"You told me that my mother died of an illness," Catherine said, "The entire Kingdom believes it to be yellow fever. Yet she committed suicide. She slit her wrists, from what I've heard. Why have I never been told this?"
Sullivan sat back, surprised. "You were very young when it happened," he said after a few minutes, "I was not going to tell my daughter that her mother killed herself. It was not her fault, it was a madness that overtook her. She might as well have died of the yellow fever."
"What was she like?" Catherine asked.
Sullivan considered, "She was a wonderful woman," he said, "She was the kindest, gentlest soul you could meet. Every seven days, she would travel to the city to hand out coin to the poor and soup to the hungry. That's where our tradition started. She couldn't stand violence; when I took the throne, it nearly upset her.
"She understood, of course," Sullivan said, "She knew that sometimes violence was necessary in order to ensure future peace and prosperity, but it still caused her pain. She couldn't stand for men to be beaten, or whipped."
Catherine frowned. "She sounds weak."
"No," Sullivan said, "She was a strong woman, Catherine. Not all people who believe in kindness are weak. You'd do well to be a bit more like her yourself."
"I'm kind," Catherine said.
"You do not go with the nobility to the city every seventh day," Sullivan said, "I'd like you to change that."
Catherine scowled, "Father, I'd not like to spend a seventh of my time with the poor."
"Catherine, I started my life out poor," Sullivan said, "I was a servant to a prince. It was only by that experience that I was able to change my life and become the man I am today. It was through hardship and toil that I rose to royalty. I do not want for you to miss out on opportunities because you do not understand the plight of the needy."
"I have another way that I can understand their plight," Catherine said.
"And what way is that?" Sullivan asked.
"I wish to heal," Catherine said. Before her father could speak, she hurried on, "I know Priests are learning how to manipulate here, father. I want to do the same. I might not wish to hand out soup to the hungry, but if I could heal the injured, would that not be giving back?"
Sullivan stared at her for a long moment, "Why?"
"Why what?" Catherine asked.
"Why the sudden interest in healing?" Sullivan asked.
"I didn't realize it was a possibility before," Catherine said, "I knew that they practiced it in Arinford, but it's very uncommon in Lamonte. Now that we have men that are able to do it, though, I thought I could learn."
"And what does Father Greene think of this idea?" Sullivan asked.
Catherine hesitated, "I was hoping to ask you, not him," she said, "You are the highest sovereign that our kingdom has, father. Shouldn't it be up to you to decide? If the Gods were to tell you that this is my path, certainly it would be fitting."
"I have spoken to Father Greene," Sullivan said, "I have heard about your desire to start healing already, Catherine."
"He is refusing to teach me out of pure malice!" Catherine said. Her hands tightened into fists, "He said I'm not like my mother and that he does not wish for me to learn because of that. He's not fair, Father."
"He is the highest Priest we have in the castle Chapel," Sullivan said, ignoring her childish outburst, "I must respect his wisdom."
"You are the King," Catherine said, "You don't have to do anything."
"The gods have granted me the power to rule over this kingdom," Sullivan said, "But I cannot do it alone. Do you know why they call me the Black King, Catherine?"
Catherine nodded, "Because you paint the heads of your enemies black. Everyone knows that."
"Not of my enemies," Sullivan corrected, "Of men who betray me, or question my authority. When I give an order, I expect it to be followed because, as you said, I am the King. My authority is the highest.
"I must, in turn, respect the authority of those who speak for the Gods," Sullivan said, "Father Greene believes that manipulation would have a dire effect on your mind, Catherine, and I'm inclined to believe him. No, you may not learn."
"It's not fair," Catherine said. She stood up angrily, "Gods, it's no wonder why my mother killed herself."
Sullivan stood up as well, "Go to your chambers," he commanded, "And wait there till I send a servant to fetch you for supper. While you're there, meditate on how you can help people in other ways, Catherine.
"Now."
Catherine shoved a hand into her pillow, flattening it, "It's not fair," she said again, "I hate my father. I hate Father Greene. I hate this castle, and everyone in it."
"Not everyone," Garrett said, "You don't hate me."
Catherine glared at him, "No," she finally said with a sigh, "Not entirely, anyway. I'm still upset with you, though. Why did you return the key to your father? Now we can't go down to the dungeons. I liked the dungeons."
"I told you," Garrett said, "He was growing suspicious. I had no choice. I can entertain you in other ways, Catherine. There's no need to go the dungeons for privacy."
He stepped forward, picking up the hand she'd used to punch the pillow and kissing her knuckles, "We're alone right now."
"We're in my chambers," Catherine said, "Where anyone can walk in. Do you really think I'd be so foolish to have sex with you right now? You're an idiot."
Garrett sighed and dropped her hand.
"I'm sorry," Catherine said. She reached for his hand once more, "I'm sorry, Garrett. I didn't mean that. You're not an idiot. I'm just frustrated. I feel like a small girl. My father nearly locked me in here, did I tell you that? I'm just so angry."
"It's alright," Garrett said. He sat down on the bed next to her, and stroked her hair, "It's alright, Catherine. Just calm down."
Catherine nodded, drawing in a deep breath.
"I'm sure your father didn't mean to treat you like a child," he said.
"He did," Catherine retorted, "He's upset because I don't like spending time with the poor. I mean, who would?"
"Priest spend plenty of time with the poor," Garrett pointed out.
"I don't care about being a Priest," Catherine said, "I only told him that so he'd convince Father Greene to teach me. I want to learn manipulation. Do you know how powerful a person is if they can manipulate? I'm going to be Queen someday."
"So you are," Garrett said.
"When I'm queen, I don't want anyone to question my authority," Catherine said, "I want respect. Leaders need to be powerful in order to have that respect. I need to learn manipulation. I need it."
"You're going to have an entire army at your disposal," Garrett pointed out.
"And if they turn against me?" Catherine said, "No, I need to learn. It's not fair, Garrett."
"I know," Garrett said softly, "I know, but that's the way it is, Catherine."
"Nobody takes me seriously," Catherine said, "Nobody. Not Father Greene, and not my father. Just because I'm not kind, like my mother. She killed herself. How much like her do they want me to be?"
"She killed herself?" Garrett asked.
"Yes," Catherine said, "And good riddance too. She sounded as though she was the sort to sit back and let her army protect her instead of defending herself. I wouldn't have wanted someone like that for a mother anyway."
"You don't mean that," Garrett said.
"I do," Catherine said, "I do mean it."
Garrett sighed again.
"Whatever," Catherine said. She leaned forward to kiss Garrett's cheek, "you take me seriously, don't you?"
"Of course I do," Garrett said. He turned and kissed her softly on the lips. She wound a hand up into his hair, yanking him tighten against her. The kiss went on for several long, passionate moments before Garrett broke it.
"What if someone walks in?" he said.
Catherine stood, slipping her dress of her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. "Then they'll get quite the show, won't they?" she said, her lips curv
ing up into a small, delicate smile, "Now, are you going to waste more time talking?"
Garrett stood, moving to embrace her, "No," he whispered into her ear, "None at all."
"Sir, I need to speak to you about the new recruits," Eric said, approaching Sullivan's desk.
Sullivan nodded, "Speak then."
"Right now," Eric said, "We've been making sure each recruit is sent through a primary educational class before joining the Lamonte military. This allows us to gain some comprehension of their skill levels."
"And provides them with an education they've been unfairly denied up till now," Sullivan said.
"Yes," Eric agreed, "That's how we've been running things till now. But with the new recruits coming from all over--from Serjya especially--it has become quite the ...hassle."
Sullivan frowned, "In what ways?"
"It takes quite a lot of time and resources," Eric explained, "The financial strain is quite the burden on the kingdom."
"We are working to resolve our financial crisis," Sullivan said, "I believe Terifille may yet choose to ally with us."
"I see," Eric said, taking a moment to consider this. Then he let out a slow breath, "But even if that's the case, it is still an expensive endeavor, Your Majesty. I would like to suggest that perhaps we do away with the literary education. It is that which takes the most time and does little good out on the field. They do not need to be schooled in order to fight."
Sullivan's frown deepened, "You would deny men the right to learn to read?"
"No," Eric said quickly, "I just don't see that is our responsibility to make sure they're versed in that particular area, that's all. We have other things we need to focus on."
"And it is not our responsibility to make sure that people are fed, and given medical treatment, and treated justly and without prejudice," Sullivan said, slamming a hand down on his desk, "and yet, we do. We do, and do you know why, Daniels? Do you know why?"
Eric remained silent.
"Because," Sullivan continued, "Because this, this exact change right here, this is exactly what we are fighting for. We are fighting to provide everyone in Cartharia an equal opportunity. The changes must start within our own kingdom if we are going to spread our message outwards."
"Of course," Eric said, "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise, Your Majesty, only that--"
"Only that the people from Serjya are not worth wasting our valuable resources on," Sullivan said, "No. Each man is just as important as another. It is imperative that our men be fully educated. I will not have a military full of uneducated bigots. You can see how that fared in Valishna."
"Yes sir," Eric said.
Sullivan stared at him, "And I will not have a warlord that does not see my vision in all of it's entirety. Do you understand what I'm saying, Daniels?"
Eric's fcae drained of color and he nodded, "Yes sir."
"Make sure you stay useful to me," Sullivan said, "Do you understand?"
Once again, Eric nodded, "Yes sir."
"Now, do you have anything else you'd like to waste my time with?" Sullivan asked.
"No, sir," Eric said, "Not today."
EIGHTEEN
A Love that Makes Breath Poor
"REDHORN CHARGE, OF THE 8TH BRIGADE," SEAN said again, shoving the missive from Rafinnel into the hands of the unfamiliar stranger. "We're supposed to meet you here."
Eldrin barely heard him. He had a tight compress pressed to Matilyn's chest, trying to stop the bleeding. He'd tried manipulating, but for whatever reason, his healing wasn't work. The wound was bad and getting worse and there was nothing he could do about it. "Stay with us, Mattie."
The soldier with Sean took the missive, breaking open the seal. He quickly scanned it, his face paling somewhat.
"You shot one of our men," Sean said.
"You arrived in Lamonte ships," the soldier said, drawing himself up a little straighter, "You're lucky we didn't shoot down all your men. You were supposed to arrive days ago, on the port we've set up."
Sean nodded, "We ran into problems," he confided, "Lamonte had taken the shore. We had to steal their ships in order to get across."
The soldier let out a low whistle. Then he turned towards Matilyn, "and who is she?"
"That's Lieutenant Matilyn Malevus, of the Redhorn Charge," Sean said, his patience beginning to fade, "I told you that. We told you we were friendly."
"And if you'd been our position, I imagine you would have acted the same," the soldier said.
Eldrin tried again to manipulate the wound, "I can't heal her," he said out loud. Sean abandoned the soldier with whom he was speaking to kneel next to Eldrin, "Can I try?"
"Be my guest," Eldrin said.
Sean focused, his brow furrowing. Nothing happened. He looked up at Eldrin, "There's something blocking our manipulation attempts."
"It's a poison we use," said another soldier, this one female. She stepped forward, "We're going to have to get her back to base, and quickly."
Eldrin glared at the woman, "She's not going anywhere with you lot. You shot her down. She could be dying because of you. No way."
The woman ignored Eldrin, turning to two of the soldiers next to her. "Get a board for transferring her," she told them. To a third soldier, she said, "Get back to camp. Get everything ready there for an emergency surgery. We've got to stop the bleeding. What are you waiting for? Go."
The men quickly hurried to follow her orders.
"Keep the pressure on," she told Eldrin. He glared at her in response.
"Who are you?" Sean asked, rising back to his feet and looking over at the first soldier again.
"Captain Tommy Frederick, fifth squadron of the Bluerock Charge, 8th Brigade," he said, offering out a hand. Sean hesitated and then shook it. "We didn't mean to shoot down your commanding officer," Tommy told him, "We thought you were Lamonte and we needed to act quickly. If it wasn't for her..."
He gestured over at Janice. She'd seen the Arinford banners and quickly screamed out that they were friendly troops, offering an easy surrender.
"We might have killed you all," he said.
"There's a lot of us," Sean said.
"There's a lot more of us," Tommy told him, "You'll see."
A few minutes later, two soldiers returned, carrying a medical board. The lowered it to the ground beside Matilyn.
"Okay," the woman said, "We're going to need to rock her up on her side and get that board beneath her. You," she looked at Eldrin, "Can you keep that compress on during?"
Eldrin gave a shallow nod. He wanted to argue more but he could see the life draining out of Matilyn's face. She'd taken on a chalky, white color that didn't bode well.
"Good," the woman said again. She turned to her men, "On three then."
After the count, they slowly rocked her up to her side and slid the board beneath her. The woman joined them in supporting the weight of the board as they began to lift it and then move, Eldrin continuing to keep pressure on the wound.
They wound their way up into the forest, on a trail that Eldrin might have missed on his own. It was narrow and only a handful of men could walk side by side. Behind him, he could hear Sean giving orders to the troops, accompanied by the occasional interruption of Tommy.
When they neared the end of the path, it opened up into a wide valley, surrounded by trees on all sides. Despite the dire circumstances they were entering in, Eldrin couldn't help but feel a little bit of awe. There were thousands of men in the camp and all the necessary supplies to go with them.
"It's something, I know," the woman directing the others said, "But come on, we need to get to the medical tents."
They pushed their way through the camp, coming to a halt at a large tent. Inside, medical supplies had already been prepped. They lowered Matilyn onto a large table.
"Are you a medic?" the woman asked Eldrin.
"I'm a Priest," he told her.
"Then get out of the way." Without further ado, she shoved Eldrin out of the way, taking o
ver the hold on the compress on Matilyn's chest. She turned towards the men waiting nearby. "Get the syringe ready. She can't take the oral antidote."
One of the men nodded, filling a syringe with a thick, orange paste. The smell nearly made Eldrin gag. The woman took it, holding it directly above Matilyn's chest. Then she plunged it in. Eldrin winced, but already he could see the difference. Matilyn's breathing began to normalize.
"Let's get this arrow out," she said.
Eldrin watched, a little impressed and a little horrified a the woman set to work removing the arrow, cleaning the infected wound, and eventually stitching Matilyn up. They wrapped her chest with bandages after applying a heavy coat of disinfectant paste. Like the antidote, it was thick, smelly, and orange.
Once she was done, she approached Eldrin and offered out a hand, "Sara Burke," she said.
"Captain Sheldon Eldrin," Eldrin offered in return.
"She's your commanding officer," Sara surmised.
Eldrin nodded, not elaborating.
"Well," Sara said, "If she can make it through the night, I think we're out of the woods. It's going to be hard though, that poison does havoc to a person's insides."
"What is it?" Eldrin asked.
"It's a combination of a few speciality plants," Sara said, "I'm not sure of the exact measurements. But it blocks all manipulation in the person. She won't be able to practice healing--she's a Priest, right?--for some time. Nobody will be able to heal her, either. That's why the poison is so critical."
"I've never heard of it," Eldrin admitted.
"We just started using it ourselves," Sara admitted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wash up. You can stay with her, if you'd like. If her conditions worsens, come and find me immediately."
Eldrin nodded, turning back to Matilyn. She still looked deathly pale, but her chest was rising and falling in even increments and when he felt her forehead, there was no fever. She looked terrible though. Eldrin looked around and found a wash cloth and a bowl. He filled it from his water flask and set about wiping away the blood on her hands, arms, and face. He tried to wash it out of her hair, but he didn't want to jostle her too much.
The Warriors of Valishna (Cartharia Book 1) Page 21