Bellica Page 8

  "Bellica Yarrow, if you insist on continually disobeying my direct order, I shall have to write you up," she said, arms akimbo, a stern look on her face that didn't match the message in her eyes.

  Yarrow looked half mad, her hair unbound and frizzy where it had dried, shadows under her eyes, her cheeks hollow and her frame more gaunt than usual. Something was wrong, Ghia realised belatedly. The bellica looked as if she might attack Ghia right then, but apparently thought better of it. "I need hangover tea," she said. Her voice sounded like a tree branches scratching against a window in a winter gale.

  Ghia seized her opportunity. "Of course. Come into my office."

  The healer felt a frisson of fear run down her spine as she turned her back on the feral-looking Yarrow, but she didn't let it show. She led the way to Helene's office and bid the bellica close the door behind them.

  "I thought you kept tea in the cabinets out there," Yarrow said with a curt movement of her head meant to encompass the whole hospitalis.

  "I do. A spy followed you and Caelum from the tavern last night," Ghia replied, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

  Yarrow's eyes narrowed as she regarded Ghia anew. "I know. How do you?"

  "Not hard to figure out when said spy used to be assigned to this very hospitalis and is naught more than ten years old," Ghia said equably, looking through the cabinets in Helene's office that held stronger cures. Finding the one she sought, she turned and gave it to Yarrow. "Here's some stronger tea than the usual fare; I think you may need it. I hope, Bellica, that no great damage was done," she added, hand lingering on the box of tea.

  Yarrow looked from the tea between their hands to Ghia's face, the expression on her face saying she did not know whether to trust Ghia or not. Though the healer's fingertips were on Yarrow's skin she could not see exactly what had happened; the bellica was very good at burying her thoughts deeply.

  The hollow-eyed face frowned. "Thank you, Healer." Ghia removed her hand, knowing the conversation was over.

  "I'll see you at the banquet, Bellica."

  Yarrow paused, her hand on the still closed door. "Will you?" she asked, barely a whisper, and then she was gone.

  Ghia swallowed the sudden lump of fear in her throat. What had been exchanged last night? And why did she sense such a terrible, murderous anger in the bellica?

  Anala

  Anala stepped out of her bathroom draped in nothing but a towel. Her dark hair clung wetly to her skull and shoulders, and she was late for the banquet. Not that it mattered. Hardly anyone would arrive on time, especially not nobles or courtiers. Ranking officers were usually the first ones there.

  She sighed and rummaged through her closet. She hated court functions. She went only if required, usually dragged by Aro. But at least I ken the food will be good. Reaching into the back of her closet she found her one court peplos. Formal uniform was required at military banquets, but this banquet had a dual purpose -- it was celebratory of Midwinter as well. As good an excuse as any ta wear this ancient rag, she thought as she tossed it on the bed. I'll not ever have another like it, she mused, fingering the precious Nucalif embroidery. Hastily she dried herself and wrapped her hair in her towel. On cue with her nudity, there was a knock on the door.

  "Who is it?" she called.

  "It's me," Aro's voice responded. "You decent?"

  "Innae moment, ken," she said as she stepped back into the bathroom. A quick rub of deodorant, dash back to bed, peplos over head and pulled down. "Come in!"

  Aro stepped through her door, dressed in his court clothing, which was, honestly, not that different from his formal uniform. Unlike the male courtiers, he wore a shirt and jacket with his dress fustanella. Seeing her hair in a towel, he frowned. "You're not ready."

  She shrugged and in one fluid motion flipped the towel off her head and tied her hair tightly back in its customary club.

  "Now I am," she said, passing Aro as she went out the door.

  He shook his head and followed, closing the door behind them.

  ~

  The walk to the banquet hall was a long one, giving Anala a chance to collect her thoughts. Her meeting with her aunt had troubled her; as a consequence she'd spent most of her bathing staring into space, until the water turned cold.

  Trouble was, she could see no solution to the problem--no solution she could implement, at any rate. She was tied to her family, small it may be, and therefore limited in what she could do. It was obvious Athering needed a revolution. Her aunt was not the only victim of Zanny's cruelty, not by far. Zardria would be far worse, she knew, when the empreena took the Sceptre next year.

  She would help when the time came. She just didn't know how much she could do, which made her feel helpless--a feeling she loathed.

  "Same arrangement as usual?" Aro's question cut through her musings.

  She nodded. "Always."

  "You'll not improve your accent if you never--"

  "--speak," she finished. "I'm not of a mind ta be improving it, Aro." They were at a level of familiarity where she could play out their conversations in her mind before they had them.

  He shrugged. They had argued this many times before. Neither of them had any more investment in it.

  They reached the banquet hall doors, giant heavy things, carved from deathtree, depicting a scene whose history no one knew any more. They'd been there since the Second Age, and how they'd been lifted into the castle and into place was anyone's guess.

  Aro and Anala paused outside the doors. This'd be it, Anala, she thought. Courage. And dinnae go losing yer temper. It wouldnae do.

  She felt a hand on the nape of her neck and looked at Aro quizzically. He moved his hand away hastily.

  "Your hair is still wet," he said by way of an answer.

  She nodded, but as he reached for the door, she noticed his hand was dry.

  ~

  Anala had been right. She and Aro were among the first to arrive, despite the fact the banquet had been due to begin an hour earlier. She shook her head incredulously and headed to her designated table. She had no desire to mingle.

  Scanning the hall for who was there, she was surprised to note Bellica Yarrow hadn't arrived yet. Strange. Usually she'd be the first here.

  She took her seat on a klina and Aro followed, taking a seat beside her. She gestured, saying he could mingle if he wanted to. He shook his head and stayed next to her.

  This was another of their constant conversations.

  The doors opened and heads turned; on seeing it was Ghia deHelene, most turned back to their business. Anala caught her eye and waved her over.

  Ghia was one of the few people Anala felt comfortable speaking to--somehow Anala knew that Ghia had never thought less of her because of her accent. "I woulda thought ye mother'd be here tonight, Healer," she said as the girl approached them.

  Ghia shrugged. "She hates court, and says I'll have to deal with it when I'm in her place, so better I get used to it now." She rolled her eyes. "How fares your Midwinter, Bellica, Major?" she said, abruptly changing the subject.

  "Uneventful," the two of them answered in unison. "As usual," Aro continued.

  Ghia smiled. "Well, that's a Midwinter I wish for. Count your blessings."

  "We do," Anala said.

  Ghia nodded and turned to go. Anala caught her arm, and the healer turned back to them. "Yes?"

  Anala dropped her voice. "Me aunt sends her thanks for yer gift," she said. Ghia nodded. "As do I," she continued. She let go of Ghia's arm and sat back.

  "Happy Midwinter, Bellica, Major," Ghia said by way of farewell, before turning to find her table.

  Aro raised his eyebrows at Anala. When she said nothing, he shrugged and dropped it.

  Noticing a servant, Anala signalled the girl over. "Sangria?" Aro asked. She nodded. There was no need for him to ask her anymore, just as she didn't need to ask what his order would be--nonalcoholic shandygaff. It was simply a formality.

  He gave the girl their drink order an
d they sat back to wait. The banquet wouldn't begin till the empress and empreena arrived. They had a while.

  Zameera

  Within her rooms she paced and fumed.

  It had taken almost too much energy to get her message through to the priestess. Now she waited for what seemed like an eternity for contact to be made between the priestess and Muerta--and for the Queen to be called to talk through the goddess. It had happened, from time to time--the Mighty Dead were allowed to get messages back to the living. No one had ever told her how damned hard it would be.

  She'd spent too many years in the Underworld without doing anything, feeling helpless to watch as her daughter ruined her country.

  Yarrow should have been born first. Zameera had always known that--could see early on that Zardria had inherited too much of Maurice ever to become a good ruler. Had she not been so shortsighted, so foolish, she would have lived long enough to groom her second daughter to challenge Zardria legally when the time came.

  But the little cat killed me before I had a chance. Damn the clarity the afterlife gave her! Clarity and no power.

  Almost no power. She could still make contact with the priestess. She hoped.

  She kept pacing, waiting for Muerta to call her.

  Jules

  As a consequence of visiting Sarai, Jules was late to the banquet. Yet, as usual, he was among the first there.

  Usually his visits with his sister left him feeling light, as if his troubles had been lifted and he'd returned to a time before their mother's death. This visit had left his thoughts and heart heavy.

  It was the reading, centrally--not so much what his sister said as what she didn't say. She'd gone into detail on the second and third cards. While Jules was happy to know his love life would improve (what other way could it go?), and unsurprised to hear the cards speak of his nightmares (soldier back from war: not exactly alchemy to figure that out), he could tell his sister was covering up something: the other five cards.

  He knew a bit about Aradia's Deck, the oracle employed by the priestess of the order. The deck had been around since the First Age, when Aradia of the Stars had bequeathed it to the people of Athering. The seven-card reading was known as the Mirrors reading, and showed what in the world at large would reflect directly on the querent.

  What he didn't know were the interpretations--what the cards meant. Such information belonged to the Mysteries of the Order. That's what worried him.

  All his sister had said of the five remaining cards was that the future Athering feared would come to pass and that he would have to make some choices. Which means what, exactly? he'd asked her.

  She'd frowned and shook her head. The cards are shutting me out, Brother. They won't say.

  This Jules knew to be horse manure. Sarai was trying to protect him from the knowledge, a trait she'd picked up from their mother that infuriated him.

  Trying not to linger on the reading, as he knew it would do no good, he scanned the hall for his table. Tables, he mentally corrected. As CMO of the first regiment, he had a choice of sitting with the Healers or the ranking officers of the first through third regiments.

  Surprisingly enough, Yarrow wasn't at their table, nor Caelum. He felt a tightening in his gut, and hoped her absence was mere tardiness. Anala and Aro were there, early as usual, and Anita and Leala had apparently just arrived. The healers' table held Ghia, Giselle, Jera, and a few healers Jules didn't know by name.

  While he stood deliberating there was a slam as the door to the hall shut again, and soon Jules saw Fanchone sit down with his bellica at the officers' table.

  That settles that, then, Jules thought as he made his way to the healers' table. Anything to avoid the stuffy and arrogant CMO of the second regiment.

  Ghia nodded at his approach and made to rise, but he waved at her, bidding her stay seated. "You hardly need to rise for me, Healer," he said with a smile.

  She ignored him and stood anyway. There was a scraping of klinae on the floor as the other healers followed her lead. "I thought you military types were suckers for protocol, Chief," she said with a saucy grin.

  He shook his head and took his seat, and the healers followed suit a moment later. "I hope someday this will be the other way around," he said with a gruff sigh.

  Ghia inclined her head. "As do we all, Chief." She must have given some sort of signal, for a second later Jera and Giselle were involved in a loud conversation and Ghia was whispering to Jules under the noisy cover. "Yarrow and Caelum are fine, but mayhap not with each other," she said, her lips barely moving, though he heard her loud and clear. "I'm not sure what happened, but I think they had a large row; Yarrow's too angry to speak, and Caelum's moping."

  Jules nodded, his gut tightening further. He was sure he knew what that fight was about: Yarrow must have confessed to Caelum. I should have talked to her, he thought with regret. Before he could ask Ghia about the spy, a servant was at his elbow and their conversation lulled while he gave his drink order. They stayed silent until the drink came back. When the servant was far away he dared to speak. Jera and Giselle kept up their cover and he silently blessed the close-knit nature of healers.

  "And of the spy?" he asked, his cup in front of his lips.

  Ghia shrugged. "Not in the hospitalis anymore; I daresay she's reported to her mistress already. I couldn't find her anywhere, though I plan on making a more thorough search later."

  "Don't make too large a priority of it, Ghia. What's done is done." And Goddesses forbid the Empress' eye should focus on you, he didn't say.

  Her eyebrows knit together as her face hardened. "The girl was in my hospitalis. I plan on dealing with her."

  Jules sighed and said nothing, knowing he couldn't convince the stubborn girl otherwise. He'd just have to keep an eye on her himself.

  They fell into a short silence, before Ghia asked him in a normal voice, though a bit too brightly, how his day had fared.

  "Fairly uneventful," he lied easily and could see in her eyes that she knew it. "And yours, Healer?" he asked her before she could press him.

  "Oh, boring as usual -- just more herbcraft. Harvest, dry, grind, store, repeat." She gave a small huff of laughter.

  He joined in her mirthless façade. "You should have enough novice healers that can do that grunt work and leave you free."

  She gave him an arch stare. "With Muerta's Tears? Would you trust such a tricky procedure to a babe just out of swaddling cloth?"

  "Ah, no," he said hastily while he mentally smiled at Ghia's description of her novices. Most were close to her age and yet her behaviour could place her as their mother. "How is the Lieutenant?" he added, sobering.

  "Slowly improving. It's good he was under your care, Jules, and that you got home when you did. A few more days, or Fanchone's...work," and she did not try to cover her disdain, "would have lost James his eyesight forever."

  "You flatter me. It's Christopher who is so handy with the herbs," he said, deflecting the praise to his second-in-command. "And none of the Medicorps can match the Healers' Guild in skill," he added, complimenting her and her colleagues.

  She smiled without humour. "Make sure you tell him that, then. He hasn't stopped swearing at us since he was out of pain enough to speak coherently. Most cantankerous bastard I've ever had the misfortune of treating."

  Jules snorted. "That's James. When he's injured, at least."

  "Like bellica, like lieutenant..." she said lightly, and Jules nearly spat out his drink. With effort he swallowed, but immediately started choking as the wine went down roughly. He coughed, trying to get air back into his body, and felt a pounding on his back.

  "Thanks," he rasped when he could breathe again.

  Ghia looked at him with concern that didn't properly cover her mirth. "Your face is purple."

  "Maybe you could give me mouth-to-mouth," he leered at her.

  She laughed and gave him a swat on the arm. "Lech."

  He smiled to hide his disappointment, and signalled to a nearby s
ervant to fill his goblet again. As the red liquid spilled from the pitcher into his cup, something occurred to him. Once the servant had walked away again he voiced his concern.

  "Ghia, if you were in the hospitalis all day how did you know about--"

  He was cut off as the doors slammed shut and a collective gasp went up around the room. Jules directed his eyes to what everyone else was staring at, and he, too, gasped.

  Standing at the entrance to the hall was the long-dead Queen Zameera.

  ~

  Jules had seen the Queen only once when she'd been alive--a former bellica herself, she had made regular inspections of the troops under her care. With the rest of the new privas he'd stood at attention while the steely-eyed woman had inspected his barracks, walking beside the then-First Bellica Gray, now the Eorl of Harbourtown.

  That brief glance had imprinted her strongly in his mind, and he recognised her as she stood in the hall now, gazing at the people who had gathered for the banquet. Her dark hair was tied tightly back, as it had been during her inspections and most of her rule, and she stood in her oftworn peplos, a piece of black silk with some simple, yet regal, embroidery on it. One of Nucalif's finest, back in its heyday.

  The hall had fallen absolutely silent. That silence stretched on as courtiers regarded Zameera and she regarded them. Before anything could be said or done, the doors at the other end of the hall that led to the kitchen (and to the historic Elevator to the Empress' quarters) flew open and Zanny and Zardria strode in. The two women stopped short at the sight of their sister and mother, faces registering a gamut of emotions from shock to disappointment, which did not surprise Jules, though the relief he saw on Zanny's face did. It was gone in half a second; so he convinced himself he'd imagined it.