by F. C. Reed
General Strann joined her, and they walked the halls to the galley. She felt awkward at the way the other soldiers plastered themselves against the walls as they passed. It reminded her of the similar reactions when she accidentally found herself huddled on a platform in Therios Kaval before being escorted to the primus.
They reached a set of double doors. The galley was full and bustling with lively conversation by the clanking of silverware and cups, and the laughter and chatter that spilled out.
“Here we are,” said General Strann. She motioned for Amalia to go in.
“You’re not coming in?” A pang of terror stabbed at her.
“I spend my mornings with the council.”
“But I don’t want to go in alone. I don’t know anyone in there.” Amalia squirmed, wary of what the expectations might be.
“That’s the whole point,” General Strann said, placing her hands on Amalia’s shoulders. “Those men and women will someday completely entrust you with their lives and they must come to know who you are and what you expect of them. Granted that won’t happen in one morning over a bowl of stew and baked bread, but it’s a start.”
Amalia’s heartbeat picked up its pace. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“You’ll be fine. Just think of it as your first day at a new school.” General Strann’s smile reassured her, if only a little. “And stay away from the khyber lizard eggs,” she said with a wink.
Amalia nodded, half listening. She paid more attention to the growing anxiety and feeling of dread that gathered in the pit of her stomach. “Sounds like a lot of people,” she whispered as she took a deep breath.
“Perhaps a hundred. It may seem like they are acting strangely toward you at first, but take it in stride. And if you feel stuck, or if they look stuck, just say, ‘as you were,’ and that usually fixes things.” General Strann suggested. “I’ll come by for you later.” She gave Amalia a reassuring pat on the shoulder and started off down the corridor without turning to look back.
Amalia stood at the door, listening to the voices blend and meld into one another. That did nothing for her mounting anxiety. Several deep calming breaths gave her the courage to push open the door and go in.
General Strann stood at the far end of the corridor, well out of sight. Admiral Voss stood with her.
“There she goes,” said General Strann.
“You’re worried,” Admiral Voss said.
“A little. She’s strong in some places, but fragile in others. She has the mind and memories of someone from another time and place. And there’s so much she doesn’t understand.” General Strann sighed. “I want her to succeed. We need her to.”
They walked together down the corridor to the stairs leading up to the conference hall.
“I remember you weren’t no different. Just as dazed and confused as she is,” Admiral Voss said. “Look at you now.”
“Right. But I knew all my life what was in store. She knows only what she’s been told so far,” General Strann said.
“You mean, what she’s been given to see and what has been created specifically for her.” Admiral Voss stopped General Strann at the base of the wide spiral staircase. “Speaking of which, you need to tell her.”
General Strann shook her head, but she knew the admiral was right.
“Tell her what that siaar designation means before it’s too late. I know you haven’t yet, and it’s tearing through your guts right about now.”
General Strann felt heavy as they ascended the stairs. “I want her to be prepared for it so she doesn’t make the same mistakes—
“Hey,” Admiral Voss snapped in a harsh whisper. “You did what you had to do all those decades ago. The way things turned out that day, that damn day that’s been plaguing you your whole tenure, ain’t none of that your fault. You know how the aethersphere works. She needs to know too. It ain’t fair to keep her from her roots. Now you can leave that survivor guilt bull spit at the bottom of the stairs, missy. It don’t suit you.”
“Bull spit?” General Strann grinned at her. “You have a wonderful way with words.”
“Indeed I do,” Admiral Voss smiled as she snapped her collar. “Now let’s step it up before we’re late, or we’ll never hear the end of it from fussy old goggle-eyes. She’ll be fine.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Amalia’s anxiety grew exponentially in intensity with every inch the door swung open on its hinges. The lively conversation came to a grinding halt. The quickening rhythm of her rapidly beating heart pounded a deafening cadence in her ears. Every pair of eyes were on her, examining, searching, judging, and sizing up. The sea of faces spoke volumes with their silence.
She stood for a moment staring back at them, unsure of what to do next. She fought back the urge to turn and leave, telling herself this wasn’t a good time for new, but just stood there. To get the awkward introduction over with, she thought to say something. Although she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out.
First day at a new school, she reminded herself. New girl on campus. It didn’t seem to help. She took a step just past the door. As her foot hit the floor, someone stood and yelled, “Red Commander in attendance!”
In response, every person in the galley not already standing shot to their feet. Following that display, there were no doubts about who they thought she was.
Amalia hesitated at the sea of stoic faces, rigidly holding discipline at attention. “As… you were?” she said in a barely audible voice.
The room reverted to light conversation, much quieter than before. The soldiers took their seats and turned back to their food. As she walked towards the line of soldiers waiting to have their trays filled, she noticed side-glances and stares, and the darting eyes and covered mouths of gossipy conversation taking place throughout the room. She tried her best to ignore them and instead gathered what little confidence she had to move towards the serving line.
Most of them were about her age. Some older, and a handful looked to be a little younger than she was. Some sported bruised, purpled cheeks, shoulders loosely dangling in slings, and bandaged wrists and elbows.
As she approached the serving line, the handful of soldiers waiting there parted ways for her.
Amalia frowned, feeling like she was contaminated with some contagious virus, and everyone avoided her for it. Her stomach, however, growled in anger and protest.
“After you, Red Lioness,” an adolescent boy of about twelve said with a wave of his hand. His short black curls obscured the sides of his tanned face. She stared at him, overcome by the feeling she knew him.
She approached the counter and browsed the different assortments of food steaming away in the trays. Porridge, oatmeal, thin strips of dried meat, a stew-like mixture, slices of bread, and what looked like fruit at the very end.
She leaned over the counter and poked a finger at the stew. “What kind of stew is this?” It smelled like beef and vegetable stew, but she had to be sure those tiny orange squares floating around the brown stew were carrots on this side of existence as well.
The server, a hefty girl in a stained white apron, stepped up beside her, beamed, and clasped her hands together. “We are very honored to have you join us at the morning meal, Red Lioness,” she said, her wide eyes twinkling with fascination. “My name is Gina Corlebar, the kitchen master. I received word you were coming and prepared something special for you.”
Gina ducked beneath the counter as the boy with the black curls eased the battered metal tray, still empty, from Amalia’s grip. When she emerged a moment later, she held a large covered tray of polished silver. “Please enjoy your meal, Red Lioness,” she said, holding the tray out to Amalia.
Amalia took it, bewildered. “Thank you,” she said, worried by how much of the food on the tray she would recognize.
Turning back toward the hall, she was again pelted with waves of stares and side-glances. She bit down on her lip and resolved herself to finding a place to sit. Scanning the room, sh
e saw a partially vacant table, and made her way toward it. As she passed the first table she came to, one occupant shot to his feet, his tray in his hand. “Red lioness,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Please, take my seat.”
Amalia sighed. She was already beginning to tire of the royal princess treatment, but the irritation took the place of her anxiety, which she actually found preferable. She just wanted to blend in, be relatively unnoticed like in school, and eat her food, provided it was edible.
Gina scuttled up as Amalia sat down. She gave the rest of the occupants at the table a hard, sweeping glance, and even managed a low hiss that approached a growl, but actually said nothing. The four others shot to their feet, trays in hand, and moved away, leaving Amalia alone at a table meant for six.
Amalia watched the ordeal, visibly annoyed. So much for blending in.
Gina placed a large mug next to Amalia’s tray and wrung her hands. A white, creamy mixture met the rim of the cup, with sprinkles of a brown powder swirling on its surface. The smell that rose from the mug reminded her of cinnamon. That was reassuring.
Before she lifted the tray’s lid, Gina squirmed and squeaked with barely contained delight. Amalia watched for a moment her display of anticipation, then looked back at the tray.
I swear, if there’s something under here with the head still on…
From her peripheral vision, Amalia spotted Zerosa across the room, about three tables away. She sucked in a sharp breath. Their eyes met, and Amalia beckoned her over with a wave of her hand. Zerosa rose and moved to the table, stopping at full attention.
“Red lioness,” she said.
“Can this wait? The red lioness is about to eat her breakfast,” Gina snapped. Her annoyance of the ruined moment etched itself into her forehead.
“It’s fine,” Amalia blurted. She pulled Zerosa down by her arm, forcing her into the bench across the table.
“Well,” said Gina, her annoyance transformed into hurt, “if you need me—
“No,” Amalia said in a hurry. Gina made her way back to the counter with her shoulders slumped. Amalia watched her and made a mental note to apologize later. Then she whispered to Zerosa, “Why didn’t you come over when I came in?”
“I can’t approach or sit with a higher ranking officer unless asked.”
A bout of realization washed over Amalia. “So that’s why everyone runs away from me and looks at me with side-eyes?”
Zerosa nodded. “You’re like a rock star around here, being the first red commander in, like, three hundred years.”
“Really?” Amalia’s face twisted. “Because I sorta feel like a leper.”
“The title and designation and responsibility you have are huge. People respect those titles, so they respect you.” Zerosa said, lifting the lid off the food tray. “Learn to wear it.”
“Wear it?” Amalia glanced at the plate of food, suddenly distracted from her train of thought. She didn’t believe her eyes.
On the tray sat a huge stack of piping hot, golden brown pancakes so perfect, she immediately wondered how many other pancakes the cooks mangled and burned before the perfect temperature and technique was found to make this particular stack of pancakes. Test pancakes, she used to call them. Beside that, there was toast with peanut butter and banana slices, sausage links, and a pile of hash brown potatoes. A small bowl with a metal lid sat next to her plate of food.
“See?” Zerosa said. “The servers and cooks were provided with all your favorites, and Gina there has been itching for you to try it.”
Amalia started into the food in a frenzy, her dining etiquette being overshadowed by her voracious hunger. “How do they know what I like?” she said through a cheek stuffed with pancakes.
“I told them,” Zerosa replied.
“You?” Amalia stopped stuffing her face just long enough to look up. “How d’you know?”
“I’m your second. It’s my job to know.”
Amalia furrowed her brow and looked up again, but kept chewing.
“Basically, that means I am assigned as your bodyguard, kind of. I’m tasked with seeing to your safety whenever you’re outside the main installments or on another plane in the aethersphere.”
“Really…” Amalia mumbled through a mouth filled with food. “You being my second must screw up your weekends.”
“Not at all. It’s a coveted honor. Actually, I’ve been assigned as your second ever since you were a small child.”
“Shut. Up.” Amalia nearly choked on her food. She stopped eating long enough to make eye contact. She looked Zerosa over, judging her to be of similar age to her seventeen.
“Remember the girl that chased that rabid dog away with a stick when you were riding your bike in the park?”
“What the… I was like, nine,” Amalia said, surprised at the memory that flooded her consciousness. It slowed her attack on her food.
Zerosa nodded. “And the first time you fought Christina Cross after school a few years back? When you gave her the fat lip? I was in the crowd. I pulled her hair right as you were swinging.”
“And all those other weird, freaky times I saw shadows and stuff,” Amalia said thinking back.
“That was probably me, trying to stay just out of the way, but close enough,” Zerosa offered.
Amalia chewed more slowly, consumed by the memories of close calls and near misses. She also recalled several of the noises and moving shadows that frequented her throughout her childhood. All this time she thought she was crazy - lots of people thought she was crazy - when she had a guardian angel.
“I’m not even going to ask how old you are.”
“Yeah, because you probably wouldn’t believe me. The Natai race has quite a lengthy lifespan.”
“What’s this?” Amalia said, lifting the little metal lid from the bowl at the edge of her tray. The stench that wafted from the bowl threatened to eject all the food she just ate. She retched at the orange and yellow slime, out of which stuck triangle shaped bits of crusty green. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she retched again, slamming the lid back on the bowl. She glared at Zerosa, who sat grinning from ear to ear.
“Let me guess,” Amalia said, horrified at the smell that still wafted into the air. She waved her hand to dissipate the noxious vapors. “Khyber lizard eggs.”
Zerosa nodded. “Definitely an acquired taste.”
“So that’s why people keep warning me away from that stuff. Man, that’s foul. Smells like a combination of burnt rubber and diarrhea.”
“That bowl proves how special you are to some people around here,” Zerosa said, looking over Amalia’s shoulder at something or someone behind her.
“A bowl of stinky goop means I’m special? Hardly.”
Zerosa appeared to busy herself. “Gina left the scales in. They’re a rare and very expensive delicacy. Actually, they’re sweet. Taste like, um, peanut brittle.”
“I’ll take your word for it, because they smell like a state fair port-o-potty. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand my own breath.” She looked over the rest of her food, her appetite now gone, or sated, or both. “After that madness, I think I’m about done eating.”
“Don’t look now. But you’re being watched.”
“You think?” Amalia mumbled, still conscious of a hundred sets of eyes focused and fixed on her.
“Right behind you. Far wall,” Zerosa said, dropping her head. Amalia turned around for a glance.
“So what?” Amalia turned back. “He’s the first tier guy. What’s his name? Thanis or Thanatos or something.”
“Thanial Dumiir. And he’s much more than just the first tier guy.”
“I know, right? Tell me you don’t think he’s a hottie. I mean, he was practically shirtless during that trial and I was drooling all over myself so bad I needed a bib.”
“Commander General in attendance!” someone yelled. The room again shot to its feet in a collective shuffle. Only Amalia still sat, glancing around. She saw that Thanial also di
d not move. He sipped at his drink.
“As you were,” General Strann called as she moved towards Amalia. The room shifted back into murmurs. Quite a few of the soldiers took to the exit, rather than sit back down at that point.
Zerosa also sat uneasily back down.
“Artemisia,” General Strann said.
“If I may be excused?” Zerosa asked as she stood once again. Her face paled to an ashen white, and it held a tight uneasiness.
“Lieutenant, I would like for you to see to Artemisia’s outfitting. She could use your help.”
“Her hand may be able to assist.”
“Absolutely not,” General Strann snapped. “Her hand will not know how to fit armor or help her with a khydrid. She needs someone with this knowledge. And with you being her second, the duty will fall to you.”
Zerosa knew it was not a request. “I will need to notify my instructor,” she said.
“I’m sure he won’t mind,” General Strann insisted as she fixed Zerosa with a hard stare and a raised brow. Amalia knew that look. “She’ll need a khydrid and barding, fitting for armor, and a rune forgesmith to brand her choice weapon.”
“Of course, Commander General.”
“And we’ll see about taking her back up to Meginstrum Bay to have her runes activated, if the arkineers aren’t busy blowing themselves up. I will meet with you both afterward,” General Strann said to them with a reassuring smile. “You have a week. That should be more than sufficient.” She placed a hand on Amalia’s shoulder briefly and left the same as she had entered.
Zerosa let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“You’re awfully shaken up,” Amalia said.
“Yeah,” Zerosa said, standing. “It’s just that the commander general really makes me nervous.”
Amalia stood with her and cocked an eyebrow.
“What?” Zerosa shrugged at the skeptical look. “The most powerful person on this entire plane has a tendency to make me nervous. What’s so hard to believe about that?”
