“Don’t know why you're in a mood. Thought you've been wanting to do something about the Acrasians for years?”
  “Not like this. Not war. And not without muskets.”

  “We have some.”
  “Not enough for a battle, let alone a war.”
  “Don’t need them. We’ve magic. Now that all of Eledore is committed to the fight, we’ll frighten the Acrasians into the sea.”

  “Six weeks isn't enough time to prepare,” Nels said. “We’re at a disadvantage because we didn’t commit to the war all at once. Half our forces have already taken a beating. The rest need training. We need troop reports, proper supplies—”

  “They’ll run screaming. Everyone says so.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  Nels stared out the carriage window, watching the revelers while dread bore down on his shoulders. “I was a royal once. If there is one thing I learned, it’s that paranoia is what keeps you alive,” he whispered to no one in particular.