“But we need ships!” he exploded. “We need some way to counter the blockaded ports and the ships that keep sniping our supplies. You should have started with the shipyards.”
“We agreed to start with the mills,” I said tersely. “It was the lowest-hanging fruit. We got the charmed cloth quickly. You agreed to that,” I reminded him.
“I expected that the ships would still happen!”
“Enough,” Sianh said. “Enough. We will not make ships materialize by fighting, and what is done is done. We did agree to begin with the fabric, for the very reason that it would be completed and shipped if any interference prevented completion of the mission in Fen.”
“I’m just thankful you weren’t captured,” Theodor murmured. He cleared his throat. “Both of you. It was dangerous, I surprise myself I ever agreed to it.”
“It wasn’t your place to give permission,” I chided him gently. He closed his eyes, suppressing an argument.
“So you have cloth. And you have cannons. And the rest of the Fenian contracts are well in hand—the supplies will not be charmed, but you’ll have powder and shot and linen for shirts and everything else this outfit needs.” Alba glanced around. “And food? You are well supplied?”
“Well enough for the time being,” Sianh said. “I worry about winter, but an army always worries about winter.”
“Tentage? Firewood? Drums and pennants and flags and—oh, what all does an army need?” Alba pressed.
“Brush shelters to supplement the tents, plenty of firewood, requisitioned a few drums when we took the Royalist fort at Herring’s Wharf.” Kristos grinned. “But flags. We could use one, actually.” He raised his eyebrows at me with a look I knew too well.
“Last year you were asking me for red caps,” I said. “Who would have thought it would come to flags? I’ll see what I can do.”
“I suggest we dismiss and reconvene tomorrow morning,” Theodor said. “I am sure you’re both exhausted.”
Alba raised an eyebrow. “Yes, exhausted.” She shared a flippant smile with Sianh while Kristos pretended to ignore the insinuation.
“You’ll share my room, if that’s all right,” Theodor said.
I suppressed a smile as Kristos pretended to be very busy with a stack of maps. “That’s fine.”
I followed him upstairs, the narrow stairwell opening to a hallway brightly lit by twin windows facing one another. Four doors stood sentry, and Theodor opened the one nearest the landing, held the door for me, closed the door gently behind us, then fell into my arms. I stroked his hair with my fingertips. There was no pomatum or powder in it, and his usually carefully dressed queue was tied sloppily with a bit of leather. “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m all right.”
“I almost couldn’t—I couldn’t believe you would be,” he said, his voice strained with what I realized were badly suppressed tears. “Not when we didn’t hear from you for weeks.”
“Damn sea travel.” I smiled faintly.
“And Fenians.”
“And everything. Everything keeping us from what we could have been.” I traced the thin gold chain on my wrist, still bright, still there. My fingers traipsed over Theodor’s hand and found the chain’s match on his wrist.
“No.” He straightened. There was determination in his red eyes, but his face looked thinner and tightly drawn. “No, this is what we are supposed to be. I’m sure of that.”
I hesitated. “How are you holding up?”
“Me?” He cracked a smile that looked like it might break his face. “I’m fine. Turns out I remember enough from my tutelage to be useful in training troops, and the men elected me their general, so the Rebel Prince cachet must be worth something. I’ve proven useful despite myself.”
“I meant more… you.” I traced the faint line between his taut brows.
“I’m fine. You’re here. I’m fine,” he repeated. He held my face in his fingertips, brushing wayward hair away from my cheeks, melting my months of anxiety into a single sigh.
Then he kissed me, strong and full of anticipation. I pulled him toward me, wanting to envelop him in me or let myself be absorbed into him, not quite sure if there was a difference. His fingers moved over my hair, my neck, prickling my skin with the promise of his continued touch. I pulled at the lacings of my jacket, corded linen catching in the poorly stitched eyelets.
“Let me,” Theodor whispered, and pulled the lacing from the jacket and then the cord from my stays, as well. “Ah, and here is my Sophie, under all that Fenian wool.”
“And my Theodor, still looking ready for a full military parade,” I said. He shucked the coat, the wool far less fine than any of his old clothes. No embroidery, no gilt, no lace. The smallclothes beneath were even coarser, made of the unbleached gray linen I knew the poorhouse bought in bolts, but it suited him. He wasn’t a prince any longer, I wasn’t a seamstress, and all of the layers that had separated us were gone. I unbuttoned the plain brass buttons of his waistcoat, finding underneath them one of his old, fine linen shirts, now much patched and growing yellow for want of a proper laundering.
We fell silent, words too much like paltry shadows compared to the sheer presence of one another, and he lifted me gently onto the rope bed and its lumpy mattress. I leaned back, pulling him onto me, closer, ever closer. I shut my eyes and surrendered to that closeness, and let our bodies bind us like strong cords or the gold chains that had bound our wrists when Theodor had proposed.
I fell asleep wrapped under thick wool blankets that smelled of hay and Theodor’s arms swathed in linen that smelled, faintly, of his clove pomade.
14
WE WERE UP BEFORE THE SUN HAD FINISHED RISING, THE RAPID tattoo of reveille rattling the windows and jarring me from the warm comfort of Theodor’s arms. A pitchy fife joined the cacophony like a soprano rooster, demanding everyone begin their day.
“You start to hate that song,” Theodor said, buttoning his waistcoat quickly against the early morning chill.
“I think I might hate it already,” I said. “Where did you find a fifer?”
“He plays the tin whistle, I think. The fife is still a bit of a stretch for him. He’s trying to train some others.” Theodor winced as the melody scraped flat. “Fortunately the bayonet drill is improving far more rapidly.”
I had little enough in the way of clothes, and no bedgown or wrapper to put on, so I snatched Theodor’s spare waistcoat, identical to the one he wore, and buttoned it over half-laced stays.
“I had to leave all my clothes behind. I’m going to need some wool at some point for a gown,” I said as Theodor raised an eyebrow at my ensemble.
“Lucky for you we have a wide assortment. As long as you like gray and red,” he said. I hesitated—the broadcloth that made regimental coats wouldn’t work well for a gown. “I think you can make an exception for wearing one of your charms given that it may be your only option,” he added gently.
“No, you mistake me,” I said. My old qualms about wearing my own charms had faded, given that I could draw and use one anytime I wished. “That weight of wool will be difficult to work into a gown. Though I suppose I could work up a riding habit.”
“Make it gray wool with red facings, just like the military coats,” Theodor suggested eagerly. “It will be a symbol of your importance here.”
Though a riding habit was a practical solution, it would take long hours of careful tailoring and—I sighed just thinking about it—rows and rows of neatly made buttonholes. “I can’t help but feel there are better uses for my time than sewing something so—frivolous.”
Theodor paused as he fastened his knee buckles, met my eyes, and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but it’s just—last time this year, what were you doing?”
“Probably stitching some frivolous trim onto a frivolous silk gown,” I said, between hiccups of laughter, “with a frivolous love charm sewn into it!”
In echo to the drums outside, a fist pounded our door. “We’re up,” Theodor called. �
��Getting dressed.”
“Don’t want to know,” Kristos said. I laughed and lazily pulled stockings over cold feet, imagining his reddening face as he talked through the door. “Come downstairs as soon as you can. Messenger from Niko Otni.” I quickened my pace, and Theodor threw his coat on without finishing with his waistcoat buttons.
We crowded into the kitchen, the warmest room in the house, with its expansive hearth pouring heat from coals banked overnight and roused into flames first thing in the morning. On a squat three-legged stool by the hearth sat Fig. Someone had given him a mug of tea and some bread and butter; he looked more like a farm boy having breakfast before feeding the chickens than a wartime messenger in an army’s headquarters.
“Why, Fig! I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. His tired face drew itself into a smile and he sat a little straighter.
“You know this one?” Sianh said.
“Alba and I made his acquaintance in Galitha City,” I answered.
“Then I suppose you’re vetted,” Kristos said.
“He wasn’t one of yours?” I asked. “From last winter?” There had been boys and youths, always, hanging on to the Red Caps when they could.
“Ma said I was too young to run round with the Red Caps,” Fig said. “But that was before the war.”
“And now no one is too young,” suggested Alba.
“We were not sure if he was truly from the army in the city,” Sianh said, “as he does not bring any seals or signatures or any sort of verifiable written messages.”
“Written messages can get captured,” Fig announced proudly. So, I thought to myself, could thirteen-year-old boys. I didn’t want to consider what the Royalists might be willing to do to a Reformist partisan to gain intelligence, regardless of his age.
“What’s the news?” Theodor said, voicing the same question I had.
“The city holds,” Fig said first, adeptly sensing the tension in the room. “We’re still open to the river and they haven’t started a siege or nothing yet.”
“Yet?” Alba said.
“We anticipate a siege being their eventual strategy,” Sianh said, his brow knitting and pulling at the pale scar along his cheek. “Unless the troops in the city surrendered or made a very foolish mistake, there is no other way to take Galitha City by force.”
“The terrain just outside the walls is uneven and heavily forested on most sides,” Theodor said. “It’s extremely defensible—artillery can’t get a good purchase without excavation and building entrenchments, and that, of course, takes time. But if they focus on the city…” Theodor sighed. “They would eventually breach the walls if a siege goes unchecked.”
“That’s right.” Fig glanced at his half-eaten bread and decided that now wouldn’t be a good time to tear off a hunk. “Niko says now’s the time to cut them off. He wants you to move your troops to the city. Has to be overland. Port’s thoroughly blockaded.”
“Damn it.” Kristos threw his cap on the table. “I’d hoped they’d be busier patrolling our coast—shit, I’d hoped that maybe more of the crews would mutiny and take some of their force out of commission.”
Alba quietly took Fig’s cup and refilled his tea. “They pay ’em too well,” Fig said, accepting the hot tea. “A few defected to us, but sailors are a strange lot. Loyal to their captains. And their captains are treating them right—paying them bonuses, sharing out the prize money on captures.”
“How very democratic of them,” I said.
Theodor cracked a smile. “If only more of them understood how to apply it to politics, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” His smile faded. “I don’t think we can give Niko what he’s asking for.”
“It would be a foolish maneuver. Even if we could move thousands of troops overland and aid the city without being challenged, a large contingent of the Royalist army is at Rock’s Ford. They would cut us off from behind and swiftly undo our work—and put us in position to force our surrender,” Sianh said. “If they did not annihilate us before we even arrived.”
“So you’re going to leave the city to fend for itself?” Fig said. His fingers drew tight around his mug of tea, the knuckles whitening. “Niko was worried you’d be selfish.”
“This is not selfishness,” Sianh said. “The Royalists still have superior numbers of trained soldiers, not to mention they are still better supplied. Time—building our numbers and training, and draining the Royalists of supplies—will even our odds. The city has time, and we will use that time to weaken the Royalists. Every small fortification we take here, every supply train we dismantle, moves us closer.”
“We don’t have that much time,” Theodor cautioned. “Once they commit to a siege, what do we have—weeks, months?” Theodor shook his head.
Sianh nodded, acknowledging the point. “Then we move more quickly here. I had wanted more time to build our troop strength and train more thoroughly, but if we lack that time, we are ready.”
“Ready?” I said. Foolishly, I hadn’t considered military strategy beyond massing troops in Hazelwhite—but of course they had to be sent to do something, to take territory and hold it against the Royalists.
“Moving toward the Rock River,” Sianh said. “If we can defeat the Royalists at Rock’s Ford, or at least sever their lines, we have a chance at moving on the city. We do not have that chance if they can simply resupply from Rock’s Ford.”
“Bad news for Niko, he’s going to have to hold out,” Kristos said. “But I agree. Taking the south step by step and holding Rock’s Ford, we may actually be able to pull it off.”
“And you’ll send a message back?” Fig said.
“Of course. One of our men will go,” Theodor said.
“He’ll expect me,” Fig argued, his chin jutting out in a portrait of childish defiance.
Theodor glanced at me, and I understood his meaning immediately. Niko may have sent Fig with good reason—if the city fell, the Royalists might not care who was young, who was barely more than a boy, if they wore the red and gray. Even if he didn’t, something maternal flared in me, wanting to protect him even if I didn’t have the power to protect anyone else.
“It will be faster if we send someone on one of the horses,” I suggested. “And, Fig, if you can’t ride, that many miles at once is not a good way to learn.”
He sucked in his lips, unable to debate that very valid point.
“Besides, we could use you here. Perhaps even more than Commander Otni,” I said, forcing my mouth and my mind around the still strange combination of Niko’s name and the title. “If we’re beginning a campaign, we’ll need a seasoned messenger. A sort of an aide-de-camp—that’s the term, isn’t it, Sianh?”
“Yes, that is the term,” he replied curtly, shooting invisible darts at me. “You come with me, vimzalet.”
“Vimzalet?” I asked, wondering what new curse word this might be.
“Little mosquito,” Sianh answered with raised eyebrow. “I have a feeling he shall be just as persistent and just as annoying.”
15
“IF YOU WANT A FLAG,” I SAID AS THEODOR AND I OBSERVED A marching drill on the parade ground, “I am going to need silk.”
“Wool won’t cut it?” Theodor teased. “Linen? That we have in bolts.”
“Linen could work, if we could get it to hold color for more than a month out in the elements. Or if you like brown or blue, those seem to hold up well enough.”
“Let’s avoid blue,” Theodor said. “Damned Royalists have ruined blue for me for quite some time. We’ve established red and gray rather nicely, though. Gray was always a favorite of mine, and red is growing on me.”
“You want a red device on it, it must be silk. Linen will go pink or brown within a few weeks.” I laughed. “Even scarlet doesn’t hold on linen.”
“Well, then, we shall have to make a foray into Hazelwhite to see if there is anything to be had,” Theodor said. “The artillery pieces have started arriving, and Sianh will be starting to establish the artillery u
nits. Necessary, before we can hope to take Rock’s Ford. I’m sure he wouldn’t begrudge me an afternoon’s walk into town.”
Sianh supervised the drill on the parade ground. He was fluid, almost, in his movements through the camp, gliding between mentoring the green officers and berating a unit whose muskets had begun to show rust with seamless transitions.
“You look well,” I said to him.
“If you mean overworked, then yes.”
“You seem to like overwork, then.”
Sianh cocked his head with a conspiratorial smile. “So you have noticed. You, as well. The riding coat suits you.”
“Thank you,” I replied. With some shoddy work on the buttonholes and a few long days with little else to do, I made myself a gray-and-red riding habit to match the uniforms of the Reformist army, down to the unbleached linen waistcoat. I felt a bit too conspicuous, at first, as though I was trying to force myself into a place here.
“We’re going into Hazelwhite to see if the draper or the haberdasher still have any silk on the shelves,” Theodor said.
“Very well,” said Sianh. “Do be back before evening. I need a bit of help working out the artillery officers.” He opened a thick leather-bound notebook full of pen scratches. “And this—another twenty new recruits joined us last night out of the southern coast. Trouble with those fellows is that their accents are so thick the others are unable to understand them half of the time.”
“We’ll make sure to assign a corporal with some facility in both the northern and southern dialects,” Theodor said. “I’ll finagle that when we’re back.”
The distance from the cliffside encampment to Hazelwhite itself was less than a mile, on a hard-packed red dirt road. An early morning shower had settled the dust, and the noon sun was gently warm as we followed the old ruts of oxcarts and hay wagons. The town settled itself onto the plain below a low pair of hills, both covered in broad fields of wheat and rye.
“They still have their market every week,” Theodor said, “but the shops have half shuttered. The draper is still open, but I’ve no guarantee on his wares.”
Rule Page 7
