by Stina Leicht
He sat, and she held his hand.
He laid his left on top of hers. “Is it something I’ve done?”
“It isn’t that.”
“You’ve changed your mind? You don’t care for me anymore?”
“That isn’t it either. I love you with all my heart. You have to know that.”
“Then what is it?”
The truth was, she did love him—so much so, her chest hurt. Her eyes began to fill with tears. I can’t do this to him. I just can’t. Not now. Can’t I at least pretend everything will be all right? Just for a little while? There’s too much going on.
You have to tell him about his mother. That her death was your fault.
I don’t know that for certain, do I? Variola is deadly enough. The report could’ve been wrong. Gran could be wrong.
You have to tell him.
He’ll hate me.
“Ilta?”
She sniffed. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something. You’re crying.”
“I’m just tired. That’s all. And—and it’s been a long time since we were alone together.”
He shifted closer. He smelled of sweat and grime when he leaned into her. His breath tickled as he whispered into her ear, “May I kiss you?”
She closed her eyes and cursed herself. I want that so much. “Please do.”
His lips were soft and firm. Beard bristle scraped her mouth. He stank and needed a bath, but so did she. He tasted of the peppermint tea she’d mixed just for him. He’d been drinking it since he arrived. She knew it was his favorite. She knew why, too. Her heart slammed itself against her breastbone in heavy, quick beats. Every inch of her skin felt sensitive. Ready. She felt his tongue brush against her teeth. She opened her mouth wider and explored his with her own. She plunged her left hand into his filthy hair. She didn’t care about the grime. The foul-smelling uniform jacket slipped off his shoulders. Laying her right hand on his bare chest, she felt the rhythm of his heart, hard and fast. She sensed the edges of his thoughts—the things he desperately wanted to do to her.
Now, that might be interesting.
The intensity of his need was overwhelming, yet he was being so careful not to make a move unless she asked it. That knowledge unbalanced her with a surge of love and attraction. For a second, she tipped on the edge of losing herself.
Stop. Do not invade his thoughts. Do. Not. You’re tired. You know what will happen. And you definitely don’t want him blaming himself again. She visualized a barrier between her mind and his. It was very difficult to focus on that, given what his mouth was doing to hers.
She opened her eyes and checked the windows. When she was sure no one was watching, she let her right hand drift downward. His moan was trapped by her mouth. She found herself counting the months since the last time she’d taken that tea in the back of her private medicinal cupboard—the tea that Gran said was supposed to prevent pregnancy.
We can’t. Not yet. But we can do other things, can’t we? She dropped her hand into his lap. Her fingers brushed against the buttons of his trousers.
He broke the kiss at once.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I should’ve asked first.”
“No. I mean, yes.” His voice was husky, breathless. “I mean … it’s not that. You can touch me. Anything. It’s all right. I want you to. But …” He stopped himself and looked deep into her eyes. “I—I wanted to be sure that you weren’t—”
The door swung open, and Viktor Reini exited with a tray. “Time for breakfast.”
“Go away,” Nels said. “I mean it!”
Viktor paused, blinked. His confusion slid into a wicked grin. “Oh! Right.” Setting the tray on the porch, his practically ran back inside.
“What was I asking?” Nels asked.
From within the house, Viktor yanked the curtains closed. His voice was muffled as it traveled through the glass. “Staying very far away now! Larsson, get away from there.”
Ilta laughed.
Nels circled an arm around her. “Where were we?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Right at the part where I tell you you need a bath.”
Nels made to sniff himself, sighed, and drew away from her in disappointment.
“I’ve an idea,” she said.
“You do?”
“I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“Try me.”
“It involves …” She shifted closer. Her lips brushed his. “… water.”
He smiled. “Does it?”
“And you removing all those filthy clothes.”
“I’m intrigued so far. Anything else?”
“Soap.”
Nels slumped. “All right. I’ll go.”
“Wait. There’s a washcloth too.”
“I get the idea.”
She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and then whispered in his ear. “And me applying it.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “Look. I don’t wish to complicate the matter further, but I … er … fail to see an aspect of your proposal I might dislike.”
“I—I can’t get into the water with you. I’m sorry. I need to make certain … I have to … I just can’t yet. I have to take this slow.” Maybe I can be with him? Maybe Gran was wrong? What if I learn how to keep our magic apart? “Slower than before.”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do. Or not.” He shrugged. “I love you.”
I wish I had half the self-discipline he does. “I love you too.”
FIVE
Ilta awoke after one o’clock to a hesitant knock on her bedroom door. She found herself curled at Nels’s side with her head on his chest. They’d spent an interesting evening together. She’d set up the tin tub next to the kitchen hearth so she wouldn’t have to carry the water far. Afterward, they’d moved to her room. She worried she’d gotten more enjoyment from it than he did, but he didn’t complain once, nor did he push her further than she wanted to go.
He’s so good with his hands. She shivered a little, remembering.
It took some effort to slide from beneath Nels’s arm without disturbing him. Slipping on her day dress over her shift, she stepped into the hallway. An unfamiliar corporal informed her Overlieutenant Larsson was digging a grave for Private Paiva in the little graveyard west of the barn. She thanked him and then went downstairs to grab a cup of tea. All was quiet in the house. Those who were able were outside, helping Larsson. The others were still sleeping. Tea in hand, she took a moment to check on each before going outside herself. She stepped off the porch into warm afternoon sun and glanced up at a perfect blue sky. A cool breeze pushed against her skirts like an affectionate dog. She needed more rest. She was still tired, but her headache had vanished like the storm. She almost felt she could face the rest of her patients. Almost.
The lieutenant’s reddish-blond hair was bound in a ponytail and there was dirt on the side of her nose.
Ilta paused, watching Larsson stab the shovel into the ground with a vengeance, before walking to the edge of the pit. “I … I’m not sure how to tell you this, but … we’ll need one more grave. I can help you dig after we eat.”
There, it’s said. I made a decision and Corporal Ketola will die for it.
Fear washed over Larsson’s face as she looked up.
But Private Larsson will live.
Ilta bent, placing a comforting hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “Your little brother should be fine after some rest.”
Overlieutenant Larsson nodded. Tears of guilty relief created clean streaks on her dirty face.
Normally, Ilta would have said something about how it wasn’t selfish to be glad your loved ones were safe, how everything would be well in spite of what had happened, but everything wasn’t going to be well, and she knew it wouldn’t be right to give Larsson false hope.
Gran wouldn’t. Gran had believed that sometimes it was best to be hard, and that shying away from the truth would only make matters worse. Gran ha
d been right in that.
Ilta tried not to think about how she’d spent her morning. She tried not to think she’d just made a terrible mistake. I don’t care. It’s what I want. It’s what Nels wants, too. We’ll work it out. Together. Nothing else matters.
She went back inside to prepare a late dinner and left Larsson to her tears. There was much to do before morning.
Ilta had dreamed. She didn’t want to tell Nels until after he’d rested. There was a difficult journey ahead. He was wrong. They needed to go east through a mountain pass to catch up with the Eledorean forces, not north. Kauranen had been driven to the eastern side of the Selkäranka mountain range and would be in the city of Merta. The road would be dangerous, but they would reach Field Marshal Kauranen’s army without losing anyone else. She was sure of it.
NELS
ONE
“The last group evacuating the city is leaving in an hour. Why haven’t you packed?” Nels asked.
Several weeks had passed since they’d left Gardemeister and Ilta’s home. They’d joined with General Elzbet Kauranen’s forces at Merta as hoped, only to find that the bulk of the Eledorean army had been slaughtered at Virens. General Ander Laine’s brigade was now the only other surviving unit of substance. Together, Laine and Kauranen had made a desperate choice. Kauranen’s forces had been hit hard—Laine’s less so. Therefore, Kauranen would accept Laine’s wounded and head for the safety of Merta’s walls alone. Laine would buy time, leading the Acrasians a merry chase west of the Selkäranka mountains. Ultimately, Laine would make the same journey through the mountain pass that Nels, Viktor, Ilta, and his company had a week before. Should Laine need assistance at the last, Kauranen had decided to halt outside while the wounded were tended inside.
Nels understood why Kauranen had chosen Merta. A mining town created to take advantage of valuable seams rich in silver ore, Merta was nestled tight against the slopes of the Twins—the two tallest mountains in southern Eledore. The city could only be accessed through its southwestern gate, due to high cliffs and thousand-foot rock walls. Its natural fortifications also meant that commerce was limited by the same restrictions as potential invaders. Thus, Merta had vast storage facilities for grain and other necessities. Water would be no problem. The streams feeding into the Kristallilasi River passed beneath the city. The last of Eledore’s forces would survive in relative comfort until spring. The Acrasians, unused to Eledore’s winters, wouldn’t last a month. By then, Suvi and their father would acquire assistance from Ytlain.
It was a smart plan, a practical plan—so Nels told himself.
The only problem was Laine’s brigade.
How long is Kauranen going to wait? What if the Acrasians get here first? And that was why those who could be evacuated were being moved north. After Virens, no one was sure of anything anymore.
The smell of blood, soap, and medicinal herbs crowded the high ceilings of the Commons Church being used as a temporary army infirmary. The scent was as much a presence as the cries of the wounded.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Nels asked as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to risk yet another fight with Ilta. They’d been living together as a couple since leaving her Grandmother’s place. It’d made the journey easier. Now, he wasn’t so sure it’d been the smartest idea. “The last group is leaving for Jalokivi soon.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Ilta continued her work on her unconscious patient and didn’t glance up at him to reply. “That would be because I’m not leaving.”
“We talked about this,” Nels said. “You agreed to go.”
“As I seem to recall, we didn’t talk,” Ilta said. Her lips pressed into a hard line. “You did. And you didn’t give me a chance to reply, let alone voice an answer. I’m not one of your troops to be ordered about.”
“Ilta, please—”
“I’m a healer. I’m needed. Here.” She paused to motion to the wounded lying on pews, cots, and makeshift surgeon’s tables.
Looking around the room and thinking back to Virens, Nels understood how few had survived the journey. It had cost so much to get them there. Will it be safe enough? His gut told him no. “I don’t want to fight about this.”
“Then don’t.”
“Ilta—”
“You have duties. I have duties too. More wounded are arriving every day,” Ilta said, pointing. “Give me that roll of bandages. And do it without getting any dirt on it.”
He snatched the rolled linen from the tray and handed it to her. “The Acrasians will be here in a few days.”
She glanced up from her work long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I’m unaware of this?”
Westola walked past and paused. Her apron was stained varying shades of crimson and ruddy brown. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. “How does he look?” Her gaze indicated Ilta’s patient.
“He’ll be fine after some rest,” Ilta said. “Tell the Sergeant that Private Idasson can resume his duties tomorrow. I’ll be there to assist you with the next patient in a moment.”
“No, you won’t. You have to pack,” Nels said. “Now.”
Ilta glared at him. “You’re being overprotective. Others take risks. You take risks. Why is it too dangerous for me to stay and not for you or Kaija?”
Westola looked away, clearly not wanting to be involved in a lover’s quarrel.
“Westola is an army surgeon. You’re not,” Nels said.
“I am now,” Ilta said.
“We have army surgeons. Maybe not enough, and maybe not any as powerful as you, but we have them. However, you are not just a healer. You are the Silmaillia,” Nels said. “And your place is with the king.”
“He doesn’t need me,” Ilta said. “I was banished from court. Or have you forgotten?”
“Your grandmother was banished too. I seem to recall Father made a habit of it,” Nels said. “Did that stop her from fulfilling her role as Silmaillia? We both know the answer to that question, don’t we? Father is a stubborn, thick-headed jackass—”
Westola gaped.
“—at times,” Nels continued. “But he does have the ability to change. It’s the Silmaillia’s responsibility to make sure he does what is right for the people of Eledore. Your grandmother knew that. Father needs you. I know it won’t be easy. Working with him never is. If anyone knows it, it’s me. But that’s your duty. You need to tell him what you’ve seen. I need you to do it. He won’t listen to me. Only you can make sure he doesn’t flinch from this. Can’t you see that Father and Suvi have far less of a chance at resolving this situation—this war—in a way that we all can survive without you?”
Ilta blinked. “Oh.”
“I hate to say this, but your stubborn lout of a boyfriend has a point,” Westola ventured.
“He’s my binding partner,” Ilta said with a slight smile. “And it seems we’re well matched after all.” She wiped her hands on her bloodstained apron and then untied it at the back. “I’m sorry, Kaija. You’ll have to make do without me.”
“I thought as much,” Westola said. “May the Goddess see you safe to Jalokivi.”
TWO
Wiping the sweat from the back of his neck, Nels paused while digging earthworks. Ilta had only been gone for two days, and he missed her already. He gazed south at the woods obscuring the Merta road and the bridges over the Kristallilasi River.
At the same time, he was relieved.
The Acrasian main force will be marching in from the south. We’ve two days, if the reports are correct.
I shouldn’t have waited to send her away. But he’d enjoyed having her close to him. He’d been happy—even when they’d been fighting. It was something he hadn’t experienced before. Of course, there’d been a great deal during their short time together that he hadn’t experienced before.
You shouldn’t have been so selfish. Will she make it to Jalokivi safely? Will the weather hold?
He went back to digging.
“Captain Hännenen, sir?”
Nels turned. “Yes, Private Gusstafson?”
“Hanski says you don’t use command magic. Is that true?”
Like a number of others, Private Gerbert Gusstafson had only recently joined his company. Originally, he’d been assigned to one of Colonel Rapp’s artillery units. But since many cannon were lost at Virens, he was reassigned to an infantry unit. He wasn’t the only one.
Nels noted the number of inquisitive expressions on new faces and understood at once he couldn’t brush the question off—not if they were to follow him. These weren’t court dandies and noblemen’s sons. They were common folk. Some were hardened criminals, more of them than Nels wanted to think about. All had seen hard times and knew that nothing good was ahead. They were searching for any excuse to rebel. The newest troops resented him. The only thing that kept them in check now was the fact that he’d proven himself with the others, but that wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t help that he was only eighteen years old, and most of those under his command were far older than he was. It didn’t matter how far he’d fallen; he was still a prince. Only a prince or a noble could afford to buy a captaincy at eighteen. He hadn’t lived as they had. At that moment, Nels knew if he was to lead them without the influence of magic, he had to earn their trust.
Tell them the truth. They’ll sense a lie. He scanned their unyielding expressions. Or as close to it as you can get. “That is correct,” he said. “I won’t use magic on my troops.”
“Why?” Gusstafson asked. “I mean, how are you going to see us through this shit battle without it? When the fear comes, how are we to hold our ground if you don’t remove it? How do I know the others will have my back? I know Oksanen over there. He’ll rabbit at the first sound of a Leadbelly’s drum. He always does.”
“I do not!”
“How do you think you’re still alive, you yellow bastard?” Gusstafson asked.
