Rule

by Rowenna Miller

  Suddenly a piercing whine cut through Theodor’s fiddle playing. I dropped the hands of the women in the circle with me, our sheaves of wheat broken as I searched for the source of the sound.

  “Sianh!” I called. His face bore the same fear—could this be a Serafan casting trick? Some far-flung Royalist artillery? Around me, dances broke apart and Theodor finished a bar of music with an abrupt halt, leaving an eerie absence as the melody stopped, unfinished.

  The whine intensified, droning as it took on multiple pitches, and was soon accompanied by hisses.

  “It’s the kitchens!” Theodor called, and several soldiers ran to investigate. My stomach clenched—could someone have sabotaged the kitchens with gunpowder, with fuses? Were there grenades hidden in the squash? That was absurd, I thought—but I couldn’t convince myself anything was outside the realm of possibility. It could even be a Serafan curse, somehow.

  The soldiers hesitated by the edges of the trenches, then steeled themselves and dropped inside. A moment later, one man shouted back.

  “What did he say?” I asked Kristos.

  “He said—it’s the apples?” Kristos asked the corporal next to him.

  “He said apples,” the man replied with an incredulous shrug.

  “Apples?” I shouted back to Sianh.

  After a brief conference with the men who had investigated, Sianh joined us. He fought to keep a straight face. “The apples—that variety—they appear to have a very thick skin. Most apples will split when roasted, but these do not easily rupture. So the steam building inside eventually rents a spot near the stem and the result is not unlike a scream.”

  “Banshee!” I grabbed Sianh’s arm. “They’re called Banshee apples.”

  His lip quivered, and for a moment I thought he was angry, that he was going to blame someone for what now appeared to be less of a mistake and quite possibly a prank. Instead, he laughed.

  He sat down hard on the ground, his legs bent under him, and roared with laughter. Kristos began to laugh, and soon I bubbled over with laughter, too.

  “Alba…” he managed to say between fits of laughter, “did you know?”

  Her shocked face answered for us, and I wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or go box the quartermaster’s ears for him. She blinked dumbly as Sianh began laughing again, so hard tears slid in bright trails from the outside of his eyes.

  Then she began to laugh, too.

  Theodor began his music again, and the dancing resumed. I caught Kristos’s hand and squeezed it.

  “The two of us haven’t had this much fun in—it’s been years, I think,” Kristos said.

  “It only took a war,” I laughed ruefully. He was right. Even before he’d grown invested in the Laborers’ League and become a leader of the Red Caps, I had pulled away from him, pouring myself into my business. I had told myself it was for us, and it was, at its heart, about security for my little family. It was about more, too—about my identity and my passions, and Kristos had never had an easy place there.

  For all the time we had spent living in close quarters and relying on one another for our rent and our coal and our bread, we had grown distant. Here, with a common goal, we felt like family again.

  “What’s that little scamp up to?” Kristos said, raising an eyebrow as Fig came barreling toward us from the far side of the camp.

  “I’m surprised he’s not filching roasted apples,” I said with a laugh, which I stifled before Fig joined us. He took his role as messenger and errand boy seriously, and I remembered feeling very important when I sold thread buttons on the street at his age.

  “Spotted off the coast,” Fig said, panting. “Fenian ship.”

  21

  KRISTOS GRINNED AS FIG TROTTED OFF TOWARD THE DANCING. “Excellent—it should be a shipment of cannon, not to mention powder and shot. Just the thing to celebrate Threshing Market.”

  “And linen,” I reminded him. “Your army’s shirts are getting a big ragged.”

  “They’re supposed to be mending those. You want to give a lecture on sewing patches?”

  I laughed. “I suppose many of them need it—they don’t have their wives or their mothers here to mend their clothes any longer.”

  “It’s one of the few military skills Sianh hasn’t taught them,” Kristos said. “You know that the regular army expects every man to carry a housewife.” He winked—the term meant a small sewing kit, but I laughed as I envisioned a beleaguered soldier’s wife riding piggyback.

  “Want to go watch our ship come in?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Kristos said. The day was mild, and between the new arrival of troops and the impending arrival of supplies, I felt that we were bathed in luck as well as warm sunlight.

  The squat Fenian cargo vessel was still far out to sea, outlined against blue sky paling against the horizon. “Remember waiting for Da’s boat to come back? In the harbor?”

  “No, because I was always helping our mother in the house while you ran off to watch the boats.” I jabbed Kristos in the arm with a pang of long-buried loss. Our father had made a living fishing for someone else’s profit on someone else’s boat, and he had made his death out of it, too. One day a storm had churned the water dark and that little fishing boat didn’t come back.

  “I knew his boat—well, not his. Thatcher, the man’s name was, who owned it?” I shook my head—I didn’t remember, even though I’d been old enough to have known the name of my father’s employer. “I knew it by sight, though. Even though it looked like most of the other old tubs in the harbor. It would come trundling up to dock and I’d see Da start unloading crates of fish.”

  “He smelled like it when he came home,” I remembered. “Mama hated it.”

  “He kept a cake of soap in his bag,” Kristos said. “He went to the well down the street every day before he came home and tried to wash up as best he could. He knew Mama hated it.”

  “I never knew.” The Fenian ship drew closer, turning toward the inlet, and I was about to point out the Fenian flag I could see curling in the wind when Kristos tightened next to me.

  “What’s that?” He pointed to the south.

  I squinted, the sun slanting into my line of sight. “A ship, isn’t it?” My stomach sank. There was only one kind of ship patrolling the coast of Galitha—the Royalist navy.

  “I thought so.” Kristos looked at me, fear in his voice pleading for him regardless of which words he chose. “Can you do something?”

  Farther up the cliff, drums rolled a sharp tattoo near the battery of artillery pieces. The sentries stationed there would be joined by artillerists, but the ship was too far out. We could prevent its landing here—Sianh had chosen a highly defensible position for our encampment—but we couldn’t stop it from intercepting the Fenian ship.

  I was already pulling light magic into my hands, weaving a net of protection and pushing it out, quickly, toward the Fenian ship. It spooled thin and loosely woven from my hands, but it was too late to worry about craftsmanship as I pushed it out over the sea. It glimmered over the nearest waves, but its tendrils began to unravel and curl over themselves.

  “Is it working?” Kristos said.

  I clenched my jaw, determined not to lose concentration. “If you think we can do anything, get back to camp and muster troops.”

  Kristos yelled toward the sentries, running toward them, but I ignored him, shut out the words and the fear in his voice, shut out the pounding of the waves below and the racket of a flock of blackbirds roosting in a nearby tree. I focused everything I had on the wavering net of magic, and pushed it farther toward the Fenian ship, building more magic behind it and sending it with greater and more fervent force.

  It surged ahead, and, heartened, I pushed more protection and courage into the net. But it stalled again, my control over the farthest threads waning. They unraveled and spooled back into the ether, fading in a golden glow over the distant waves.

  “It’s too far,” I whispered in dismay. I could control i
t over a field nearby, over a battalion of troops lined up a few hundred yards away, but not a mile out to sea.

  I turned my attention instead to the Galatine ship. If I couldn’t control charm magic over a distance, how could I expect to control curse magic any better? I thought quickly. I didn’t need a net or a wall or embedded curse magic; I could throw a ball of black at the ship and see what happened. The Galatine ship was maneuvering into position to fire a broadside at the Fenian ship, who had little recourse built into her sparse decks.

  I mustered a curse, black fortune glittering in my hands, layered and thick into a projectile only I could see. I took a breath and sent the curse and my breath out in a steady, straight line, willing the curse to move in a rapid, sure course toward the Galatine ship. And it did, rolling in a ball through the air like a cannonball careening downhill. Faster and faster it moved, but as it did, it unraveled.

  I pressed my will on it, to hold together, but as it moved out over the sea, it spent itself into a black cloud, fading to gray and eventually dissipating altogether. I stifled a yell and tried again, but this curse was weaker than the first.

  The report of the Royalist navy cannons shook my concentration and I let the curse fade. The Fenian ship was already running up pennants of surrender, fluttering pale. Anger welled in my chest. I was helpless again, as helpless as I had been when Pyord had me under his bidding during the Midwinter Revolt.

  I hated it. I hated the Royalists and their cannons and their damned navy, but I hated even more standing on a cliff watching it all unfold, clenched fists that might as well have been tied hands.

  Theodor ran toward the cliffside as the Galatine ship approached the Fenian. “Damn it!” He joined me and exhaled another curse. “Damn it. There’s nothing we can do.” He looked to me. “Is there?”

  I shook my head. “I tried. I tried both charm and curse and—they’re too far. I can’t do anything.”

  “Shit.” He trembled, his hands barely controlled. “There’s nothing we can do without a navy. All the work you and Alba did—all of it—at their mercy.”

  “We have supplies,” I reminded him. “Plenty of them got through. We’ve cannon, shot. It’s enough, for now—”

  “No, it’s not. It’s not enough against the entire Royalist army, not if we’re going to march north, not if we’re going to break the siege on the city.”

  I shrank back into myself. I was useless. The only thing I had to offer I had tried, and it was too weak. All we could do was watch the Royalist marines board the Fenian ship and take possession of a sizable portion of our cannons, powder, and precious months of work.

  22

  “IT WASN’T THE REMAINDER OF OUR SUPPLIES,” ALBA SAID WITH calm stoicism, tracing a slim finger through her logbook. “That shipment would have been—let’s see—”

  “We can’t afford any losses!” Kristos thundered. “We needed a thrice-damned navy.”

  “Do not blame them for what we do not have,” Sianh cautioned in a low growl. “I am as frustrated as you—”

  “You don’t look it!”

  “You do not control your emotions well,” Sianh countered. “Do not mistake that ability in others to be a lack of feeling.”

  Kristos clamped his mouth shut, seething.

  “A goodly portion of the powder, unfortunately,” Alba continued calmly, “but nothing on board that ship was charmed.”

  “Thank the Divine,” I breathed. “If they’ve Serafans working with them, and captured charmed supplies, they’d know exactly what we’ve done.”

  “Best we assume they’ve guessed we’re doing something already,” Theodor cautioned. “But the charmed supplies are irreplaceable.”

  “And we’ve another two dozen cannon tubes coming,” Alba said. “And more linen and powder.” She closed her logbook. “Well?”

  “Well what?” Kristos snapped.

  “How can we protect our investment?” Alba enunciated in frosty tones. “I cannot undo the lack of ships.”

  “It was your damn job to get us ships!” Kristos exploded.

  “Perhaps if they landed elsewhere,” I suggested. “Or… or if we stopped shipments for now?”

  “None of that gets us a damn navy,” Kristos said through tight lips.

  “Enough,” Alba said. She clutched the logbook as though it provided some sort of lifeline. “We can’t produce a navy in the next five minutes.”

  “Sastra-set Alba is correct,” Sianh said. “Nothing will be decided right now. And it is a holiday, yet, is it not?”

  “The apples are all eaten already,” I said with a rueful smile. “I’m sorry you didn’t get any.”

  “Not all,” Alba said. She pulled a crock from next to the fire. “I took the liberty of stewing a few with a mite of sugar and some nutmeg.”

  “Where did you get nutmeg?” I asked, incredulous. Our spice supply was worse than our sugar stores.

  She pulled a case from her pocket and produced a whole nutmeg and a tiny silver grater. “It’s for emergencies,” she said. “I thought this counted.” Theodor shook his head with a laugh, and even Kristos cracked a smile. “I should like,” Alba added to Theodor, “to hear more of your violin.”

  Theodor’s lips twitched into half a smile, but his eyes were still tired. “I don’t know—”

  “I would like it, too,” I said, laying a hand on his knee. He softened and his smile broadened. As Alba doled out spoonfuls of apples in juices cooked to a thick spiced syrup, he retrieved his violin and tested out the strings.

  A shuffle of sheet music lay in the bottom of the case. “This is your music from home,” I said, thumbing through them.

  “They were in my portmanteau. I carried them to Isildi by accident, and then they’ve come with me ever since.”

  “This is Marguerite’s composition,” I said. “The one she played before Midwinter, at Viola’s—the one that sounds like a winter snowstorm.”

  “Play that,” Alba said. “I should like to hear some snow; it would remind me of home.” Sianh laughed, but he didn’t tease her as he usually did.

  Theodor set the bow to the strings and drew a few tentative notes. The song started distant, cold, and gentle, the quiet of winter settling over even the bustle of Galitha City. Nothing would quiet the city now, I imagined, not even snowfall. But for a few still moments, I let the winds pour from Theodor’s violin and the driven snow scour the bloodstains from the streets, cover the scars and burns with pure white winter.

  Then the drums punctured the cocoon of Theodor’s music.

  Sianh was on his feet in an instant. Afternoon had slipped toward evening, but the last thick sunlight still bathed the camp. A surge of pride buoyed me as I saw how quickly the men leapt to their feet, spiced apples and rum rations abandoned as they slung bayonet belts and cartridge boxes over uniform coats. I was surprised to feel tears swelling at the back of my throat—their shabby holiday, abandoned in an instant for their duty.

  Theodor settled his violin back into its case and sighed as he closed it, then we followed the others to the parade field where men formed into units and those units into companies.

  “He’s sending the First,” Theodor said, nodding toward Sianh on a bright bay mare. She wasn’t a warhorse, but she was the best mount in Hazelwhite, according to Sianh.

  “That’s good?” I asked. “Or that’s bad?”

  “It means he thinks it’s quite serious,” Theodor said. “They’re the best trained.”

  “I should go, too,” I said. “I should help.”

  Theodor gripped my arm. “We don’t know where they’ll be, how to keep you safe.”

  “None of us is safe if we’re overrun by Royalists. Me least of all.” I didn’t shake off his grip, but turned to hold him even more firmly. “This is why I am here. If I am of no use besides charming bandages and sewing coats, send me back to Alba’s convent.”

  Theodor inhaled. “Fine, go with the First. Not on foot. Fig!” He waved him over. “Fig, saddle the da
ppled gray for Sophie.”

  “The gray? For—oh.” He nodded quickly and ran for the stable.

  “You will keep well behind them,” Theodor said. “Absolutely avoid—any kind of danger. Don’t even be seen—”

  “I know,” I said. “I won’t act a fool.”

  “And at the first sign of—if things aren’t going well—if.” Theodor’s mouth clamped into a firm line. “You run.”

  “Of course,” I said, annoyed. I knew, full well, my limitations. I turned to follow Fig.

  “Wait.” Theodor pulled me back, and for a moment I thought he would stop me from going. Instead he kissed me, rough and desperate. “I love you.”

  I held on to him for a moment longer, returning that kiss with equal fervor despite a crowd of gawking soldiers nearby. Then I ran for the stable, where Fig had a stablehand readying a placid-looking gray mare for me.

  Sianh had already ridden out with the troops, and I had little chance of catching up to him with my poor seat and uncertain skill at higher speeds. Instead, I fell in behind the lines of marching men, keeping a safe distance but sure that, if we arrayed into lines of battle, I could weave a charm over our troops. And, I thought through the possibility clearly, if my view was good, cast a curse over the enemy.

  I hadn’t seen our men deployed on the field before. I wasn’t sure what to expect—but if I had been worried about the panic or fear Sianh had warned me about, it wasn’t evident here. At least, not yet. Their lines were orderly, their bearing military. Farm boys and dockworkers and fishermen, stoic and ready. Faintly, embedded into the very fibers of their coats, charm magic glowed protection for them.

  I began to pull a charm, a simple and easy one, knowing that it would be more difficult to cast with the fray of battle and the troops moving in rapid order. The light built around me and I spread it like thick butter on warm bread over the marching columns, letting it sink into their coats and cling, tenuously. I held the charm, testing the concentration and energy required for its maintenance, pleased to find that it wasn’t taxing at all to hold the cloud of light. I built it, added to its intensity slowly, and tested holding it again. It was easy, like keeping a kite aloft on a pleasantly breezy spring day.