Bellica Read online

  "Bellica Anala! We ain't seen ye around for a while yet, girl! Reckon'd ya mighta forgotten us humble folk down in da kitchens."

  "Mmmfh," was Anala's dignified response, and a second later the cook's big, strong arms let her go and she was stumbling backwards, gasping for breath. Tenea let out a raucous laugh and patted Anala on the back, which did nothing to help her recover her lost breath. "Ye know, Tenea, if'n ye weren't me aunt, I'd be fit ta kill ye."

  Tenea laughed some more, unperturbed. Anala would never pull through on the threat. The bellica relaxed enough to chuckle a bit with her aunt, realizing that it was, after all, Midwinter Day and one for celebration, not one for being as stern as she usually was. She grinned and gestured for Tenea to lead her to a place where they could chat, namely the rough wooden table in the back of the kitchen, reserved for such a purpose.

  When they were somewhat comfortably seated on the two wooden stools at the table, Tenea started off the long-awaited chat with her niece. "Anala, ye came back on the thirteenth of Novena and ye haven't yet come to see me till now. Have ye forgotten yer family obligations?"

  Anala smiled politely. Getting home had not signalled an end to her work. The first night was spent with a few soldiers in her regiment whom the healers had deemed incapable of surviving the night. Anala sat vigil with them, staying with them until their last minutes, not even letting the healers take a look at her own injuries until each of her soldiers had passed. Then she'd had to inform the families of the deceased. She hadn't slept much. Her work had ended three days ago, and she'd just waked up from her rest at midday on Midwinter Eve. But there'd be no reason to be bothering me aunt with that, she decided. "Ah, but Aunt, I came only now outta respect for ye--I figured ye'd be busy enough with cooking for injured soldiers and the nobles without having me to deal with."

  Tenea gave her a mock-serious glare. "Anala, it'd be the biggest feast day o' the year today. I'd be busy now--just when ye decide to visit. Five days ago woulda been better." Anala shrugged. There was no longer anything she could do about it.

  Tenea had apparently come to the same conclusion, because now she was talking about all Anala had missed in the four months she'd been gone, an equal mix of news from the family in Harbourtown and the castle gossip. Anala listened politely, not caring much for the former, the latter interesting her only mildly. It pleased her aunt to talk about these things with one she could trust; so Anala humoured her.

  Something Tenea said sharpened Anala's interest, and she listened more attentively.

  "Tha' morning after ye arrived, in truth, one o' the Empress' guards came down with 'er morning meal, untouched, and said 'e'd been ordered ta make sure tha one who'd made tha meal ate it 'erself. Young girl, cannae recall 'er name--she'd been new ta the kitchens, ye ken--came forward. She ate the meal; woulda been done wit' it but the guard said the tea, as well. She drank the tea and it dinnae take more than a few seconds--dead, on tha floor, face pale, mouth foaming." Tenea paused and shuddered at the memory; Anala shared the reaction at the vision it conjured up. "The guard looked relieved." Tenea lowered her voice even more. "Like'n his life was hanging on the young cook's compliance, but we haven't seen 'im around for a while, neither. I dinnae ken who tol' her ta poison the empress' meal, but scuttlebutt says it'd be the treecat."

  Anala shivered. Everyone knew who the treecat was--servant's code for Zardria, the empreena everyone feared and silently loathed. Maybe not everyone, she thought, thinking of Yarrow. Anala didn't know where Yarrow stood with her sister. All evidence said that Zardria hated her twin with a passion, but maybe that was a ruse so Yarrow could win people's trust and then sell them out to her sister once they spilled their true feelings. Anala shook her head. If that was true, then Yarrow would have lost half her regiment already. Which she had, but only in battle.

  Besides, Anala had worked with Yarrow on numerous occasions and, while they didn't talk much anymore except to discuss battle plans, Anala had seen nothing but pain in Yarrow's eyes whenever the empreena was mentioned. More likely Yarrow loved Zardria and did not understand why her sister hated her so. Anala felt a pang for Yarrow, but still, she didn't trust the princess-turned-bellica.

  The bellica realised she'd been silent for a long time, Tenea just staring at her. She cleared her throat and hastily thought of something to say. "I'm sorry that ye lost a cook, Tenea, but I'd be a mite more grateful that ye dinnae lose yer own life."

  Tenea waved her hand, as if dismissing the issue. "Nae," she answered. "I let the empress give me a truth serum. I dinnae ken anything about it, so I stayed safe enough." Anala knew her aunt wasn't telling the whole truth, but she didn't press the issue. Tenea had her secrets, just like everyone else. The head cook respected her niece enough not to pry into the bellica's secrets; so Anala would return the courtesy.

  Suddenly remembering the second purpose of her visit to the kitchens, Anala reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a small wrapped gift. At Tenea's quizzical look, she blustered, suddenly embarrassed. "Jus' a small gift, that'd be all. Something for Midwinter, ye ken." A wide smile broke over Tenea's face as she started to undo the string that held the cloth on the gift. Anala held her breath, awaiting her aunt's reaction. She'd searched for this gift before leaving on the East Campaign, hiding it in her room and hoping she'd be alive and able to give it to her aunt when she got home--though, like every good bellica, she had a contingency plan for that possible outcome: Aro would have delivered the gift safely to Tenea, and if not he, then Fanchone, her Chief Medical Officer. A small cry of delight escaped her aunt's lips as she took the wrapping off and saw her gift: a small vial filled with a clear fluid, attached to a chain so she could wear it as a necklace.

  To anyone else, the gift might have seemed strange, but Anala knew her paranoid aunt would appreciate a poison detector. Whenever poisoned food got near the vial, the liquid inside turned red. It was a rare gift, and difficult to find even in apothecary shops, but Anala had persevered, wanting the perfect, most practical gift for her aunt this Midwinter.

  Looks like me perseverance paid off, she thought, as usual. Remembering her other obligations, she got up to go, but not before pulling the other gift from her belt pouch and placing it on the table. Tenea frowned. "Anala, ye've already gotten me the best gift ye could've. What more could I possibly want?"

  Anala shook her head. "It'd be from Ghia in the hospitalis, Aunt. She reckoned that it was a complement to what the empress had given ye." Tenea turned pale and nearly dropped the vial, but caught herself in time. Concerned, Anala grabbed her shoulder. "Aunt? What's the matter?"

  Tenea gave her a shaky smile. "Nothing'd be the matter, child. Let's see what Ghia saw fit to give me, shall we?" She reached out and grabbed the gift, her hands shaking as she pulled off the wrapping. Anala was still concerned, but she respected her aunt's privacy as usual and said nothing.

  The wrapping came away and revealed a jar of some sort of ointment. Confused, Anala came to her aunt's side of the table to read the label. Written in Ghia's neat handwriting was one sentence--a prescription of sorts.

  Healing salve--for your back.

  Ghia

  At once Anala understood. The truth serum would have revealed more than just her aunt's ignorance of the poison. It would have also revealed Tenea's true feelings about the dead Queen's sister--and that would have earned her the death sentence from the capricious and fickle woman who held the Sceptre. Whatever had spared her that hadn't spared her the lashing she'd obviously received. Anala's face tightened in anger. She had never agreed with the Empress' decisions as ruler, and less so Zardria's. Today their malice had hit Anala where she lived. Someone had to stop them. Or die trying, she thought vehemently.

  Looking down at her aunt, who was smiling at Ghia's gift, she realised that it could not be she. She had too much at stake.

  She sighed, realizing her time with her aunt had gone far past the time she could spare. She bent down and kissed Tenea on the cheek. "Bye, Aunt. I'd best be go
ing now."

  Tenea smiled at her. "Thank ye kindly fer stopping by, Dear. Tell me how the feast is, ye ken?" Anala nodded and turned to go, but her aunt grabbed her and held her fast. "And...and tell Ghia I be sending me thanks, alright?" Anala nodded again, slowly, and left. She'd be giving the healer her thanks as well.

  Jules

  Jules awoke to the weak winter sunlight filtering through the curtains, hitting him square on the face.

  He groaned and turned his face away, but regretted the movement immediately as his head pounded and a rush of nausea swept over him. He probably groaned again, but he wasn't sure.

  What had he done last night? He didn't even remember getting back to his rack--he didn't remember anything past the tavern.

  One eye shot open in realisation. He couldn't be in his rack, for there was no window by it. And this mattress was far more comfortable than his lumpy one at the castle. And the pillow, too. Also, it smelled different: his own pillow smelled like, well, him. This one smelled like....

  Pungent herbs mixed with the smell of freshly milled soap and a hint of eau du taproom. Ghia.

  He scrambled to sit up and clutched his head, then pressed a hand to his mouth to keep the nausea at bay. Gingerly he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge, head in hands, a familiar position. Why was he in Ghia's bed? Where was Ghia?

  The bed was empty save for him, but that didn't mean much. What had he done last night?

  Quickly he glanced around the room, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the healer curled up peacefully on a chair not a metre away, wrapped in a housecoat and snoring softly. He sent a silent prayer of thanks that he'd not spent Midwinter Eve drunkenly debauching his young friend. That would be unlivable.

  If ever I were to debauch her--which would never, ever happen, but still.... If it did. I would want to be fully sober. He allowed himself a small smile at this thought, for it remained fully in the realm of wishful thinking.

  A draft alerted him to the fact that he wore nothing but underclothes, and he frowned. Had Ghia undressed him too? There were his boots, by the foot of the bed. Another chair held his breeches and jerkin, folded neatly. His shirt was nowhere to be seen.

  The sound of movement made him look back to Ghia, who was stirring now. She stretched and yawned, then opened her eyes sleepily, like a cat waking from a nap in a sunbeam.

  "Good Goddess," she said, looking at the sun. "What time is it?" He winced at the volume of her voice, and she laughed softly. "Sorry," she whispered, and got up from the chair. "I'll get you some tea."

  "Thank you," he tried to say, but his voice came out a croak. Before he could correct it she was gone from the room.

  He was left to sit with his pounding headache and an inability to form coherent thought, but not for long. Within minutes Ghia was back, a stoneware mug in her hands. Gratefully he accepted the warm mug from her and took a sip; then grimaced.

  "I'll never get used to that taste." His voice was working a bit better.

  She quirked her mouth in a half smile. "It's supposed to kill your desire to drink, Jules. That's why it tastes so bad."

  "Guess I'm a slow learner," he said, smiling back.

  She shook her head with a soft chuckle, then walked to a dresser against the wall. "We've missed the morning meal and almost all of dinner," she said as she pulled some clothing out of the dresser. "Of course, so did most of the patrons." She turned and chucked something at him, which he just barely caught. He looked at the piece of linen clothing in bewilderment. She smirked at his scramble and confusion. "Fresh underclothes, Jules. I washed your shirt last night; you can borrow these for however long."

  "Ghia," he said, putting the clothing to the side so he could finish his tea, "Why do you have men's underclothing?" Granted, it wasn't much different from women's underclothing, but still...a puzzlement.

  She shrugged as she pulled a work-peplos from her closet. "Better person to ask would be Kasandra. I don't know why she has them lying around either." She flashed him another smile and left the room.

  "You didn't really answer my question, Wench," he called after her.

  "I know," came from the hallway, and he laughed.

  Left to his own devices, he finished his tea quickly, for it was working already. His headache was nearly gone, and his stomach had settled down considerably. He walked to the window to see what view Ghia had. He'd never been in her room before.

  One could see most of Atherton from this spot. He'd known the Cauldron was one of the tall buildings in town, but not that it had such a good view. He could see beyond the street called The Tracks, in the poor quarter of town, but everything looked sparkly and clean as the entire city was covered in snow this morning. North, he could see the towering buildings that made up the Temple complex; beyond, the castle loomed up even higher. He could just barely make out the taller buildings of the richer area of town: the Clinic, L'escuela, and a few houses that no doubt belonged to wealthy merchant families. He couldn't see the East or South Gates, but the North and West ones stood out, open to commerce from the city beyond the city walls.

  Impressive. We must be on the fourth floor, he thought as he moved away from the window, then frowned. Had Ghia dragged him up four flights of stairs? Why not just leave me in the taproom? Or kick me outside. And why give me her bed and take the chair? And go to the trouble of washing my shirt and taking off my boots? It's so much work.

  Jules didn't like the thought of anyone inconveniencing herself over him. Especially not a friend like Ghia. Goddess knew she had enough things to take care of without worrying about him.

  As if summoned by his thought she walked back into the room, dressed now and with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, looking almost dark brown instead of red. As she got closer he saw it was still wet, and surmised she was an incredibly quick bather.

  She shrugged, as if to answer what he didn't say out loud. "I prefer my showers cold," she said, and tossed him a few more pieces of cloth: his shirt and a fresh towel. Before he could ask anything she was talking a kilometre a second, giving him directions to the showers so he could bathe himself and telling him when dinner would be finished so he didn't miss any food, all the while never stopping her movements about the room, pulling linens out of cupboards and placing them on top of the dresser before stripping the bed.

  "Ghia," he said, unable to keep up with the bustling girl. "Slow down. How many cups of tea have you had?"

  She gave him an innocent look that was anything but. "Only three. Now, I have to get to work so I can get off in time for my shift at the hospitalis. Are you going to be alright?" She was already halfway to the door, dirty linens in one hand, clean in the other.

  "As soon as you tell me why you bothered to drag me up four flights of stairs when you could have just left me on the taproom floor," he said. She stopped short, back still to him.

  "Bad for business," she said, but he knew it was a truth that lied to cover up another truth.

  "Then you could have kicked me outside and left me to sleep with my horse."

  She turned around then, her face incredulous. "You really think the heir to the title of Head Healer would leave someone in a drunken coma out in the cold so he could freeze to death? Are you sure you're okay, Jules?"

  He met her eyes unflinchingly. "Don't dance with me, Healer. We both know there's something you're not telling me--why did you stay the night with me?"

  She glared at him and her mouth hardened into a thin line, but he didn't back down. "Aside from your nightmare, waking me up in the middle of the night from my comfy sleep in the room next, where I had a warm bed, and your staying calm only when I was near you," she said, and he flushed, "there was a spy here last night. I'm pretty sure she followed Yarrow and Caelum. If she had an accomplice, there was no way I was leaving you alone to the wolves."

  Jules felt the air knocked out of him. Sure, he knew there were spies and assassins of the Empress everywhere, but it just hadn't been brought home
to him until now that they might show interest in him.

  But of course they would. I'm Yarrow's CMO and it's no secret Empreena Zardria wants her sister destroyed.

  "We need to warn them," he said flatly.

  She nodded once. "Yes. We do. But we're taking our time. Haste will garner further suspicion. See you in the taproom," she added, and was gone.

  By all the fires of Tyvian. Jules felt like punching something in self-disgust. I spend the night getting so drunk I can't take care of myself and Ghia--whose life shouldn't have such cares, so early--has to remind me that all of our lives are at risk. No one was safe from the Secret Police--especially not the officers of the first regiment.

  With a sigh, he picked up his clothing and towel and headed downstairs to the showers. Looked as if Midwinter Eve was to be his last carefree night. Not that it had been particularly carefree, at that.

  ~

  He took his time riding back to the castle, as per Ghia's suggestion. Perhaps it was an order. He held no illusions as to who outranked whom, no matter what wartime protocol might dictate.

  During dinner she'd asked him to take care of some errands for her aunt, and told him she'd go to the castle first and try to get a message to Caelum and Yarrow.

  "I'm working this afternoon anyway, so it won't look strange," she'd whispered to him as she'd served him in the taproom. "If you hurry back, questions will be asked."

  She was right, as usual; so he'd done the shopping Kasandra had required, making his way back through the back paths wending through the middle-class areas of town.

  He found himself on Temple Avenue, when his war-mare, Suki, stopped and whinnied. He chuckled softly. "You're smarter than I give you credit for, girl." The horse tossed her head as if to say "Well, of course!"