Rule

by Rowenna Miller

  We moved across a wide plain, and quite suddenly, the Royalist troops crested a hill like a sunrise. There were hundreds—no, I amended. There could be thousands of them.

  I felt a collective breath, a moment of pause, and then Sianh began shouting, the drums beat the orders, and the ranks began to move—not forward but out into long lines of battle. My charm constricted as I reacted, but I swiftly regained control of it, and spread it over the ranks as they fell from columns into lines of battle. Before the men the farthest back had joined the formation, the first units to fall in had their muskets loaded and ready. Meanwhile, I urged the horse toward a copse of trees near a bend in the road and dismounted. I couldn’t cast and control even a placid beast who might turn fretful when the gunfire started.

  I tied the horse’s reins to a tree, hands shaking, and moved a safe distance away in case she decided to try her luck kicking or bucking. Then I began to draw bright white from the ether, adding it into the cloud over the troops, spreading it diffuse and thin to cover all of them. It settled in a film on coat shoulders and hat brims. I didn’t know if one section would advance first, how to gauge who would need it the most, so I tested sending some of it forward, pulling some back. I steeled myself for the report of the muskets, not wanting to break my concentration.

  But the report never came. Sianh rode out in front of the lines, accompanied by a quartet of riflemen. Hastily, I looped charm magic around him, too, fearful that he might be in some danger. Instead, as I followed my line of light out alongside him, I saw something else—a party of Royalists, marching toward us, muskets upside down and pale kerchiefs tied to the locks of each.

  Surrender.

  I didn’t allow my charm to fade, not yet, but I watched as a Royalist officer saluted Sianh, who returned the salute. They spoke a short time, Sianh’s demeanor not changing in the slightest, but the Royalists visibly relaxing, even from my distance.

  Then, in a flurry of orders and movement, our men secured their arms, split their ranks, and reformed their lines so that they could escort the Royalists back to the encampment. The Royalists marched past me, their muskets all upside down in the position I had heard Sianh call clubbed when drilling our troops. They weren’t all of the same regiment, I noted with some surprise—their regimental coats were of the varying colors of the Galatine army, from the standard blue of the regulars, to the pale blue of the northern outpost infantrymen, to brown of the eastern artillerists to, in small numbers but still impressive, the dark rose of the elite riflemen.

  Sianh brought up the rear, allowing the officers of the First to take charge of the front of the column. He noticed me struggling to mount the mare, and laughing, he joined me. “We have had a windfall and no doubt,” he said. “And I do not think you even got a chance to cast much of a charm.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “So we made this bit of luck some other way. What exactly happened?”

  “They are defecting,” he said. “All out of Rock’s Ford.” He didn’t say much, but his mouth twitched toward a real smile. He tossed a pamphlet at me.

  “Did Kristos write this?” I asked. I hadn’t read this one, and the language, though not directly aimed at the enemy troops, was pointedly martial and vaguely mutinous.

  “Yes, and it has clearly been read by many.” The pages were dog-eared and soft at the edges, the ink smudged and, in some places, almost indecipherable. “He wrote it intending for its distribution among the Royalist troops. It was not easy to smuggle copies into the Royalist camp at Rock’s Ford, but the effort has, clearly, paid its dividends.”

  “I should say,” I breathed, watching the column march on ahead. Another piece of paper fell from the pamphlet—the announcement of the election of a Council of Country at Threshing Market.

  “Perhaps this pushed them over the edge,” I said.

  “It seems so, indeed. Do you need help with your mount?” Sianh asked kindly, returning the pamphlet to the interior pocket of his coat. I nodded.

  “It seems,” he continued as he boosted me into my awkward seat on the saddle, “that there has been much discussion and discontent among the ranks of the army. Even,” he added, “among their officers. Fighting their own countrymen is distasteful, even to those who agree with the Royalists.”

  “Then maybe they’re not such formidable adversaries?”

  “All men will fight when faced with death on the field. Do not doubt that.” He mounted his own horse beside me.

  We rode behind a column of new Reformist soldiers in the varicolored uniform of Galitha.

  23

  IT TOOK MOST OF THE NIGHT TO GET THE INCOMING DESERTERS OF the Royalist army into some sort of order, and I felt as though I had only just fallen asleep against Theodor’s chest when the morning’s reveille reverberated through the thick panes of glass in our bedroom.

  “Tell dawn to wait an hour,” I mumbled into the rough linen bedsheets.

  “Not today,” Theodor said, clambering over me to pull his stockings on and comb his hair. “Today we elect a new government.” He barely winced as his comb caught a snarl, and the time it took to button his waistcoat made him tap his foot with impatience.

  I sat up in bed, raking fingers through tangled hair, and smiled. This was what I had hoped to see, as soon as we had settled on holding elections—optimism. Though the framework for the Council of Country had been a collaboration between Theodor and Kristos, Sianh organized the actual election in precise military clockwork, from the quartermaster distributing sheaves of paper to a ballot box under guard at all times. Theodor didn’t bother to stop for porridge in the kitchen, but I couldn’t resist the scent of freshly brewed coffee.

  “Do you know,” Alba said, pouring me a now-familiar earthenware mug, “that coffee beans look just like deer droppings when you dump them outside on the path?”

  I raised an eyebrow as Sianh glared at Alba from the doorway. “Uncommonly like deer droppings,” he confirmed, scraping something off his boot that I quickly identified as used coffee beans. “I will be having a conversation with vimzalet about appropriate refuse disposal.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him,” I said. “I doubt Niko taught him any manners.”

  “Of that,” Sianh said, “I am sure. I wonder what our co-commandant would think of our elections?”

  “Thought’s crossed my mind,” Kristos said, joining us long enough to shovel some porridge into his mouth. “More salt next time,” he said through a mouthful.

  I made a face. “Kristos has no manners, either.” I nudged Sianh, and we both laughed privately. “Whether Niko likes it or not, he’s not here. And most of the army is.”

  “A fair point.” Kristos had a bit of porridge on his upper lip. I didn’t say anything. “I imagine he’d have different ideas about who earned a vote.”

  “And our Royalist deserters would not make the list?” Alba said, tone pleasant but a sharpness in her eyes.

  “I doubt it. He said once that the only people who should have a say are the ones who fought from the beginning—the ‘real’ Red Caps, he called them.” Kristos shrugged. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. But we disagreed on that, that I saw the Red Caps as serving the Galatine people and handing their liberty over to them, not keeping control for themselves.”

  “That reads better in pamphlets, at any rate,” Alba said, earning a sour look from Kristos. “What! I’m in earnest.”

  Shouts echoed from the parade ground, where the ballot box was stationed under all the pomp that Sianh’s personally selected guards could offer. “Am I surprised or am I not surprised that our first elections are starting with fisticuffs?” Alba mused as Sianh and Kristos both took off for the field.

  “I hope that’s all it is,” I retorted, following my brother down the hill.

  Theodor already stood before two men, held by guards from the First Regiment Commanders Corps. One had a split lip and the other a swelling eye that would be purple by sundown. Before Theodor could speak, the man with the bleeding
lip wrested his arm free of his guard and yanked a scrap of red from his uniform pocket.

  “You see this?” he shouted as he threw his cocked hat to the ground. The pale gray cockade that marked his membership in the Third Regiment tore free against a rock. He yanked the red fabric down over his ears. A red cap, like those I’d made for Kristos. Like hundreds—thousands—that had sprung up all over Galitha. “I’m a real Galatine. Been fighting since the start. So how come his vote counts same as mine?”

  The other man straightened his shoulders. “I have as much right to be here as you.”

  The Red Cap snorted. “Son of a noble, hardly! Get some damn calluses first.”

  “I have more than my fair share after six years as an officer in the Fourth Royal Light Company.” The man wore a poorly tailored red-and-gray uniform, devoid of rank. “I took a demotion to be here. You didn’t need officers so I stood aside. But I have a vote.”

  “Who is your family?” Theodor asked quietly.

  “Pommerly. Fourth son of Jerem Pommerly of Lark’s Hill.”

  “I remember your father,” Theodor said evenly. A small crowd gathered, keeping a respectful distance, but they could still hear everything said.

  “What does that matter?” The first man crossed his arms in disgust. “But what do we expect from a prince?”

  “You will show respect to your general, private,” Kristos said, steel in his voice. He shared a brief glance with Theodor. “Galitha is a country of her people and will, by our victory in this war, be governed by her people. All her people.”

  “With permission, I would like to cast my ballot,” Private Pommerly said.

  Theodor nodded briskly. “Both of you will be allowed to cast your ballots. Then you’ll both be sent up for court martial for fighting.”

  “I was only defending myself.” Pommerly had the tactful control that noble governesses must have ingrained in him from toddlerhood.

  “Save it for the court martial,” Kristos answered sharply. “Our regulations are clear, and match the Galatine army for centuries before us—no fighting with fellow men-at-arms.”

  “I’m fighting for Galitha!” the Red Cap shouted. “Not for pricks like him, who would take it back from us inch by inch!”

  “Then vote for representatives who will advocate for your interests!” Kristos shouted. “That’s the point of all this. It’s not just some charade—” He stopped, realizing how large the crowd had grown. Sianh stepped forward, ready to disperse them, but Kristos held up a hand. “You are deciding the fate of Galitha. Today. With these slips of paper. Just as much as you will decide her fate on the battlefield.”

  He turned on his heel and marched back up the hill. I followed, leaving Theodor to direct the guards where to take the Red Cap and the Pommerly. Who would have imagined, I thought ruefully, that the two would wear the same uniform at all? But I had another matter to consider.

  “You never did anything about the women,” I said, catching up to Kristos.

  “About what?”

  I sighed, heavy exasperation forced into a single exhale. “Votes. For the women here. If they’re here, with the army, shouldn’t they get to vote?”

  He turned and threw his arms in the air. “Damn it, Sophie! What, you want a vote? Go vote, I don’t care.”

  I felt like my brother had hit me. “I want everyone to have that consideration! What, that whole speech about Galitha being governed by her people—all her people—was that just for show?”

  “What do you want me to do? Now is not the time to have that fight.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the thick waves in frustration. “I know what you’re going to say, and I—I don’t have a good answer. Damn it all, Sophie. If I’d known how much of gaining liberty is negotiating compromises and spending political capital, I would have stayed a dockworker.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have.” I sank down on the overgrown grass and pulled him down alongside me. “I know you better than that.”

  “Despite everything I’ve done, yes, you do.” He sighed. “I promise I’ll take it up. Women’s rights. Once we have a country to exercise them in, I’ll do what I can. You know it’s going to go over like a cat in the dairy as well as I do, and I can’t risk tearing this fragile army apart over it.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Theodor stood next to Sianh, deep in conversation. Next to me, Kristos let his head sink into his hands. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Isn’t this—today, elections, an army of thousands ready to take Galitha—isn’t this what you’ve been fighting for?”

  “Look at the two of them.” Kristos’s voice was soft, wistful, even. “They’re so much better at this than I am.”

  “Surely you’re joking.” I punched his arm. “You just gave an impromptu rousing political speech. Sianh could never do that.”

  “Theodor could. Theodor just—he walks into a room and people shut up. It’s that crown prince thing—not just the title, he embodies this natural, solid authority, and shit! He earned it, coming with us. They love him for it. And Sianh is a genius on the field. One of the raids I was on with him—Divine Natures, Sophie, he’s so decisive. And brave. He rode into enemy lines like it was nothing.”

  “It was his job for years. He trained for this.”

  “But what am I? I can string words together and I’ve got some good ideas once in a while. But Sianh is our military leader and Theodor is our figurehead.”

  “Are you honestly worried you don’t have a place here?”

  Kristos gazed out over the field, units from the Fourth Regiment lining up to cast ballots electing their peers to the council. “Maybe I don’t.”

  “You’re an idiot.” He started, surprised. “Sianh says we gained two thousand troops. Yesterday. Because of a pamphlet you wrote.”

  “Because they were promised a voice.” He shook his head. “It’s the draw of liberty, and that’s not my doing. That’s a natural right of man. It pulls him.” He cocked a smile. “And her.”

  “See? I couldn’t say that. It may be a natural right, but you put it to words. You make it clear, you make people see how they can have a part in it. That’s not going away. I have a feeling…” I watched a few men in the Fourth shake hands as they deposited their ballots, grins spreading over their faces. “I have a feeling this is going to get much harder before we have a victory. You’re going to have to keep reminding them of why they’re here.”

  Kristos took my hand in his. “I hate to say it, but you’re probably right.”

  At that moment, Fig crested the hill and nearly careened into us. “One of the sentries posted on the seaward lookouts,” he panted, out of breath. “He spotted Serafan vessels. Sailing this way.”

  24

  I SENT FIG FOR THEODOR AND SIANH, AND KRISTOS AND I JOINED Alba already gazing out over the cliffs to the deep blue water below. The sun pierced the choppy waters and reflected in almost painful, dazzling light, but Alba had sighted the ships easily.

  “There are three of them,” she said, “proper military vessels, or I miss my guess.”

  “Guns?” Kristos asked.

  “They appear to be fully equipped,” she replied, handing him her spyglass. “But ask Sianh, I’ve no good gauge on naval weaponry.”

  Sianh confirmed what Alba had guessed as soon as he arrived, snatching the glass from Kristos. “Serafan an-thentai. Exact translation is sea falcons, but they are the rough equivalent of your frigates.” He passed the glass to Theodor. “If they are being used as troop transport, they may be intending an incursion here. Our artillery will barrage and likely prevent landing. We will also assemble infantry to prevent their movement up the shoreline road if any are able to land.”

  “I may be able to do something. If they’re close.” My mouth pinched. If they were close, and only if they were close, could I effect any change in their fortune. And if they were close, we were in danger.

  The three ships grew nearer, aided by the swift winds bearing the bracing scent of salt.
Their imposing rows of guns leered at the coastline from open ports. “They’re not close enough yet,” I said. The First Regiment assembled and marched toward the steep cliff road at a quick rate.

  “At least they already voted,” I joked weakly.

  Sianh nodded. “That will not do much good if these vessels are only the beginning of a larger invasion here.”

  “Ever the optimist, Sianh.” Theodor’s voice was strained. “None of our intelligence suggests that the Serafans have committed to a full military alliance with the Royalists. Just tacit support.”

  “That appears to be more than tacit support,” Sianh retorted.

  “And they did send martial magicians,” I added. The ships grew closer. I began to pull dark curse magic. I could try for a ball of bad luck on their guns, laying destructive will on them as I had the Royalist ship on the way from Fen. It was the best idea I had; layering bad luck on the vessels would be difficult as they were still so far out.

  I didn’t like how comfortable it felt even as I readied a fistful of curse magic.

  “Wait.” Sianh squinted. “Those are not Royalist flags.”

  I looked down at the ships, but didn’t see any flags I recognized at all. No Serafan banners, no Fenian commercial markings. But run high was a simple flag of red and gray stripes.

  “Those are our colors,” I said, holding the darkness steady but not loosing it. Not yet. “Not our flag, but—”

  “But intentionally those colors.” Sianh shook his head. “Have we a navy we did not know about?”

  “I—I don’t know.” Theodor shook his head. “They’re not Royalist or Serafan.”

  “Unless this is a very nasty ruse,” Sianh said. “Unbecoming of the Serafan Navy, but I would not put it past your Royalists to engage in such tactics.”