Garrison Girl

by Rachel Aaron

  The stone house on the hill was as lovely as ever, especially with the torches and bonfires lit for the festival, but Rosalie hadn’t remembered Dumarque Manor being so…big. The entire Garrison base could have fit on the front lawn, and the stables were as large as the mess hall. She was still trying to wrap her head around her home’s size when the carriage came to a halt on the pea-gravel drive.

  The moment they stopped, the doorman leaped from his little shelter by the front stairs to open the carriage door. “Welcome home, Miss Rosalie,” he said cheerfully, extending a gloved hand.

  Rosalie plastered a smile over her face, letting the old man help her down from the carriage as she tried desperately to recall his name. He’d been their doorman since before she could remember, greeted her hundreds of times. How did she not know his name?

  Because you never learned it, came the answer. Because he was just the servant who opened carriage doors, and she’d never thought to ask.

  Hot shame filled her. Jax would have known the man’s name. So would Rosalie, if the doorman had been a solider. She knew all of the Garrison guards’ names, but not the man who’d worked in her family’s house all her life.

  “Rosie?”

  She looked up to see Ferdinand standing beside her, his boot tapping impatiently. “Today, please. We’re already late enough.”

  With a soft thank-you to the footman whose name she was now determined to discover, Rosalie linked her arm through her fiancé’s so he could escort her up the steps and into the blindingly bright ballroom.

  Her mother had outdone herself. Thousands of candles lit up the giant marble room until it glittered. The tables lining the rear wall were so laden with food, the white cloths beneath were no longer visible. One entire corner had been dedicated to cheeses, while the other was dedicated to wine. Servants moved between them constantly, passing out plates and delicate crystal goblets with the silent, effortless elegance that was expected at one of Sina’s great houses.

  They were the only ones who were silent. The manor was packed, and loud. Ferdinand led Rosalie to the reception line where they greeted her mother, who was radiant as ever in her trademark pale blue, a color chosen specifically to show off the complete lack of gray in her perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Lord Dumarque stood beside her, equally impressive in his officer’s dress uniform. Then came Rosalie’s three sisters lined up like daisies on a string with Marigold at the end, looking slightly drunk.

  None of them spared more than a nod for Rosalie or Ferdinand, but that was to be expected. This was not a time for sentiment. The entire point of this affair was to gather, galvanize, and impress potential assets to the family. Her brothers were already working the crowd, collecting gossip and observing their rivals for signs of weakness.

  As soon as they made it past the family gauntlet, Ferdinand abandoned Rosalie to join his friends at the wine table, and she took her chance to escape. Duty prevented Lord Dumarque from leaving his post at the front door until all his guests arrived, but that didn’t stop him from watching his youngest daughter like a hawk as she slipped through the glittering crowd to the banquet tables. She was hoping to eat something delicious so tonight wouldn’t be a total waste, but as she accepted a silver plate from the white-liveried servant, Rosalie realized with a start just how much food she was staring at.

  Even with the packed ballroom behind her, there was more here than could possibly be eaten in one night. The food piled in front of her surpassed what the entire Trost Garrison consumed in three days, and that wasn’t counting all the platters Rosalie knew were being held in reserve in the kitchen in case something ran out. An empty table was considered a disgrace, so Lady Dumarque always ordered her chef to make twice as much as they needed. Then, when morning came and everyone went home, all that beautifully prepared food would be scraped into buckets and fed to the pigs.

  This was standard practice for most big houses, but Rosalie had never thought about the waste before. Now, staring at the tables groaning under the weight of all that food, waste was all she could see. What would Willow and Emmett think if they were here?

  What would Jax think?

  “There you are.”

  Rosalie jumped. She hadn’t noticed her father until he was right behind her. Bad move on her part, because the tightness in Lord Dumarque’s jaw told her this wasn’t going to be just a hello.

  “Why aren’t you dancing with your fiancé?” he asked, nodding back toward the main ballroom where couples were spinning to the music of the quartet hidden in the gallery.

  “I don’t feel like dancing,” Rosalie muttered, turning away. “Please excuse me.”

  Lord Dumarque grabbed her arm. Not hard, but tight enough that yanking out of his grip would have caused a scene. She wasn’t ready to go that far, so Rosalie let him pull her out of the banquet area and through a side door into the rose garden.

  All the lamps were lit for the party, turning the winding brick pathways between the winter-pruned beds of roses into glowing streams of light. Pretty as it was, the midwinter night was too cold for guests to venture outside, which meant there was no one to see Lord Dumarque corner his youngest daughter like a wanted criminal.

  “I didn’t want to do this,” he said as he shut the door behind them. “But you’ve given me no choice. I let you have your fun, Rosalie, but it’s time to come home.”

  “It is not time,” she said, glaring up at him. “We had a deal.”

  “Things have changed,” Lord Dumarque said darkly, stepping closer. “Don’t be thick, girl. We both know I didn’t expect you to last one day on the wall, but you’ve held out for six weeks. If you were anyone else, I’d give you a commission for bravery, but you’re my daughter, you’re engaged, and people are starting to talk. You’ve made your point, all right? You proved me wrong. Now it’s time to stop this madness and come home before you subject our family to any further ridicule.”

  “Ridicule for what?” Rosalie asked. “I’m fighting titans. There’s no shame in that.”

  “You’re serving in the Garrison as a common solider,” he snapped. “Do you have any idea what an embarrassment it is for a lady of House Dumarque to be living and working with washouts and criminals?”

  “They’re not criminals!” she cried. “They’re soldiers just like you and me.”

  “They are nothing like us,” he said, straightening himself. “I am a general, and you’re set to marry the only son of the wealthiest man in Rose. Now I’ve been very lenient with you. Some would even say I’ve spoiled you, but it’s time to grow up. Lord Smythe has fallen ill. He’s asked that the wedding be moved up, just in case he doesn’t survive the winter.”

  Rosalie’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  “You’re getting married,” Lord Dumarque said. “Next month. Lord Smythe has already sent over your bride price to pay for your wedding clothes. It’ll be a bit of a rush, but with the money he’s laying down, merchants don’t mind working nights. You’ll have the biggest wedding in Sina.”

  He smiled as he finished, holding out his arms as though he expected her to leap into them, but Rosalie could only stare. “I don’t care about merchants,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m not getting married next month. I can’t! I signed a contract with the Garrison for the rest of the year.”

  “Already taken care of,” her father said. “I’ve written Captain Woermann, and he’s more than happy to give you an honorable discharge.”

  Rosalie clenched her fists. “I’m not leaving the wall!”

  “Why not?” her father demanded. “What do you hope to achieve, an early death? Because you have to know by now that your harebrained scheme to singlehandedly turn the war around is hopeless.”

  Rosalie flinched. His accusation was too close to her own sleepless worries last night to dismiss. Lord Dumarque must have realized he’d scored a hit because he moved in closer, reaching to rest his hand on her head as he’d done
when she was little.

  “There, there, my dear,” he said, patting her hair. “You made a good show, but the game is over. It’s time to stop playing soldier and come home to do your duty.”

  His voice was deep and lulling, and for a moment the old instinct to obey was almost too much, but then Rosalie jerked her head out from under his hand.

  “No.”

  Lord Dumarque’s fingers curled into a fist. “Rosalie—”

  “No,” she said again, looking him straight in the eye. “I know my duty to the family, and I will do it, but only when I’m done serving my duty to the Garrison.”

  “You have no duty to the Garrison!” he shouted at her. “The Garrison is for impoverished farmers and refugees from Maria. It’s not for people like us.”

  “How can you say that?” Rosalie demanded. “We need the walls, too.”

  “Exactly,” Lord Dumarque snapped. “The walls protect us. The Garrison are merely the glorified janitors who maintain them.”

  “The Garrison fights the titans!” Rosalie cried. “They protect all of us, and they do it on nothing! There are soldiers on the wall right now with maneuvering gear that doesn’t even work. That should be criminal!”

  “The Garrison has perfectly adequate equipment for their job,” he said. “It’s older, yes, but you’ve seen how big Wall Rose is. The crown simply can’t afford to buy new gear for every single soldier who—”

  “Can’t afford?” Rosalie threw her hand back at the closed ballroom door. “With the money you spent on this party, you could have bought new equipment for every soldier in Trost! The food you’re wasting tonight alone could have fed my entire regiment. How can you possibly stand there and say there’s no money when you’re surrounded by it?”

  “Because this is my money,” her father snarled. “Yours, too, and there’s not as much as you think. The loss of our lands in Maria left us deep in debt. Your marriage to Ferdinand Smythe was arranged to fix that, which makes it far more important than anything you could do on the wall.”

  “You’re wrong,” Rosalie said fiercely. “And I was, too. I thought if I brought my training down to the front, I could change the entire war. I know now that was foolish, but it doesn’t mean I was foolish for wanting to fight. The titans are coming for all of us, rich and poor, noble and common. The walls are the only thing that stops them. There is nothing more important than protecting them!”

  The words were for her father, but Rosalie was the one left shaking. “You want to know what I’m doing on the wall?” she said. “I’m fighting. I’m practicing and learning and getting better every day so I can help my fellow soldiers keep our enemies from breaking through. My contribution might be small, but it’s all those small contributions coming together that keeps everyone safe. That’s a noble cause, Father. Far more noble than preserving the Dumarques’ ability to pay for parties full of food no one eats. I won’t turn my back on that just so the Smythes can earn their connection to a noble bloodline a few months early!”

  “Mind your tone,” her father snarled. “You think I can’t make you marry? You’re my daughter. My property.”

  She’d heard him say as much before, but hearing it again now, after what Jax had said, made Rosalie angrier than she could ever remember being.

  “I am not yours,” she snarled back. “I’m the king’s cousin and a noble woman in my own right! I signed that contract same as you. If you and Smythe try to change the terms without my permission, I can take you before the king!”

  “You could try,” Lord Dumarque said smugly. “But I would win. I’m a respected lord. You’re a girl who’s putting herself in danger for no reason. The king would find in my favor.”

  “But would you want him to?” Rosalie said coldly. “Even if my case was hopeless, imagine how embarrassing it would be for Lord Smythe if I pleaded before the king and his entire court to let me avoid marrying his idiot son for another few months. He’d probably break the contract himself just to save face.”

  Her father looked at her in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Rosalie crossed her arms over her chest, and her father’s face turned scarlet. “You selfish child!” he roared. “You would disgrace us! Throw down your family into ruin and poverty for—”

  “I’m doing no such thing,” Rosalie said. “I never said I wouldn’t marry Ferdinand Smythe, just that I won’t be forced into it early. This is my family, too. I know how badly we need the Smythes’ money, and I’m going to do my part, but I will not let you take what little time I have left in the Garrison.”

  “It’s only four and a half months,” Lord Dumarque said through gritted teeth. “What good do you think you’re going to do in so short a time?”

  “I don’t know,” Rosalie said truthfully. “But I’d rather risk Lord Smythe’s anger than spend the rest of my life looking at those walls knowing I walked away from them.”

  Lord Dumarque was white with fury by the time she finished, but to Rosalie’s astonishment, he didn’t yell. He just stared at her for a long, long time, and then he dropped his head.

  “Fine,” he said, running a hand through his no-longer-perfect hair.

  Rosalie blinked. “You’re giving in?”

  “What choice do I have?” he snapped. “You threatened to drag this before the king. I’d rather beg old Smythe on my knees for an extension than subject our family to that sort of public ridicule.”

  He gave her a grudgingly respectful look. “It seems your stomach is stronger than mine on this issue, so very well. As long as you swear that you will do your duty and get married in the end.” He waited until Rosalie nodded. “I will allow you to serve out your remaining time in the Garrison. However, if you do anything to bring shame to our family or jeopardize your marriage contract with Ferdinand Smythe, I will drag you off that wall with my own hands. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rosalie said, biting back her triumphant smile. “Now, what was that about a bride price?”

  Her father blew out a breath. “Lord Smythe gave us funds to cover expenses for rushing the wedding. I’m not sure what happens now that you’ve refused, but—”

  “But he already gave you the money,” she finished. “How much is it?”

  Given what her father had said about the “biggest wedding in Sina,” Rosalie’s expectations were high, but the figure Lord Dumarque named made her eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

  “Of course,” her father said haughtily. “You’re a Dumarque. Anything less would have been insulting.”

  “Excellent,” Rosalie said, holding out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  Her father jerked back. “Are you insane?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “It’s called a ‘bride price,’ not a ‘bride’s father’s price.’ That makes it my money to spend as I see fit.”

  “On clothes,” he snapped. “Not on—” He stopped. “What are you even going to buy?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Rosalie said. “But you were right earlier. It is time I stopped playing.”

  Her father looked at her outstretched hand in disgust, and then he reached past her to yank open the door to the ballroom. “We’ll do it in my office. I don’t keep money like that in my pockets, and I’d very much like to be at the other end of the house from Lord Smythe right now.”

  He glared over his shoulder, making it clear that was her fault. Rosalie just smiled back, lifting her skirts so they wouldn’t get in her way as she hurried after him.

  C

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  It was the best Longest Night party Jax could remember. There was dancing, tables full of food, a band that could actually stay in tune, everything he’d complained was missing from last year’s celebration, and he was already
sick of it.

  He’d tried to skip, but Brigitte dragged him down from the gate personally and ordered him to enjoy himself. Since that was impossible, Jax stuck to the bare minimum: sitting on a bench at the edge of the yard and drinking until he didn’t care anymore, which wasn’t working nearly as well as he’d hoped.

  “You’re doing this to yourself, you know,” said Cooper, plopping down beside him to catch his breath. “There’s lots of town girls here who don’t know your reputation. If you didn’t stare at everyone like you were planning how to stab them, you’d be up to your neck in offers.”

  “Don’t want to dance,” Jax said, glaring into his mug of ale, which had stopped tasting good two refills ago.

  “I bet you would if certain squad members were here,” Cooper replied in a singsong voice.

  Jax’s fingers tightened on the wooden mug. “Shut up.”

  “Certain blonde ones,” his friend went on. “Who selflessly devote their off hours tutoring the less fortunate.”

  “I said shut up.”

  Cooper rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why you’re so uptight about this. So what if you like Rosalie? Everyone likes Rosalie. She’s nice and, more importantly, she’s rich. If you didn’t avoid the mess hall like the plague, you’d know that the entire male population of the base, and no small part of the female, has been scheming to get her attention all month. The only reason none of them have succeeded is because she spends all of her time with you.”

  “She’s not hanging around me because she likes to,” Jax said defensively. “We made a deal. I teach her to be better at fighting titans, she helps me with my reading. That’s all it is.”

  “Right,” Cooper said. “So you’re sitting here drinking alone in the dark because you’re pining for reading lessons.”

  “Are you trying to get me killed?” Jax demanded. “She’s a noble lady, and she’s my subordinate. Taking liberties with either leads straight to a hanging. Anyway, weren’t you the one telling me to get rid of her?”