Helene hoped it was true, for she wished to give the child a stern talking-to when next she saw her. Unfortunately, that would not be tonight, as she had more work to do in the hospitalis and could not shirk her duties.
Whatever Miranda is up to, I hope it does no great damage.
Yarrow
She'd snarled at Caelum to leave her alone in her quarters after their visit to the hospitalis, and a good thing for his own health he had. If she couldn't spar and had to show up in town that evening, she'd spend the afternoon sulking, she decided.
Soon her sulk turned into a doze upon her bed, and soon after that, a full nap.
She awoke to a banging on her door. Groggily she got up, still in the grips of her dream, and opened the door to stare blearily at her major. He looked down at her, slightly exasperated.
"If you sleep the night away we'll never make it to the Cauldron."
"Nghh," she managed to articulate, and left the door open as she went to her bathroom. He went on talking. She ignored him as she placed her hands on the counter and stared at her reflection the mirror.
Nucalif had aged her. She no longer looked her twenty-nine years--new stress lines around her eyes and mouth made her look more like a woman of forty. New scars, too. The scar on her shoulder from Seigneur Timor during that fateful sword fight in the keep, witnessed by none save herself and Jules, and a scar on her face where a townsperson armed with a rake had gotten in a lucky hit. It had narrowly missed her eye, and now the jagged line ran from her forehead down her cheek to her jawline.
Looking at the frizzy, flyaway hair that had escaped the tight braid she kept it in, she thought she saw some gray among the deep, dark red. She hoped she'd imagined it.
Caelum had fallen silent and was staring at her. She glanced at him briefly, asking him what he was looking at without words.
"You had the dream again," he stated.
She sighed and started to unbutton her jacket. "What if I did?" she asked, tossing the garment to the floor.
"Yarrow, when are you going to talk to a priestess about this?" His face was earnest, as it always was, as he came to the door of her washroom and looked at her, his gaze burning a hole in her side.
She shucked off the rest of her clothing and turned on the taps in her shower. "It's just a crazy dream, Caelum. I'd be wasting her time," she said, and stepped into the shower.
She heard his sigh of frustration and knew he walked back into her room to sit and wait at her desk or on her bed while she washed the sleepsweat from her body.
What would she tell the priestess anyway? "Hi, I'm a bellica and I keep on having a dream about a Goddess." Yeah, you and the rest of the population. Who doesn't dream, or at least think, on Them? You're no different.
The dream never told her anything anyway. It was always the same: she and her sister, as young girls. They stood facing each other, and then she watched a great darkness loom up behind Zardria and swallow her. Yarrow turned her face away from the sight, and saw behind her a Goddess--Kore, she thought, but she couldn't be sure.
That was it. No more; nothing else to explain it. Kore said nothing, and the darkness that had swallowed Yarrow's twin was shapeless, nameless.
If Yarrow were to guess what it meant, she'd say it meant the Goddesses laughed at her plight. They have a wicked sense of humour, after all. Must be funny enough to Them that Zardria and I haven't exchanged any words save those of hate for over two decades. That she wishes me dead while I--foolish as I am and always have been--while I still love her with all the sororial piety that I should. Sure. What Goddess wouldn't laugh at such a situation of a mortal?
Her shower over, she was not in a better mood at all. She wrapped a towel around her body and walked back into her room, where, sure enough, Caelum sat on her bed, leaning his tall frame against the wall, eyes closed. One lid flipped open as she walked in and he regarded her in a cyclopean manner as she searched through her closet for another set of dress grays.
"When was the last time you brushed your hair?" he asked abruptly as she tossed the clothing and fresh underwear on the bed beside him.
Startled, she stopped to think. "Don't know," she said with a shrug. "Can't say it's been on my mind lately."
He sighed affectionately and stood up, heading to her washroom. "Yarrow, if you're not going to take care of that obscenely long hair of yours, you should cut it."
She looked over her shoulder, seeing where the end of her braid hit the backs of her knees. "What's wrong with it?"
He emerged, holding her little-used hair brush. "It looks unkempt," he said flatly, staring at her as if he couldn't believe she could be so oblivious.
She was, usually, but also she just liked to annoy him. "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her clothes and started to get dressed. "Find a knife and cut it--around the small of my back."
"Why don't I just chop it all off?" he muttered, pulling his boot knife out.
"Because my spouse hasn't died," she said simply, pulling on her shirt. "Quickly now; I want to go get drunk."
She heard him snort, and then felt his hands gently holding her hair. She heard the knife cut through the strands, and then heard the bottom half of the braid fall to the floor. She hadn't cut her hair in over ten years, and it was as if a piece of her had fallen with the braid. For a brief moment, she felt bereft. Then all thought was pushed out of her head and all she could feel was Caelum's hands as he undid the rest of the braid and gently brushed her hair, working out the kinks and tangles with skill and patience.
She closed her eyes and savoured it, a small tenderness she allowed only from him. Though she'd never say it out loud.
Jules
Though he couldn't spend much time with Ghia, for she was working, he found himself having a good time at the Cauldron nonetheless. The food and drink flowed and tasted like ambrosia and nectar. There was the standard ale, of course, the shandygaff Circe's Cauldron was famous for, and hot spiced rum-apple cider, a seasonal favourite, along with a creamy egg drink called noge that was also traditional around this time. On the food menu was roast boar, turkey, what vegetables could be scrounged at this time--cooked expertly--and a sinful array of baked goods: gingerbread, always a favourite, a cake with fruits and nuts in it that only a few seemed to like (Jules being one of them), and orange-squash pie with clotted cream on top.
A team of musicians played in the corner of the taproom, by the fireplace, and space had been cleared as a dancing floor. Jules was on his third cup of noge by the time he felt light and airy enough to be led onto the dance floor: first with a young dama whose attentions were quite welcome, and then with a young man Jules would have easily spent more time with. There was either a good selection of dance partners there that night, or he was just extremely lucky, for each dance was better than the last, filled with flirtations and laughter.
He wouldn't let it get any farther, of course, but it was nice to feel as if he were young again.
Not that thirty-two's old, he amended, looking at the still-beautiful Kasandra who was now pushing seventy, looking no older than forty-five. It's just not terribly young anymore. He looked wistfully at Ghia, radiant in a green velvet peplos, her red hair pinned back with a gorgeous silver clasp. Her smile never wavered, no matter how full the trays on her hands were, and she treated each patron with the same good cheer.
Quite the Midwinter Fairy, he decided. Though I doubt even she could grant my Midwinter wishes. His jaw clenched then, and he looked away, stoutly taking another sip of his noge. He didn't want to think about Nucalif. Not tonight. Not ever again.
A hush fell over the room then as a blast of cold air came in through the open door. Jules looked to see what had caused the sudden silence and nearly dropped his stein. Bellica Yarrow stood, as if a smile had been nailed to her face. Major Caelum beside her. His smile was quite a bit more genuine.
"Bellica. Major," came Ghia's resonant voice, and Jules instantly knew why Yarrow was here, out, celebrating Midwinter
for the first time in almost two decades. He wondered how Ghia had done it. "So glad you could make it."
The spell cast over the customers was broken, and the chatter and music started up again. As if under a different sort of spell, Jules found himself standing and making his presence known to his superiors.
"Happy Midwinter, Yarrow, Caelum," he said, waving them over. "There's room at this table if you'd like a seat."
Yarrow and Caelum exchanged a glance, and it was the major who graciously accepted for the two of them.
As the officers were seated, an awkward silence fell, for Jules still felt he could not look Yarrow in the face. What had possessed him to ask them over? I must be mad. Or just painfully polite.
Luckily Caelum broke the silence with banal conversation, asking Jules how his Midwinter Eve had fared so far.
"Can't complain," Jules said with a smile that was, at least, half real. "Good food and drink, good music, and lovely wenches," he added with a friendly leer at Ghia, who had made her way to their table.
She snorted. "Not too loud, Jules, or some other patrons might think they can get away with that again." She braced her tray against her hip as she stood, leaning with her hand against the back of his chair.
He leaned back and looked at her like a dog begging for scraps. "Aw, come on, Ghia. I want to see your aunt beat someone twice her size again!" he said, laughter rippling through his voice. Caelum chuckled as well, for he'd been there for that day and it had been a rather entertaining sight. Yarrow merely smiled, tight and strained.
Ghia rolled her eyes and asked them for their orders. Unsurprisingly, Caelum ordered food for the two of them, while Yarrow ordered a full tankard of ale for herself. Ghia didn't even raise her eyebrows. Yarrow's penchant for drinking was well known. Jules asked for a refill on his now empty noge stein, and Ghia gathered his other steins from the table.
Caelum's eyes followed her appreciatively as she left, taking in the mix of red and green where her hair met the peplos, but the look in his eyes was avuncular, not desirous, Jules thought, feeling even worse about his attraction to the healer. Caelum had also watched Ghia grow up.
"She's quite the Midwinter Fairy, isn't she?" Caelum asked, echoing Jules' earlier thought.
Yarrow stood abruptly. With a curt "Back in a few," she stalked off towards the privy.
Jules' heart twisted with the same familiar pain. She was leaving because of him, he knew. He should have been there for his bellica, and instead he had deserted her in her time of need. She must be going as crazy as I, he thought, ashamed.
Caelum was looking at Jules rather more shrewdly than one would expect from the man, who was not exactly famous for mental acumen. "You two alright?" he asked. Maybe he saw more than he let on, most days.
Jules nodded, wishing he could lie easily. "We're fine," he said, and wished he had a stein to take a drink from. "Are you two alright?" he asked, somewhat pointedly, and Caelum laughed.
"We're always fine," he said, but it was a bit too quiet, and Jules knew there was still no progress on that front.
They fell into a silence neither awkward nor comfortable, as Jules reflected on his muddled emotional state. Things had been fairly simple before Nucalif: serve a bellica he longed for but could never have, for it was plain as night to everyone in Athering that Yarrow and Caelum were, well, destined for each other. Plain to everyone except the two of them, of course.
It was Caelum, the poorly educated farm boy from Southland, whose literacy skills were still lacking and who had only gotten as far as he had only because of Yarrow's influence on him, who was clearer about how he felt for people than Jules and Yarrow, whose education had lacked nothing in childhood or adolescence.
I suppose there are different sorts of intelligences, Jules thought, staring at the tall, fair-haired man who sat with him at the table. Caelum had never lacked clarity about how he felt for Yarrow--he'd confessed as much to Jules one drunken night while they played Queen's Ransom, on the march to Nucalif. That night Jules had packed away his hope, for he could see that Yarrow would never feel for him as she did for Caelum.
Caelum might be just as doomed, however. His ineptitude with words made it impossible for him to talk to Yarrow about it. And she was denser than stone.
Would Caelum still harbour that purity of feeling if he'd seen what Jules had seen in Nucalif? It had certainly muddied the waters of the medic's emotional sea.
He gritted his teeth and re-adjusted his seat in his chair, willing the memories away. It did no good to relive the horror. Yarrow had to be innocent, for whatever pathos Yarrow lacked for most things Atherians held closely to their hearts, like patriotism or religion, she maintained a great respect for the law. What he had seen...could surely not have been Yarrow committing one of the most heinous crimes in the nation.
She had to be innocent. Set up by an agent of Empress Zanny, or Empreena Zardria, probably. His dreams meant nothing. They were just the crazy rants of his subconscious.
I'm just going mad, I know it. She must be too.
Before he could gather enough courage to leave the table in search of her, Ghia arrived with their drinks and the information that the food would be a little longer. Jules made himself sit in his seat and was pleasant to the healer but his mind was far away, thinking about treachery and poison.
Yarrow
In the privy, Yarrow paced like a caged treecat. She felt like punching something.
Or retching.
"Oh, I can't take it anymore," she snarled out loud, only half-directing it at the Goddesses. She leaned over the sink and breathed heavily, then regarded her reflection again. She looked better than she had only half an hour ago--Caelum's brushing of her hair had left her curls lustrous, and he'd put only half of it in a braid, letting the fire of her hair spill over her shoulders. "Absolute shite for battle," she mused, "but not half bad. Maybe I'll get him to do that more often." Then she exploded away from the counter again, pacing as best she could in the tiny room, disgusted with herself for thinking about how she looked at a time like this.
Eventually she sat down on the lid of the privy bowl and forced herself to breathe. She needed to talk to Jules, she knew. He must be thinking all sorts of things about her. It was a miracle he'd not reported her yet.
"But I didn't do it," she whispered. "Right?" This time she really did address the Goddesses, but none answered her plea.
terrabane was the most virulent, the most dangerous, and the most illegal of all poisons in Athering. While the use of some others merely garnered a life sentence in the dungeons, the use of terrabane merited death. Instant. Merciful. Unwavering. Only the stupidest or the most clever of people used it, for it was so dangerous that touching whatever remained of the body afterwards could spread it, killing the person foolish enough to inspect the corpse as well. There was no cure. Instantly upon reaching the bloodstream it liquefied the insides of the victim, and started decomposition of the body almost immediately.
It had been on her sword when she'd gone to kill Seigneur Timor.
Never mind that her orders had been to destroy the Timor line, to hunt down every living member of his family, including his young husband and newborn son. Never mind that she'd no idea how the terrabane had gotten onto her sword--the use of poison was so alien to Yarrow's mind, the breaking of a law so against the core of her principles, that she'd never thought to check her weapon.
I'm just lucky I fought with my dagger through the town and into the Keep, she thought now, rubbing her hands over her face. Or everyone would have seen.
No. It had been only Jules, her forever loyal, forever argumentative Chief Medical Officer. For some reason, he had followed her up the stairs as she hunted her quarry. He had watched her deadly swordfight with Seigneur Timor--a ballet, to be sure, for the man had been trained in fencing.
It had been a tough battle. Fairly soon into it, Yarrow was hit with his blade. Angered, she'd repaid him with the same small slice on the arm.
T
hen he had died, decomposing before her very eyes. Before the eyes of Jules.
Now my own CMO won't even look me in the eye, won't speak to me. Over a month now, and we've not talked about it.
She made a sound of disgust in her throat. "What would you say, Yarrow? Hey, Jules, remember when you saw me commit that heinous act? Did you tell anyone? Could you not? Because I didn't actually do it," she half-whispered to herself, sardonically. She rolled her eyes and stood, needing to pace again.
He hadn't been sleeping well, Ghia had said. Yarrow could tell that herself. The man looked half dead, with shadows under his eyes and stubble on his face and neck. Nightmares, like, she thought. I know him: he hasn't told anyone. Won't. His loyalty to me outweighs his loyalty to the Sceptre.
I hope.
What about herself? She didn't know if she'd been set up or was mad. Had the stress of her job finally just pushed her over the edge? She never let her sword out of her sight. No one could have set her up.
I must be mad then. And I'll have to tell someone, eventually.
"But not Jules," she whispered, knowing he was not the one she could talk to about this. She only hoped the one she could talk to would listen.
There was a pounding on the privy door then, making her jump. A loud voice penetrated the thick wood, yelling at her stridently.
"Hey! You're not the only one who needs to piss!"
Yarrow unbolted the door and flung it open, directing her glare at the person on the other side. The man stepped back a bit, and Yarrow pushed past him into the room beyond, her glare never wavering. He quickly stepped into the privy and closed the door.
With a long-suffering sigh, she made her way back to the table she shared with Caelum and Jules, and with a nod to each of them sat down, giving some verbal excuse about not feeling well.
Bellica Page 3