"Oh, we are – but I'm waiting."
Britta furrowed her eyebrows at the old woman. "Waiting for what?"
The Abbess of Night held up a finger. Half-a-breath later, someone knocked on the door. "Come in."
The door swung open. One of the sisters rushed in, sweat pouring down her face, her eyes wide with panic. "Abbess! Abbess! Soldiers! There's a whole cohort out there. Their leader, Dux Lucius demands an audience."
"Then, by all means, let him in."
The sister vanished down the hall so quick, she didn't even shut the door.
"The lights," Britta said. "You have every lantern in here lit because you knew he was coming."
"Oh, it's the polite thing to do. I was rude to let him stumble around in the darkness during his last visit."
"But I've been with you this whole time – so I know no spies relayed you any messages. Which means you're either a very good guesser or–"
"A better question," the Abbess said with crooked smile, "is why you didn't tell me he was on his way."
The fact was, Britta had hoped he'd ignore his orders. She'd thought, foolish as it seemed now, Lucius would find some way out the situation. She'd wanted to give him time to figure it out before she potentially escalated the situation by telling the Abbess. But here he was, stepping through the door. His boots crunched the shattered cup. He glanced down to see what had happened, but made no remark. Instead, he doffed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. The Abbess of Night squirmed out of her chair and went to him.
"Dux Lucius," she said, her arms out for a hug. "It's a pleasure to see you again."
***
Dux Lucius wasn't sure the proper way to respond as the Abbess tossed her arms around him in an embrace. Anything but blushing, he hoped. Would it be improper to hug back, or improper not to? With no clear guidance, he let his arms hang. Even in his attempt to remain passive, his discomfort must have been obvious. He half-expected to look over and see Britta hiding a smile, but she scowled instead. Of course, he thought, this must seem like a massive betrayal to her. It tore at him. He wanted to drop to his knees before her, take her hand and tell her it was all going to be alright. But a combination of decorum, and the vague sense things weren't going to be alright, kept him focused on his task.
"Abbess of Night," he said in as formal a voice as he could muster. "I'm glad to see you again. Were that it were under more favorable circumstances."
The Abbess let him go. She guided him towards the chair beside Britta and had him sit. "Tea, dear?"
"Ah, no thank you. Please, we have much to discuss."
"Don't we, though? All the more reason to do it over a cup of tea," she said, pouring him a cup anyway. Dux Lucius thought better of complaining. No reason to make the situation worse than it already was. "What brings you out here this time of night?"
Dux Lucius took the cup. It was so small in his hands, a fragile little thing he could crush between his fingers if he so choose. "Surely you know." He blew the steam from the tea before taking a polite sip.
"Broadly," said the Abbess of Night. "Weboshi has gone missing, and the city is on the edge of descending into chaos. What do you want me to do about it?"
"You didn't take her?"
"You already know I didn't."
Dux Lucius set the cup down on the table. "I know, but I had to ask."
"So then why are you here?"
"Britta didn't tell you?"
"No," said the Abbess of Night. "She can be quite coy sometimes."
"Ah, uh–" Lucius cleared his throat, trying to catch of glance at Britta's expression through the corner of his eye. She remained much as she had when he'd entered. Perhaps less angry and more stern. Is that what he looked like all the time?
"So I ask again, Dux Lucius: why are you here?" said the Abbess of Night
"To arrest you."
"But yet you've come to my quarters alone and, I might add, unarmed."
"I have soldiers outside."
"Yes," said the Abbess of Night, "but you haven't used them. You could have stormed this place. Which makes me suspect you're either a fool, plan to ignore your orders somehow, or are trying to establish trust with us for some nefarious scheme."
Dux Lucius nodded. "A combination of all three, I suspect."
"You've come here for our help."
"Yes. I believe Weboshi is at the docks, in a ship somewhere."
"If so, why haven't you found her?"
"I have soldiers there searching. In fact, it's possible they have found her, but the crowd is too thick and angry. I can't get past them to find out, and my soldiers on the other side can't get a messenger out to me. Even so, I don't think they have found her. They're not looking in the right place."
A knowing smile cracked across the Abbess's face. It would've been unnerving if the smile weren't so warm.
Britta cocked her head. "Wrong ships?" she asked. "Surely you told them to search them all."
"No, I didn't."
"But why? Who wouldn't you search–" Britta stopped cold. "Regnal navy ships. You wouldn't have them searched. Why would you? No one gets aboard them who aren't from the empire. Which means. . . Goddess. Your father."
It hadn't seemed real until someone said it aloud. Before that, the idea had been hazy, half-formed like a cloud in a dream. Had his father orchestrated this? Not Ava's kidnapping, no. That had been all Weboshi, but the Governor knew an opportunity when he saw it. It made the most sense, and the idea his father was willing to put Ankshara to the torch, that he was willing to kill Regnals and Anksharans alike in the name of seizing the city for the Emperor, wasn't foreign to Lucius. Didn't the man realize what sort of risk he was putting his own son in? What if things went really wrong and the manse fell? What about Ava? No, it didn't seem possible the Governor could be so callous.
"I don't know if he took Weboshi," said Lucius. "He's not afraid to take advantage of the situation though."
Britta put a hand on his knee. "What do you need us to do?" she asked.
"I need you to come with me, down to the docks. A priestess at my side will allow me to pass through the crowd unmolested. A show of mutual support will help defuse the situation."
"Me?" said Britta. "I mean, I'm willing, but it would be a stronger show of support if the Abbess of Night was with you."
"No," said the Abbess, "he still has to arrest me."
Britta's blinked at him as if expecting him to deny it.
"She's right," he said.
Britta's hand retreated. She folded them over her lap and cleared her throat. "I get it," she said. "You have your duty to perform."
"Yes," said Dux Lucius. "But it's more than that. I can't let my father know I suspect him and – gods – What if I'm wrong?"
"But arresting her is a risk itself. The people won't like that."
"Not if they don't know."
Britta frowned. "So what you're suggesting is some sort of secret arrest?"
"House arrest. Father's orders didn't stipulate I had to slap her in irons. I think I've got enough legal leeway to claim I was doing what I thought necessary to prevent a riot. Plus, this way we don't have to march her through the streets. Hopefully, it'll take a while for word to get out we've arrested her. We'll leave one soldier behind. If anything, it might look like we're protecting her, if halfheartedly"
"People will figure it out."
"It's the best I've got," he said.
Britta and the Abbess of Night exchanged glances.
"He's smart," said the Abbess.
She waved a hand in the air and said, "Do what you must."
"Thank you," said Dux Lucius as he stood. "Abbess of Night, I place you under arrest for criminal conspiracy and aiding the escape of a wanted criminal from the Emperor's justice. You are to be held here, under guard, until such time as your trial or circumstances prove your innocence." He turned to Britta. "Now, grab your cloak. We need to hurry."
Chapter 13
Dux Lucius's men waited at
the gate. They fell in behind him as he started for the docks. Only one stayed behind to guard the abbey. Not a show of force, Britta thought; a light touch – so he would appear to have done his job without having gone overboard. The problem was, what if the crowds at the docks came inland and decided to rescue their beloved Abbess? There was no way one soldier could hold them off. But that's where she came in, Britta supposed, as she and the cohort made their way down the street towards the harbor.
People in windows above tossed rotten fruit down on the soldiers, but stopped when they saw Britta and her cloak traveling in the soldiers' midst. The soldiers, at Lucius's command, did nothing to retaliate. They didn't even lift their shields to defend themselves. One poor young man got a stinking chamberpot thrown on him, and except for a wince, showed no anger for it. Their discipline was amazing. She'd never seen the garrison's soldiers working together like this. Dux Lucius hadn't been here long enough to train them, so they must have learned this before. This level of discipline explained why Regnal legionaries were the most feared soldiers in the known world. What would happen if the abbey ever attempted open defiance?
It didn't matter. She was here to show solidarity with these men, conquerors though they were, not for her sake, or Dux Lucius's, or her abbey's, but for the crowd itself. She'd heard Regnal soldiers were trained to use their shields to form a wall like a tortoise shell. The soldiers would be perfectly safe from the crowd, but if the crowd threw itself at the wall, they'd be hacked to pieces at the soldiers' leisure. Perhaps not "hacked." Lucius insisted the soldiers carry clubs to beat back the crowd, but they still carried swords on their hips just in case. Beating or hacking, Britta couldn't let it happen to her people. So when the cohort passed under windows where angry women leaned, rotten tomatoes cocked to toss, Britta stood tall and locked eyes with each and every one, shaming them with her gaze to back down. Such was the power of a cloaked sister in Ankshara.
The street narrowed as it descended towards the docks below, forcing the soldiers to crowd in around Britta. It was hard to see over or around them, and the clanks of their boots and armor made it difficult to think straight. She wished Dux Lucius were in the cohort with her, but he marched at the head. Britta knew why. These soldiers, disciplined as they were, were walking into danger, and Lucius was a leader of men. He could have deferred this job to another, but he didn't. Not Dux Lucius. He wouldn't ask his men to do anything he wouldn't, that much was obvious. He was a good man making the best of a bad situation.
Britta's heart fluttered at the thought. If she weren't being carried along by the cohort's march, she would stopped to contemplate the feeling. Pride. She was proud of him. Proud of her future husband. He'd probably find that pride presumptuous, the great cold fish. And, maybe it was. But there it was. What would he think if he turned around at that moment and saw the smirk inching across her face? Doubly presumptuous.
The cohort jostled to a halt. The soldiers were so close to her, their armor scrapped her flesh. Their musk filled her nose. And yet, as they stood rigid around her, she heard a great cacophony. As Britta got her bearings, she realized they had arrived at the docks, and the sound was the sound of the gathered mob. Was Dux Lucius talking to them? Trying to negotiate? Was there anyone to negotiate with? Britta couldn't tell from within her soldier-shell. What was happening? She thought she heard shouting. Britta stretched on her tiptoes to see over the soldiers but it was useless. She was ready to muscle her way to the front when the cohort split open, exposing her to the world.
Dux Lucius stretched a hand towards her, a broad smile on his face. Not a smile of happiness, but reassurance. Who was he trying to reassure? The crowd that faced him or her? He said something but Britta couldn't hear over the din. She stepped forward. The wind blew, flaring and rippling her cloak behind her. The crowd, at least the crowd in the immediate vicinity, grew silent.
"Dux Lucius," she said. She curtsied.
"See," he said turning back to the crowd. "The Abbess of Night is with us. She's sent her New Moon to assist in the search for the missing–"
"Traitor!" someone in the crowd shouted. Britta's eyes flashed towards the voice, only to catch a rock hurtling towards her face. There was no time to react, not even reflexively. It struck her in the side of the head. Her entire world exploded into the night sky. Then, the Goddess hid her in Her shadow.
***
"Close ranks!" Dux Lucius shouted. "Close ranks! Close ranks!" Was there time to get among the soldiers before the crowd descended on them? Already they surged forward, egged on by the shouts of traitor. Britta lay on her side, blood pooling around her head, matting her hair. Was she dead? Pure logic told him if she wasn't, she was severely injured. The cold hard facts of battle demanded he leave her bleeding out onto the stone and rescue his own men. But he couldn't.
Not her.
Not the woman who'd saved his daughter.
As the crowd screamed for his head, Lucius lunged after her, scooping her in his arms in one smooth motion as he rushed towards the cohort. Shields up and clubs ready, they parted just enough to let him and Britta slip through their wall. The soldiers around Lucius grunted, shuffled and jostled. Above and around them, the citizens of Ankshara swarmed, beating against the soldiers' shields with whatever device lay at hand.
He should be at the forefront, looking through chinks in the wall to see what was going on. But he couldn't, not until he was sure Britta was okay. Her blood still pumped, at least, clotting around where the rock had hit her. He tore a bit of cloth from his undershirt and pressed it to the wound. She lived, but for how long? Even if she survived the blow, she wouldn't survive this riot.
Someone shouted to him. It was hard to think with the racket, impossible to hear, but he knew what the soldier wanted: orders. They had to escape, retreat somehow, somewhere. He lifted Britta into his arms. She was so light, so brittle, like a sack of sticks. He leaned over the shoulder of one of his men and peeked through the chinks in the shield wall. Was there any way out?
"Behinds us!" he shouted, though he doubted anyone could hear him. It was their only escape. The docks were too packed. Forward was impossible, but if they could back up to where the street narrowed, the cohort could form a defensive line. He nudged one of the soldiers and pointed in the direction he wanted them to go with his nose. As a cohesive unit, they made their way up the street, clubbing the crowd as they went. When they made it to the narrowest point, Dux Lucius shouted the command and the cohort unfurled into a u-shape that pressed the crowd back, until the u was a line and the crowd assaulting them was downwind.
"Can we hold?" he shouted to one of the men on the line.
As if in response, the crowd surged, pressed against the shield wall; it didn't buckle. There was his answer: yes, but not forever. There was no putting it off anymore, no way to diffuse the situation; it had already exploded. He had two choices now, retreat to the garrison until the angry crowd burned itself out, or resist and put the revolt down with violence. Neither option was acceptable, and either way a lot of people would die. If he were to err, he'd do it on the side of action, not hiding away like a coward. After all, if he could stop it – even through violence – that was his duty, and his duty came first.
He carried Britta to a house just behind his line and kicked the door open. In the darkened corner, a family huddled, terrified of the world falling apart outside. The father held his hands up, pleading for the life of his family.
The man's mouth stopped working when he realized what – who – Lucius carried in his arms. The man stood, slowly, using the table beside him to balance. The children and mother cried after him, begging him not to go to Lucius, but the man ignored them. Lucius passed Britta's broken body to the man who took her with ease. He glanced down at her head then back to Lucius.
How could Lucius convince the man he hadn't been the one to inflict the injury? "May She hide you in Her shadow," he said.
The man smiled, weary but understanding. "Go," he said.
&
nbsp; It tore Lucius's heart away to leave Britta with strangers as a war raged outside, but he had no choice. It would be worse if they stayed together. If his cohorts could hold the line until reinforcements arrived, she would be safe inside this home, but if the cohort were forced to retreat, he'd be abandoning her to fate.
"May She hide you in Her shadow," he said again, and slipped out into the chaos.
Chapter 14
Where was that sound coming from? A long, loud banging that ricocheted from inside her head as much as outside it. Was someone drumming? Shouting?
Britta groaned as she reached for her head. Someone grabbed her wrist. "Don't touch it," said a friendly, feminine voice.
"Uh?" Britta squint her eyes, trying to get them to focus. The world seemed fuzzy, unreal, made worse by the throbbing.
"You took a nasty – Well, I'm not sure what exactly. Blow to the head."
"Rock," Britta said. "It was a rock. Why is it so dark? Where am I?"
"In my home. Mariza, my name, priestess. It's a blessing to have you."
"How did I get here?"
"A Regnal soldier. He kicked in our door. I thought he was going to kill us, but instead he left you in our care."
"He left me? He just left me?"
"Don't you know what's going on out there?"
Mariza took Britta's hand and guided her to the window. Britta parted the window and looked out to the street below. Everything outside was a blur.
"See?" said the woman.
"No. Mariza, I can't see anything."
"What?"
Britta shook her head. "I mean, I can see some. It's not all darkness but. . ." She trailed off. She felt as if she should cry, or be upset or something, but nothing stirred inside her. Numbness. Why had he left her?
"A blow to the head can do bad things to a person's mind. The damage isn't always permanent, though. Maybe you'll see again soon."
"Yes," Britta said turning to the voice. "Maybe." But that's not how she felt. Mariza hadn't bothered to explain what she'd wanted Britta to see, but from the sounds of clashing below, she had a good guess. Was that why Lucius left her with these people? He'd said he was a man of duty, and she knew it to be true. He wouldn't abandon his men. Instead, he'd abandoned her.
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