Chapter 479: The Fog of Deception (3)
Mist swirled in slow, deliberate coils, dulling every color to pewter and ash. It muffled hooves, swallowed the clink of mail, and turned breath into drifting ghosts. If someone had stood on the overlook cliffs, they might have seen nothing but a gray sea lapping silently at dark tree trunks. Yet within that sea, Wilhelmina’s quiet orders drew ripples of life.
She moved like a needle through cloth, stitching the column’s ragged façade. Every few paces she paused to kneel beside a soldier and muddy a too-bright breastplate, or tug loose a strap so a shield drooped convincingly. Her hands were brisk, efficient—yet the touch lingered just long enough to calm nerves. One young spearman gulped as she smeared grime across the crest on his helm.
"Lower your chin," she murmured, voice pitched so only he heard. "Think about the time your mother scolded you in front of neighbors—yes, that face. Shame, not fear."
The soldier exhaled, and his posture slumped. Satisfied, she patted his elbow once and flowed on.
A clack sounded as Wilhelmina tapped her writing slate against a wagon wheel—two beats, then one. It was a cue to Josephine farther back: status steady, column ready. Josephine answered with a singsong whistle, quick and light, before turning her attention to Alicia.
Alicia’s fingers fussed with her cloak clasp as though it might suddenly betray her. Close up, one could see her lips tracing silent numbers—she was calculating distances, arrow arcs, the speed of cavalry charges if ambush dissolved into pursuit. The bustle of her mind practically shimmered around her like heat haze.
Josephine eased her mare alongside and bumped Alicia’s shoulder gently. "Breathe through your nose, not your thoughts," she advised. "Or you’ll hyperventilate before the real show."
Alicia managed a brittle laugh. "Easy for you. You look perfectly relaxed."
"That’s because my role is exhausted flirt," Josephine said with mock solemnity. "I perfected it years ago. See—" She tilted her head, letting fiery hair spill over one eye, and sagged in the saddle until she seemed to wilt like a neglected garden rose. Only the quick flick of her eyes, taking in every thicket, betrayed how awake she was. "Convincing?"