think I’d be able to tell that kind of power signature.” He shook his head. “No, I’m certain. A mage of power, to be sure. It was a good trick, very convincing. But not a summoner’s power. I’d have felt it.”
    “Could you tell, was something waiting to pounce if you had tried to use your magic?”
    Tris paused again, replaying the events in his mind. Finally, he shook his head again. “Not unless whoever did it was very, very good at masking his power. We know there’s a dark summoner out there. But he didn’t show his hand tonight, and our ships held their own, so it didn’t seem necessary to risk more of our mages—or give away anything about my magic—if we didn’t need to.”
    “Well played, m’lord,” Senne said with a note of honest appreciation that made Tris smile. Senne was not free with his compliments, nor was he in the habit of fawning praise.
    Senne rose. “I’d best go back to the troops,” he said. “Take them some good news and have them ready in case the next salvo comes by land.”
    Tris nodded. “Have Tolya and Pashka come to my tent when they return. I want to hear about the fight firsthand. Maybe something they saw will give us a better idea of what kinds of magic we’re up against.” He paused. “Andlet’s make sure that they get a hero’s welcome. They deserve it for standing their ground.”
    Senne inclined his head in acknowledgment. “As you wish, m’lord.”
    Tris waved Soterius to sit. “Stay for a moment.”
    “Now that you’re done watching water boil, can I interest either of you in supper?” Coalan asked dryly from the tent doorway. Coalan was Soterius’s nephew, chosen to be Tris’s valet because of his unquestioned loyalty and longtime friendship.
    Despite the tension, Tris fought a smile. “And may I assume that you’ve already sampled tonight’s fare?”
    Coalan grinned broadly. At sixteen summers old, he was only six years younger than the king. He’d shown his mettle the previous year, in the war against Curane the Traitor, by killing an assassin meant for the king. But he was equally famous for his seemingly never-ending interest in food. “Stew again, and the war hasn’t actually started yet,” he reported, with an exaggerated sigh. “On the other hand, cook’s bread turned out to be softer than rocks, so it’s a good day.”
    “Rocks or not, dinner would be welcome. Thank you.”
    Coalan gave an exaggerated bow. “Coming right up. And I’ll make sure to include two glasses of brandy.” Only a conspiracy between Tris and Soterius kept the young man from the front lines, but after Jared the Usurper’s treachery had cost Coalan most of his family, Soterius had begged Tris to keep him as safe as possible. So while most of Coalan’s time was spent as Tris’s valet, the sword on the young man’s belt was a reminder that if anyone were to get past the bodyguards who surrounded Tris and the tent,