by A K Fedeau
“He said it was time to pull out.”
Marcus’ eyes widened. “Did he?”
“He said we haven’t found any silver in eight months.”
“Really?”
“None.”
“That’s funny. I saw a shipment from Yegorsky Mine just before I left.”
Hector broke his impatient stance as his face tinged with concern.
“You know who else stands to benefit from Operation Nightfall? Severin.” Marcus raised his eyebrow and tapped the side of his head. “Think about it. Their old, historic foe, suddenly destabilized. You think they couldn’t use that?”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but don’t underestimate them.” Marcus strolled up to the table and planted his hands on the edge. “I’d bet my weight in gold that Operation Nightfall is already compromised. For all you know, they know we’re coming.”
Hector drew back from the table. “No.”
“Is Ciacco leading our troops to victory, or another Jormund trap? When we block those gates, will they be in there with us…” Marcus pointed to the capital - “or will we be in there with them?”
Hector said nothing.
“Ciacco was right about one thing. We stopped profiting from this war long ago. But the fact that he told you we had no silver…” Marcus coolly raised his chin - “something isn’t right.”
“I don’t know, maybe no one told him,” Hector snipped. “He’s busy.”
“Is he?”
“Recovering. You know, his arm.”
Marcus tilted his head. “Are you sure you really know what happened at Hulder’s Rock?”
Hector stared at him with a silence that - for the first time - sounded like doubt.
“Did you read the report he wrote?” Marcus asked.
“Of course not. Camilla read it to me.”
“Did you trust what she read to you?”
“Well…” Hector hesitated - “well, now I don’t.”
“It’s in the armory records,” Marcus told him. “I think it might be worth your time.”
“He was ambushed. He told me so. What the fuck is there to read about?”
“Did he tell you there was an information leak?”
Hector curled his lip. “No.”
“Did he tell you where it came from?”
Hector curled the other side to match. “No.”
“Did he tell you what uniform his attacker was wearing?”
Hector didn’t respond, and Marcus examined the spare flags and figurines at the edge of the map.
“We train soldiers to follow orders without questioning them. That doesn’t mean they’re stupid. In fact, sometimes they’re more observant than us.” Marcus picked up a Histrian officer and set it on Hulder’s Rock. “Between the troop increase and moving east, what if one of his subordinates figured it out?”
“Figured out what?”
“Whatever he’s up to.” Marcus picked up a Histrian infantryman. “What if it wasn’t a Jormund who stabbed him? What if it was one of his own - who used the chaos of the ambush…” he set it down by the officer - “to take things into his own hands?”
“Then that subordinate should be executed!”
“Maybe.” Marcus let go of the figurine. “All I’m saying is, consider it. I think there’s more to him than he lets on.”
For a minute, Hector’s brain turned behind his eyes like a water wheel.
“Your Majesty?”
Hector hunched his shoulders and held out his hands. “I…”
“What?”
“He’s my most loyal general,” Hector implored Marcus. “Why would he do that?”
“Like what?”
“The…” Hector gesticulated at him. “The silver. The arm. Why would he lie?” He inched closer and clenched his fists. “You don’t really know what happened, do you?”
“Well…” Marcus played with the neckline of his turtleneck in thought - “Your Majesty, one more thing, and I’ll leave you.”
“This had better be good.”
“I think you’ll regret it if you don’t listen to me.”
Hector glared at him with his hands on his hips.
“There’s no real retirement for career soldiers like Ciacco and I. Once we’re out of uniform, that’s it. We’re useless without something to command.” Marcus held eye contact with Hector as he knocked over the officer on Hulder’s Rock. “We all have to step down eventually. Maybe he’s looking for something to cushion the fall. Think he’s willing to sell Histria out to do it?”
“Do you?”
“You know him best.”
Hector eyed Marcus, then the soldiers on the map, then Marcus again - and his cheek bulged in and out as he rolled his tongue around his mouth.
“I’ve already given him the order.”
“Anything you give, you can take back. Just watch him. Listen to him.” Marcus backed into the shadows. “Before you make up your mind.”
•••
An hour later, as a steady rain hammered the walls of the dovecote, Livia dug through the mess of wire and feathers with grim determination on her face.
She wrinkled her nose and wrested a letter out of the convent pigeon’s pack, then shut the cage with a rusty creak and hurried down the stairs. She shook the water off the edges and made a beeline back to her room, where she slammed and locked the door and kicked her sodden slippers off.
But when she lit her lamp, she spied something behind her back - one of her wardrobe doors, pushed a fraction of an inch ajar.
Livia set the letter on her dresser and crept toward her wardrobe, threw both doors open, and flipped through her clothes like pages in a book. All right, what’s going on here? The hair on the back of her neck stood up. First the pigeons, now this? Her eyes darted back and forth. Am I losing my mind?
Livia blinked, stepped back, and counted off her dresses one by one. Red. Gold. White, purple, and the rest - in the same order as before.
Dammit. Livia glanced between the dresses and the lower shelf, then paced around the room. What am I missing? I didn’t leave it that way, did I?
She marched around her bedposts and pulled up the end of the rug, and though she found her spare key, something still itched in the back of her mind. She scoured up and down and under her bed, but nothing seemed amiss - not her dresser, not her chair or nightstand, just the closet door.
Ugh. Livia rubbed her temples. I’ll have to solve this another time.
So she tore open the letter and read it in Artemisia’s unencrypted hand.
Lady X,
The last time I heard from you was after the Carpathian nobles left. Now the sisters tell me there have been protests, and an incident at the Moonlight Festival. Why haven’t you responded? Are you all right? Why is all this happening? If you’re not well, can you get your friend to write for you? I just want to know what’s going on.
Mother Clementia is talking about speeches and coronation gowns. I was afraid of this. I knew you were scheming to get me on the throne. If you’re planning another coup, I don’t want it. I don’t care if you think I’m naive. I have a say in this, too, and I didn’t lose my family to Hector to be as bloody as him.
Please tell me you’re not hurting people. There has to be a better way. If you get arrested because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.
Artemisia
Livia reread the end of the letter as she took a shallow breath, and planted her hand on her hip and made a tight-lipped, displeased face. With a huff, she stormed back to her dresser and unlocked her secret drawer, and threw the letter on top of a thick unanswered pile.
CHAPTER 17
Two nights later, Hermia hovered over Livia’s dressing chair, and Livia finished off her powder as drums echoed from the palace grounds.
Livia huffed. “Are they still at it?”
Hermia opened the wardrobe. “I’m afraid so.”
“Where in Mira’s name is Marcus?”
“Still watch
ing them present the colors, I guess.”
“I know.” Livia patted off her brush. “I’m sorry. I was talking to myself.”
“Are you expecting him?”
“I am,” Livia grumbled. “He was supposed to be here by now.”
Hermia took a petticoat off the ribbons in the wardrobe, then laid it beside the midnight blue gown on the end of the bed.
“You know,” Livia began…
Hermia took out a second petticoat. “What?”
“I wanted to ask you about something.”
Hermia slung the petticoat over her shoulder. “All right.”
“The other day, I noticed one of Marcus’ boots was scuffed. He didn’t mention it, but he had to have seen it. He’s too meticulous to miss things like that.”
Hermia closed the wardrobe door and waited for Livia to go on.
“Anyway, then I came up that night, and it looked like someone had opened my wardrobe. Has someone been coming in here?”
Hermia’s eyes widened. “I don’t know.”
“I mean, apart from you, obviously.”
Hermia nodded quickly. “Of course.”
“Have you noticed anything out-of-place?”
Hermia shook her head. “No.”
“Hrm.” Livia raised her eyebrows at her own reflection. “Really?”
“What are you implying, my lady?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to figure it out.”
“You think I did it, don’t you?”
Livia set the corners of her mouth. “No, I don’t.”
“I know how fond he is of those boots. I see him polish them every night. I don’t even touch them if I can help it.” The look on Hermia’s face grew venomous. “I know you think I’m little and stupid, but I wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Hermia, I’ve never said that about you.”
“But I know you’re thinking it.”
“Hermia…” Livia took a deep breath - “I’m not having this fight with you. Don’t assume I’m being malicious, and do not put words in my mouth.”
“All right, I’m sorry,” Hermia spat, and fluffed the petticoat on the bed. “At least the other nobles don’t pretend they don’t look down on me.”
Livia’s tone sharpened. “Hermia.”
Hermia froze by the bedpost and hugged the petticoat to herself.
“Listen.” Livia pointed at her. “You are very lucky you work for me. I know how hard a life of service is, and I’m willing to overlook a lot.” She continued in a calm, but chilly voice, one careful word at a time. “But if you ever work for anyone else, and if you ever try this with them, you’ll be out on the streets before you can even take off your uniform.”
Hermia listened in silence, and her arms tightened around the petticoat.
“Now.” Livia paused to choose her words again. “How many times have we talked about this?”
“I’m sorry, my lady. I don’t know.”
“Exactly. Because nothing I tell you seems to work.” Livia put her powder brush in her makeup box and shut the lid. “You apologize, I forgive you, and within a week, you do it again.”
Hermia let the petticoat in her arms droop and bowed her head.
“I’ve told you about that cognitive alchemist. I still have his address. If you need help…”
“I told you…”
“That’s not a good reason not to go.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermia mumbled.
“I know why you do it, and I feel for you. So I’m not going to dismiss you.” Livia set her teeth. “But get it… under… control.”
Before Hermia could answer, someone knocked at the door.
“Who is it?” Livia asked.
Marcus’ voice answered. “It’s me.”
“Come in.”
Marcus opened the door, slipped in, and strode across the room, and he dusted off his cuirass as he let Hermia scoot past.
“Marcus.” Livia stood up. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry.” Marcus shrugged. “This was the earliest I could get away.”
“Hermia, could you leave us?”
Hermia looked bewildered. “My lady, aren’t you going to finish getting dressed?”
“It’s all right. I’ll have Marcus help me.”
Hermia blinked. “Um, all right.”
Marcus and Livia watched as Hermia walked out with timid footsteps, and she adjusted her head wrap before she gingerly shut the door.
“Livia, what…?” Marcus began.
Livia held her finger to her mouth. “Shh.”
Marcus leaned in. “What?”
Check the keyhole, Livia mouthed, and pointed to the door.
Marcus gave her a skeptical frown, but shuffled across the room, and squished his cheek to the keyhole and peered left and right at the hall. He neither saw nor heard anything, so he stood up and backed away.
“What was that about?”
“Just making sure.” Livia waved him over. “Hermia’s giving me a bad feeling tonight.”
“Bad feeling?” Marcus handed her the first petticoat. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s nothing.” Livia took it from him. “I’ll handle it some other time.”
Marcus hesitated, then eyed the door over his shoulder, and Livia smoothed the front of her slip and spread the petticoat on the ground.
“How was the presentation of the guard?”
Marcus turned up his eyebrows. “You didn’t go?”
“Of course not.” Livia perched the second petticoat on top of the first. “Why are we having all that pageantry at a time like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like this. People are protesting, and Hector still gets the swords and feathers out.”
“It’s Remembrance Day. We can’t just not do it.”
“Yes we can. It’s in bad taste.”
“It’s to honor people who died,” Marcus snapped, with an edge sharp enough to cut.
“Fine.” Livia’s nostrils flared as she stepped into the tower of petticoats. “Now. What’s going on with the regimental dinner?”
“It should be starting downstairs.”
“Good. Help me.” Livia tugged the petticoats up to her ribs and spun around. “Is anyone bringing guests?”
Marcus wrestled with her dress. “Ligari’s bringing her wife.”
“Then I’m going.” Livia held her arms up. “I don’t want you there by yourself.”
Marcus cringed and threw the skirt over her. “What do you think I’m going to do?”
“It’s what Ciacco might do to you.” Livia wriggled her dress down her slight frame. “I don’t know what you told Hector, but this whole thing could go up in flames. I want to be wherever you three meet until Ciacco’s taken care of.”
Marcus fastened her clasps. “Livia, I’m a grown man. I can look out for myself.”
Livia narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see.”
Marcus attached her sack back and yanked the hook a little too hard.
Livia grabbed her brush and fixed her hair, then put it down with a thunk, and sprayed herself with perfume before she rummaged through her dresser drawers. Marcus maneuvered over her skirt and made his way back to the door - but instead of opening it, his fingers tightened around the knob.
“Livia?”
“What?”
“You’re still thinking about Lady Camilla, aren’t you?”
“I’m not talking about that tonight.” Livia snatched her cuff bracelets. “Let’s just go and get this over with.”
•••
Down at the regimental dinner, the officers stood on full display, their cuirasses and shoulder fringe gleaming in the lamplight.
Centuries of tall military banners hung between the pillars - red, black, shields and crossed swords, laurel leaves, and birds of prey. Platters of pork roast and scalloped apples steamed on the tables. In the corner, a servant ladled from a silver bowl of spiced wine.
The officers milled about and studied each other with goblets in their hands, and the retired ones held their chins a little higher in the presence of their own.
Demetrio sat in a red-draped chair near his compatriots, quietly picking at his plate as he ignored their jokes. Hector roamed like an ostrich between the groups of captains and colonels, and snickered at a major’s story before he slapped him on the back. And Marcus and Livia lingered in a crowd of generals, young and old, with Livia’s arm hooked in Marcus’ elbow to keep him close.
“Well?” The balding General Guarneri said. “Is it really true?”
“Is what?” Marcus asked.
“That the war might be ending soon.”
Marcus feigned surprise. “Really?”
The stately General Flavian nodded. “That’s what I heard.”
“Mira’s blood.” Guarneri’s eyes widened. “I don’t think I’ll know what to do with myself.”
“I will,” the portly General Plautius grumbled. “Probably teach at the academy and drink.”
Ligari scowled. “Well, I know which of you to avoid at next year’s summer retreat.”
“Anyone who won’t be glad it’s over is mad, as far as I’m concerned.” The old General Dido crossed his arms with the vigor of a man half his age. “We all know we’ve reached an impasse. It’s time to head home and regroup.”
“I know. And not a moment too soon.” Ligari patted her wife on the back. “I’ve got some catching up to do.”
Ligari’s wife blushed. “Agrippina, please.”
“What about you, Ciacco?” Marcus chimed in.
“I’d like to know, too,” Livia piped up. “This war’s going to be your legacy. I wonder what you’ll do with it.”
Ciacco fussed with his sling. “Honestly?”
Marcus shrugged. “That’s why I asked.”
Ciacco stiffened his mouth. “I’m starting to wonder whether it’s time to hang it up.”
In the middle of another conversation, Hector glanced over his shoulder, and eyed Ciacco with sudden suspicion when he heard his voice.
“I haven’t made up my mind yet, so don’t say anything. But we don’t know how long the next one’ll last. Might be worth it to quit while I’m ahead.” Ciacco propped his free hand between his sling strap and his chest. “Maybe I’ll find somewhere quiet. Write a couple of history books. Get some dogs. Have some children. I don’t think I’m too old yet.”
