by A K Fedeau
“Good.” Livia stroked his temples. “Where are you?”
“In the bath beside our room.”
“What do you see?”
“Your face.”
“What else?”
“The water.” Marcus stared at his palm. “My fingers.”
“How many?”
“Five.”
“That’s right.” Livia kissed his forehead, then massaged his cheekbones with her thumbs. “Can you feel anything?”
Marcus patted Livia’s knuckles. “Your hands are warm.”
“You’re with me.” Livia scooped Marcus into her arms. “You’re safe.”
“I’m sorry.” Marcus swiped at his flushed cheek. “I…”
“You didn’t want to disturb me. I know.”
They sat in silence for a minute, and Livia tucked Marcus’ nose in the crook of her neck.
“I should go back to bed.” Marcus pulled away. “This has gone on too long.”
“Hush.” Livia furrowed her eyebrows. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Livia straightened her legs out and guided Marcus’ head to her lap, and once he’d settled into her thighs, she scratched the cowlick on his crown. Slowly but surely, Marcus’ cheeks cooled as the panic went out of his eyes - and after another quiet moment, he sighed a long, sorrowful sigh.
“How long are you going to keep looking after me like this?” He asked.
“As long as you appreciate it.”
“You’ve got a long, miserable life ahead of you.”
“You and I have different ideas of ‘miserable.’” Livia smoothed down his hair. “Now, let me guess. You had a bad dream.”
Marcus looked away. “I did.”
“The same one as usual?”
“No. I’ve never had this one before.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Livia tucked a stray lock behind Marcus’ ear. “Maybe you’ll get some meaning out of it.”
“I know exactly what it meant.”
“Go on. Tell me anyway.”
Marcus paused and mulled it over - and then, hesitantly, he began.
“Well… I was back in the Severin snowfields.”
Livia nodded. “Right.”
“It was exactly like the battles I saw at the beginning of the war.” Marcus stared at the mural on the ceiling as he talked. “I haven’t fought in the field in years. I don’t know why I’d have a dream about it now. But it was all there, just like I remember.”
Livia murmured, “Go on.”
“I was running, and these soldiers fell around me, left and right - and they were closing in, but I didn’t have a sword to defend myself.” Marcus paused. “Does this make any sense to you?”
“Sure. You feel helpless in your waking life.”
“Maybe.” Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat. “Anyway, soon the ground became so thick with men, I couldn’t run. I had to stumble over them one by one. My feet were sinking in the snow.”
“Were you going somewhere?”
“That’s the thing that bothered me. I don’t know.” Marcus’ speech became slower and calmer as he talked. “But soon I saw Hector, standing all the way at the end of the field - and through the dark, his head was glowing. He was wearing that bright, golden crown.”
Livia’s stomach sank, but she stayed quiet, and kept listening.
“So I… uh… I walked closer to him, and I opened my mouth and bellowed. I was screaming. I mean, really screaming. I don’t even remember what I said.” Marcus stopped to pinch the bridge of his nose, then went on. “But no matter how loud I yelled, the words came out of me like mud. My voice was muffled and slow, and Hector just shook his head and laughed.”
Livia chewed the corner of her lip, and still, she said nothing.
“Until finally, he asked me, ‘What are you going to do about it?’” Marcus hushed. “So I grabbed his sword - and ripped it off his belt - and ran him through.”
Livia’s eyes widened, and she peeked over her shoulder out of instinct.
“I pulled the bloodied sword out and shoved it in again. I was angry. I was just so angry.” Marcus inhaled deeply through his nose. “And I thought about you, and every soldier I’ve had to write a letter for. I couldn’t stop.” He rubbed his eyelids. “I wanted him to feel every one.”
Livia lingered on his words until they curled in the pit of her gut, and grew first into a malaise, then a full-blown sense of dread.
Marcus let his hand drop, then glanced up at her. “Livia?”
“Come on.” Livia eased his head off her lap. “Let’s go back to bed.”
CHAPTER 12
Lady X,
Mother Clementia just finished telling me what happened to Pontifex Florian, and I’ll say to you what I said to her: I knew I never liked him. Now I’m hearing that some Carpathian nobles have been arrested at court. It must be scary to be a courtier these days. You never know who’s leaving next. Meanwhile, you’d have no idea that any of it is happening out here. All we have to worry about is that the weather’s getting cold.
I don’t see why the Church doesn’t release reports every year, so everyone can see where they get their coin and what they spend it on. It should only be unpopular with people who have something to hide. Which I guess is most of them, or at least most of the ones close to the top. Mother Clementia’s told me some chilling stories about what goes on at the Grand Temple.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be queen. I don’t see how it would be possible. I hope that’s not what you’re trying to do. I don’t want you to get in trouble. But if somehow I were, I hope I’d do a decent job. It’s what my family would have wanted, and it’s the least their memory deserves. Sometimes I get so frustrated that the provinces don’t just talk. I know it’s not that simple, but it should be. It should at least be worth a try.
Most of all, I’d like to be able to visit you someday. Mother Clementia said you came to visit, but you left before we could meet. I miss the smell of the harbor, and the color the marble pillars turn at sunset. It’s not bad here. It’s just the same. Rosemary and history, day in, day out.
Whenever you get this letter, I hope you’re well, and that your friend is, too. Well, Mother Clementia tells me you’re more than friends, but I’ll leave it at that.
Your friend,
Artemisia
P.S. I hope you can read this letter all right. Mother Clementia’s teaching me the cipher. It took me FOREVER to write it out.
High in the palace dovecote, Livia read Artemisia’s letter back to front, then tucked it in the middle of the cipher book in her lap.
Pigeons of every color around her flapped their wings and squawked, and pecked the labels on their cages that said where they could go. Courier posts - military stations - noble houses in other lands - and one from an old, unlabeled cage, cooing beside her skirt.
Livia set the book down and stuck the pigeon in its nest, then watched it fluff itself as she latched the unlabeled cage shut. When she stood, she shook the feathers off her hem and grabbed the book, and started down the spiral stairs.
Well, Mother Clementia wasn’t wrong.
•••
Livia sauntered through the hazy morning with the book under her arm, then took a detour through the sculpture garden that lay just off the hall.
She wandered under the laurel trees and down the paving stones, and she studied the white marble statues. A warrior. A girl bending to fix her shoe. A trio of old philosophers with beards and flowing robes, and Mira holding a lyre over a square reflecting pool.
But when she rounded the corner and passed the labyrinth, she spied Lady Camilla walking through the manicured shrubs.
Livia ducked behind the nearby oleander bush, and grabbed the pair of pruning shears lying beside it on the bench. She raised her head just high enough to peer over the leaves - and saw a uniformed man follow Camilla down the garden path.
The man caught up to her, then said something to her and took her hand, and Li
via squinted at him through the leaves to size him up. Tall. Lean. A strong nose. Short, curly, light brown hair. Who is that? Livia asked herself, as the man raised Camilla’s hand - and when he stepped forward and raised his voice, Camilla snapped something back.
Livia’s eyes widened. She gripped the shears. She held her breath. With one more exhortation, the man kissed Camilla’s palm. Camilla recoiled, then ran away, her skirts bunched in her fists - and the man stood there for a moment before he walked away alone.
•••
“Why do we always seem to talk here in the armory?” Marcus asked.
“I’m a blacksmith’s daughter. I can’t help it. I like to come here to think.”
The same morning, Marcus strolled through the palace armory, down rows of polished armor and glass cases of gold dress swords. A woman about his age walked beside him in a matching uniform, with broad shoulders and honey blonde hair in a side-braided bun.
“Have you heard anything about Ciacco?”
“I just got a letter, actually.” Ligari admired the bright red crest of a helmet on a wooden head. “He’s coming home. They’re not having much luck at the field hospital.”
“I hope he’s not getting worse.”
“No. But he’s not getting better, either. They want the royal physician to take a look at him. See what she can figure out.”
Ligari left the helmet alone and moved to the next display, where an old king’s ceremonial armor gleamed atop a model horse.
“What… exactly happened?” Marcus asked.
“They didn’t tell you?”
“No. All I know is he was injured in an ambush at Hulder’s Rock.”
“You didn’t write to the others?”
“I did, but Plautius and Dido were vague.”
“Hrm.” Ligari frowned. “That’s strange. I thought they trusted you.”
“No, I don’t hold it against them.” Marcus shook his head. “You know how many spies there are on the southern courier routes.”
A pair of dressing maids passed by the open doorway, tittering as they carried laundry baskets on their hips.
“Well…” Ligari said, and paused to organize her thoughts - “the way I understand it, it happened in the middle of the night.”
Marcus propped his elbow on the nearby case as he listened.
“One of the guards excused himself and saw them coming up the mountain pass. He ran in. Tried to wake people up.” Ligari planted her hands on her hips. “Before he could get far, they were on them. Most of it happened in the dark. They picked off nearly half the fort before our troops beat them back.”
Marcus grimaced. “That’s a lot of officer casualties.”
“I know.”
“And Ciacco?”
“They stormed his room. Stabbed him while he reached for his sword.”
Marcus mulled it over.
“Wait a minute.”
Ligari’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Hulder’s Rock was a covert outpost. They shouldn’t have known we were there.”
“I know,” Ligari began…
“Not only that, it’s in the east. What’s he doing that far from the front?”
“He sent the new troops toward the capital. He’s not pushing into the highlands.”
Marcus stood up straight. “The Jormund capital?”
Ligari straightened up, too. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Ligari glanced around with a puzzled face, but didn’t answer him.
“I mean, we’ve never had to go there except to meet with King Torvald.”
“I don’t know.” Ligari shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
A brief, awkward silence fell, and Marcus stewed everything over again.
“Have you told His Majesty about this?”
Ligari quirked her eyebrows. “Not yet.”
“Do me a favor.” Marcus hushed. “Don’t.”
“Ciacco already sent his report.”
“If we have an intelligence breach, I think we’d better handle it ourselves. Find the source. Take care of it. Quietly.” Marcus leaned in close. “If somebody turned one of our officers, and it hurt the high general… and Hector finds out about it?” He paused. “I’m not sure how he’ll react.”
“What, diplomatically?” Ligari lowered her voice, too. “He couldn’t make things any worse.”
“I don’t want to see how he proves you wrong.”
Ligari sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”
At that instant, a servant came in with polish and a brush, and knelt in front of the spear rack in the corner of the room.
“Well…” Ligari turned on her heel and started toward the doorway - “I hope you get your letter soon. We could use you back at the front.”
“Really?”
“Are you kidding?” Ligari shot Marcus an encouraging smile. “You’re those troops’ beloved uncle. They’d follow you anywhere.”
Marcus gave her a peculiar look. “Anywhere?”
Ligari returned the look. “Yes… why?”
Marcus shook it off, then stared into space. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Eight years is a long time, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Ligari blinked - then bowed her head. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
•••
Splash!
Livia stepped into the palace’s great underground bath, and the water lapped at her shoulders as its green reflection played on her face.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the rising steam, then sat down on the mosaic step inlaid with waves and shells. She reached over and grabbed her bath sponge, then a bar of lemon-thyme soap, and lathered up, set the soap aside, and scrubbed her neck and arms.
And as she rinsed the sponge, she heard a familiar voice from the stairs.
“Room for one more?”
Livia glanced over her shoulder. “What if I said no?”
“I’d wonder what I did wrong, and leave.”
“You poor, sensible boy.” Livia patted the marble on the pool’s edge. “Come over here. Keep me company.”
Marcus stepped through the doorway, and let out a weary sigh as he smelled the soap and bath salts.
“It’s amazing what you start to miss when you’ve been gone for months.”
“Try never having any of it, then getting it all at once.” Livia lathered the sponge again and washed her chest this time. “When I first came to court, I rubbed my knees and elbows raw. I was bathing twice a day. I’d never had so much soap in my life.”
“And now it’s second nature to you.” Marcus sat on the tile. “You weren’t like that when we met, were you?”
“I was.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
Marcus pulled his leather boots off, and Livia soaped under her arms.
“What’s the matter, though? Don’t they have decent soap in Jormunthal?”
“Not at the outposts.” Marcus unfastened the pins on his tunic sleeves. “The Jormunds themselves are clean. Hector just doesn’t want you to know that. Even the peasants have combs and boiling water.”
“They’re not still trying ‘the Jormunds don’t bathe,’ are they?”
“You know how propaganda is. They’ll keep using it if it still works.” Marcus unfastened his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. “We say the Jormunds don’t bathe. They say Histrians bathe too much. We all have three beautiful maids to wash us, apparently. Did you know that?”
Livia snickered. “No, I didn’t.”
Marcus feigned surprise. “Neither did I.”
“Sorry, all you’ve got is me.”
“Livia, I couldn’t handle three of you.”
Marcus lifted his turtleneck and wriggled out of the sleeves, and Livia slid over and folded her arms on the edge of the pool.
“You know, I got a letter from our friend today,�
�� she said.
Marcus squirmed out of the turtleneck. “Oh?”
“I think when all of this is over, she’s going to need a little help.”
“Is she naive?”
“Very.”
“Well, look at it this way.” Marcus scowled and patted down his hair. “You can educate a naive leader. You can’t save a rotten one.”
“Those are fighting words for a morning bath.”
“Sorry.” Marcus smoothed the back of his head. “Ligari’s back to confer with Hector. I had kind of a strange talk with her.”
“What about?”
“Uh…” Marcus fell silent, and mulled over his words - “She told me Ciacco’s coming home. He’s not doing well at the field hospital.”
“Huh.” Livia planted her chin on the tile. “That should be interesting. Everyone’s been peculiar since the Beauregards left.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I saw Lady Camilla this morning.”
Marcus eyed her with interest. “Go on.”
“She was with a man in the sculpture garden.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”
“But not Hector.”
“No.”
Marcus shed his socks. “What did he look like?”
“Tall. Lean. A strong nose. Short, curly light brown hair.” Livia listed the traits off as she remembered them. “He was in a captain’s uniform, but I couldn’t tell anything else. They talked. He kissed Camilla’s hand, and then she ran away.”
A heavy silence fell - before Marcus flatly said, “Ah.”
“What?”
“I think you just answered the question you asked a few weeks ago.”
Marcus lifted his hips, then slid out of his leggings and shorts, and Livia admired his nakedness with a fond, familiar glance.
“Have you heard of Demetrio Cavarossi?”
Livia wrinkled her nose. “No.”
“All right. Don’t tell anyone I told you this.”
“Obviously not.”
Livia sat up and let the water carry her away from the edge, and Marcus hoisted himself forward and slipped into the pool.
“Many years ago, before the throne was even a twinkle in Hector’s eye…” Marcus sank up to his ribs, but kept his arm draped on the side - “Camilla and Demetrio were lovers.”