Caelum as Consort? What a political blunder, to choose that man for a position that required the best in court manners, etiquette, and diplomacy.
Was Zardria crazy? Jules hastened to think what use could she possibly have choosing Major Caelum as Consort. Besides hurting Yarrow.
Maybe that was it. Period. Maybe Zardria felt that, for whatever reason, there was no need to choose someone actually suited for the job and so had calculated her decision to cause the most hurt. Which would make her either really stupid, or so terrifyingly intelligent no one could see it.
"Now that that's all done with," Zardria said then, to a ripple of laughter from the courtiers, and Jules realised his musings had almost made him miss the next part, "I would like to make a few decrees as your new Empress." She smiled a smile that made Jules shudder.
"First, I am revoking the monarchical decree that made the Temple its own political entity and bringing it back under the rule of the Sceptre. The Temple will now answer to me on all counts and will follow my rulings as I make them."
The general outcry that came at that comment mimicked the sound in Jules' head. His eyes made contact with his sister's and he saw the same fear he felt reflected there.
"Those first rulings," Zardria continued, grabbing control again, "are thus: primary worship is no longer to be focused on Aradia and her pantheon. Umbra is now this nation's principal goddess."
A louder outcry erupted at that. Serve Umbra? The Maiden of Darkness that feasted on the hearts of children? Who flew through the night looking for victims and if you saw Her it felt as if your skin was ripped off and pepper was poured all over your fleshless body and that was the feeling of Her taking your soul? The ruler of Tyvian who held dominion over the damned? Kore's dark twin, who imprisoned the Goddess of the Sun in Her domain? Zardria wanted them to serve the Goddess no one dared supplicate and none dared ignore?
She was crazy. Or evil. Or both, Jules decided.
A loud noise cut through the outcry. It was Zardria banging the Sceptre on the throne.
"Silence!" she shouted, and all went still. "My next ruling is that High Priestess Sarai be made Liaison between myself and the Temple, and my own personal spiritual advisor. Sarai, you are to Dedicate to Umbra at your earliest convenience," she said as an almost non-chalant aside.
Jules looked at his sister and every muscle in his body urged him to scream "NO!" at this, but Sarai, ever graceful and ever bowing to the wind, simply stepped forward and bowed.
"I am honoured to serve, Majesty," she said, and that was that.
"Good," Zardria said with a self-satisfied smile, another soul broken on the altar of her malevolence. "Next, I hope you all will join me in the Square tomorrow for a public execution of the rebel leader from Aeril, after which I will hear petitions here in the throne room." There was no outcry there, but that was to be expected. The only people who didn't want the execution were rebels themselves, and were working hard at keeping that quiet.
"Now -- and I promise this is it for today -- now it has come to my attention that we have a traitor among us."
Jules felt a cold stone drop into the pit of his stomach and, with a flash of insight, he knew who Zardria was talking about.
"A bellica who, under the guise of following orders, committed the most heinous crime known to us as a people." She paused for effect before turning her gaze to her sister.
"Yarrow. You stand accused of using terrabane on Lord Timor during the East Campaign. How do you plead?"
To Jules' disbelieving senses, Yarrow stood, faced her twin, and said in a rock-steady voice: "I plead guilty, your Majesty."
A murmur broke out in the room, but Zardria did not let it get out of hand before she spoke again. "Then you are hereby charged with murder of the first degree, dereliction of duty, dishonourable conduct in your service to the Empress, and use of a forbidden substance under the Drug and Poison Act of 3800 -- the penalty for which is death."
There was a pause, during which Yarrow bowed her head in acceptance and the murmur faded away into silence. Jules was sure the whole room could hear his thumping heart. Yarrow was going to die. Yarrow was going to die and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Old feelings he thought he'd buried came flooding back, and he knew he couldn't bear for that to happen. No matter what kept or faded away between them, he did not want to see her die a traitor's death. Bellica Yarrow deserved a warrior's death -- on a distant, blood-soaked battlefield Bellona would call her home.
Not hanging from a rope in the Square.
"However," Zardria said, and Jules started, hardly able to believe there might be clemency from the treecat, "I cannot bear to order the execution of my dear twin sister." Jules had to choke back a laugh at his, and saw that Zardria was also having trouble keeping a straight face. He sobered then, and wondered if it was possible to hate someone as much as he did her. "So instead I strip you of rank and surname, Yarrow Achi deZameera, and banish you from my reiaume. You have two safe days -- until the end of tomorrow -- to take yourself beyond the borders of Athering; after that your life will be forfeit."
Yarrow bowed low and turned and left, not sparing a word for the Empress or a glance for anyone on her way out.
"Bellica Anala," came the smooth voice of the Empress, and Jules saw Anala jump in her seat -- not for the first time that afternoon. He wondered what had made her so jittery.
"Aye, Majesty?"
"I offer you the position of First Bellica. Do you accept?"
Anala stood and bowed. "Aye, Majesty. I do."
"Good." The Empress banged her Sceptre three times against the throne. "Let the festivities begin."
Yarrow
Yarrow couldn't think as she flew down the hallway to her room. When she reached the stone and wood chamber the slam of the door was the only thing that penetrated what felt like a thick wad of cotton around her head. Hastily she unbuckled her sword-belt and stripped out of her peplos, getting changed into the much more sensible leather breeches, linen undershirt, and lambskin jerkin. She laid her cloak on her bed and, grabbing her two bags from the closet, began to throw clothing into them, clean into one and not-so-clean into the other.
When the not-so-clean bag was half-full she grabbed the stash of Pyra's Breath -- the full bottle and the quarter-full one -- from the hidden compartment in her floor and tossed the bottles in, securing them with the remaining clothing so they wouldn't clack together and smash. There was still room so she grabbed her pillows -- they were two fairly expensive nice ones and she wanted whatever luxury she could squeeze out of her life of exile -- and shoved them in top, then tied up the full bag. She was dumping her bathroom things into the other bag when she realised her favourite shirt -- and other pieces of clothing -- had been tossed down the laundry chute earlier that day.
"Fecking son of a motherfecker!" she shouted, and headed to the door, intent on claiming her clothing, clean or not, wet or dry, from the laundry.
She swung the door open and almost walked into Lyla, her maid. The woman bobbed a curtsy and extended her arms, which had bundles of fabric. "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but I was just bringing you your clean civvies and linens."
Yarrow took the bundle from Lyla and wrapped the woman in a quick hug. "Lyla, you're a lifesaver. I hope whoever they assign you to next isn't a total beast."
The woman looked up at Yarrow perplexedly. "Assign me next...where are you going Ma'am?"
Yarrow shrugged as she flung her clothing into her bag. "Away. I've been exiled, Lyla. I won't ever be back." It took a few moments for Yarrow to realise that Lyla hadn't left the door yet. When she turned to look, she saw tears in the woman's eyes.
"It's been an honour serving you, Ma'am," she said thickly. "I hope you stay safe on your journeys."
Yarrow felt the thick layer of apathy that she'd coated herself in, the wad of protective emotional cotton, become thinner at the woman's words, and she looked away so Lyla wouldn't see the answering emotion in her own eyes. "Tha
nk you, Lyla. I will miss you, and not just because you've been such an excellent chambermaid."
She looked up and smiled, and Lyla curtsied and left.
Dabbing at the wetness in her eyes, she tossed her two extra pairs of boots and her two other non-military pairs of shoes into her bag and looked around for anything she'd missed before she tied up this bag and attached her bedroll and blanket to it.
"No, I think that's -- shite," she broke off, her eyes falling on her desk. My efemira. Of course. Disastrous to leave that behind.
Falling to her knees beside the desk, she reached under and felt for the clasp. Releasing it, she tried to catch the book but it fell to the floor. Cursing, she grabbed it and was about to leave when something caught her eye. A piece of paper she did not remember being with her efemira before. Falling back on her ankles, she grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it.
There, in Caelum's barely legible writing and terrible spelling, were scrawled the words:
Yarrow,
I am sorree. Plees forgiv mee. I kood not tel yu beecuz I am week. I wil allwaiz luv yu.
-Caelum
The sense of urgency that had propelled her and kept her going beyond sadness, the cotton wad of apathy she'd grabbed and pulled around herself like a cloak, both dropped from her then, and she let the tears spill forth. Sitting back, she curled up into a little ball, her hand closed around the note and crumpled it, and she wrapped her arms around her knees and shuddered with the force of her sobs.
"Caelum," she moaned, a pitiful sound, barely human. "You stupid feckless bastard!" In a sudden fit of anger she flung the note across the room. It hit the wall beside the door and landed unceremoniously to the floor.
She sobbed, long and deep. "Why do I have to love you?"
Lares
Lares was sitting beside Healer Ghia during the Birthright Ceremony. He'd grown rather fond of her, and had taken to shadowing her in uncertain circumstances -- much to her disgust, he knew. Regardless that, she was friendly enough with him, if maybe a bit more closed off than she'd been in Harbourtown.
Everyone was on guard constantly here in Atherton. Even more so now that the new Empress's decrees had been made.
When they were all dismissed, he and Ghia stood and waited for the aisle to be less crowded so they could leave.
"What are you up to now?" he asked her, sotto voce.
"Going to talk to Yarrow," she said, her voice the same level. Tension made ugly lines appear on her young face.
"Could be dangerous."
"Don't care. She's my friend." There was more to that statement, Lares could see, but she said nothing more.
"Alright, I'll go with you," he was about to say, when he noticed Jules walking up to the throne and bowing before the Empress. "I'll catch you up," he said instead to Ghia, and she disappeared into the now-smaller crowd exiting the throne room.
Pretending his boot laces were undone, Lares bent to re-lace them and cocked his ear to listen to the exchange at the head of the room.
"...our father has just died, most venerable Majesty, and so I am asking, on behalf of my sister the High Priestess Sarai and myself, for leave to Atton so we may perform the proper funerary rites."
There was a pause before Zardria gave a response; Lares moved to his other boot.
"As nicely as you ask, CMO Jules, I'm afraid I cannot let you or your sister leave at this time."
Lares glanced up at this; funerary rites were sacred, an important ritual whether they were in honour of Vulcanus or Muerta. Jules looked visibly agitated.
"Empress, if we don't do the proper rites with the whole family my father's soul may never get to the Sisters of Mercy. He could wander the earth, lost and hungry for all eternity."
"That's very sad, I'm sure, but I believe you were here when I declared primary worship to Umbra? Her rites are the only ones that you should concern yourself with, CMO. The Sisters of Mercy cannot do anything for you now. You are to stay here," and she said it with an air of finality, as if she'd ended the matter.
Jules took a deep breath and stepped back a bit before speaking. "With all due respect, Empress," he said, and started walking backwards down the aisle, "go feck yourself." He stormed out of the throne room.
Lares straightened then and walked towards the aisle, curtsied to the Empress, and headed to the door.
"Lares, is it?" the Empress asked.
Lares turned to face her and nodded. "Yes, your Majesty. How may I serve?"
"Lares, I want you to follow him, and keep him here in the castle. Use force if necessary."
Lares curtsied low in acquiescence. "Your wish is my command, your Majesty." Then Lares the Fop, back in full form, sashayed out of the throne room.
Jules
He couldn't believe himself. What on earth had possessed him to say that to the Empress?
"Am I insane?" he said out loud, and half-expected a voice in his head to answer him.
"Probably."
Jules jumped, and looked around. Behind him Lares was catching him up, and he sighed in relief. "Scared the starlights out of me. What are you doing?"
Lares looked at him calmly. Their pace did not slow as they walked down the hall. "The Empress has ordered me to keep you in the castle."
Jules' left hand drifted to his sword hilt. "And I suppose you're going to try. You'll have to use your blade to keep me from Atton, friend."
"Well," Lares said equably, his hand on his scimitar's hilt, "I had planned on a good sword-fight. But not with you," he added, and nodded to the end of the hall.
Several members of the twentieth regiment had stepped out from around the corner, swords drawn.
Shite.
The leader nodded at Jules as he and Lares slowed to a stop. "Nothin' personal, but we've been ordered to kill you."
Jules drew his sword and heard an answering song come from the steel as Lares drew his scimitar and short-blade. "Nothing personal, but I don't plan on letting you."
The leader shrugged and lunged then; Jules easily beat him back. He and his friends attacked at once then, and things got decidedly harder. The odds were against them, no matter how much better he and Lares were. Lares took on the three that attacked him, executing flawless dual-wielding maneuvers that the soldiers weren't expecting. Jules fought conventionally, but this did not put him at much of a disadvantage, as he was stronger and better than the women he fought and he fought dirty. Something as damned silly as honor is not going to get me killed now, he thought vehemently as he kneed the leader in the groin and punched another assailant in the face.
He glanced over and saw Lares disable one opponent with a slice to the back of the knees; the man fell screaming and Lares kicked his weapon away while parrying blows from the other two he fought.
His attention returned to the remaining three just in time to duck a blow from one of them. He punched the man in the stomach with all his might and the soldier crumpled to the floor, trying to breathe. A woman lunged at him and he knocked the sword out of her hand with a dazzling attack. He felt Lares back up into him then, and realised his friend was still engaged with the two he hadn't disabled. One of the men to the left of Jules attacked Lares, and the crippled leader and the woman he'd just disarmed got up and joined the fray again.
Six to two. Surrounded. Not good.
Jules was bleeding already from several wounds. Lares was undoubtedly suffering the same. They barely had the strength to continue. One more tired parry, another riposte -- their attackers saw they were weakening and were attacking harder now. "It has been an honour to fight beside you, Stout-Heart."
"The honour has been mine, Jules of Tania, and I am grateful to die by your side."
Wearily he parried another blow, but another hit on his rib cage. He hissed with pain and clutched his side. Looking up he could barely see for all the blood in his eyes. "Well," he said, letting his sword drop from tired fingers, "this is it, then."
The leader had a look of triumph on his face as he raised
his sword for the killing blow. Jules stood, swaying on his feet, and waited. He conjured up an image of Ghia in his mind's eye and held it, wanting her beauty to carry him to the Sisters of Mercy and the afterlife.
The leader swung his sword.
Before it connected, before Jules would fall to his knees, lifeless, a knife came sailing down the hall and landed Jules' executioner dead between the eyes. The man's head whipped back with the force of the throw as his sword fell from his hands and he dropped like a stone. A blur of red hair and silver steel came in then and cut down two more before she picked up Jules' sword and tossed it to him.
He caught it by the hilt and they both turned to help Lares, who was bleeding profusely from several wounds and just barely keeping off his attackers. "I've never been so happy to see you in my life, Ma'am," Jules said gratefully, a surge of new energy flooding him as his lady fought beside him.
Yarrow snorted as the three of them faced off the three remaining enemies. "I've never seen such shoddy fighting before, soldier. Mind telling me why you couldn't beat back soldiers of the twentieth regiment?" she asked, cutting down one more.
"Well, Ma'am," Jules said equably as the remaining two surrendered, dropping swords and falling to their knees, "they did outnumber us." He hit both women with his sword hilt, knocking them unconscious. "And we wanted to save a few for you."
Yarrow shrugged. "Whatever your reason -- I'm grateful for the chance to break in my new sword."
Jules raised his eyebrows in surprise as he cleaned and sheathed his own weapon, before helping his friend up and tending to Lares' wounds. "First Blood? Really?"
Lovingly she wiped down the blade of her sword. "Didn't draw any in Mudflat or Aeril. Haven't had a chance since. But now it's a weapon." She held it up to gaze at it, smiling that bellica's smile that fit her so well. Stripped of her rank or not, she was a warrior to the core. "So, CMO," she said, sheathing the blade she handled like a lover, "why were these arseholes trying to kill you?"
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