Ch9
The rain had stopped sometime after midnight, leaving the camp to steam in its own wetness. The new pavilion—*Count Guy's pavilion*, though no one called it that anymore—stood at the edge of Radoslav's section like a trophy, its canvas walls still bearing the embroidered device of a house that had just lost everything.
Inside, it was warm. Too warm, maybe, but Darien wasn't complaining. He lay on the oversized bed—actually *lay*, not curled on hard ground or crammed into