Reynold walked Star Chaser down to the far end of the yard, breathing carefully, and did not look over at them.
He had spent a great many nights in camps on the edge of the Steppe, and he knew perfectly well what soldiers did with the long hours, whether it was dice or cards or wagering on whatever was in front of them.
Tonight what was in front of them was him. His own sergeants had run a book on him for three years, and as far as he knew, the captain of his company was still holding a pool of silver and snips for the person who correctly guessed which noble lady would become Reynold's bride and put an end to his wandering days exploring the Southern Steppe.
There was no meanness in it. It was simply what men did instead of thinking about tomorrow.
"Three pennies say I hit the next mark clean," Reynold called down the yard, without turning round.
There was a short pause.
"Hah," Virve said in a short bark of laughter, sounding utterly delighted. "Taken!"
