Sterling (19 page)

W
ith the Ricknagel Army
at his command, Costas departed Shankar for the city of Orvia, north on the border between Ricknagel Province and the Eastern Empire. He planned to man the garrisons between Shankar and Orvia with Ricknagel soldiers and patrol for news of the East. He left his Lieutenant Dragonnaire, Alexei Lessin, in charge at Ricknagel Manor.

After Lieutenant Lessin had thoroughly picked my brain about my father’s remaining resources, he had no further use for me. He and the other soldiers occupying my home treated me as a nuisance, a useless girl underfoot.

At first I tried to organize the household—communicating with the servants, planning meals, setting a routine. But I soon learned that Costas had left orders about everything, even meals. He rationed the entire province. My house had been absorbed into his military machine, and he ran it in the fashion of his army. I had no say.

The days rolled by. Bored and lonely, I took up archery again, practicing every morning while the Dragonnaires drew their Thirteen Forms. It felt good to hold my bow again, to strengthen my arms, although I tired very easily. Frustrations fueled my arrows, and I loved the sound of contact with the target: a sharp, deadly
thwap
.

One morning as I pulled my arrows from the target—they’d all hit left of center—I heard Papa’s voice, clear as day:
It’s good when they all hit the same area of the target. Consistency shows that you have control
.
You send the arrow, not a random assortment of unknown variables.

Tears blurred my vision. It wasn’t fair. Papa had been such a
good
man. History would remember him as a terrible traitor, but he had been provoked by wrongs no honorable man could have endured: Stesichore’s assassination, the theft of Aunt Siomar’s Moonstone Ophira, the mishandling of the Eastern border by the Galatiens. Papa had suffered more insults than any faithful liege could bear. Everything Papa had done, he’d done for his country, his people, and his family.

No one would ever know. The losers do not get to write
their
history.

I wiped my eyes and yanked the arrows free.

“Lady Ricknagel! Lady Ricknagel!”

The Dragonnaire who had replaced my butler hurried towards me. I could not remember his name.

“Lady Ricknagel.” He couldn’t be much older than I, and because of my height, his face was level with mine.

He froze as he stared at my face. I bit back my anger. I hadn’t been covering my mark with cosmetic; the household should be inured to it.

“What?” I snapped.

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Me? Are you certain?” Men came and went from the house all day, but none came for me. Besides, it wasn’t even an hour past sunrise. The Dragonnaires still drew their Forms. “Who is it?”

“I did not ask.”

“You did not ask?”

The soldier looked uncomfortable, but said nothing.

“I will come in half an hour,” I said. “Perhaps you could send a tea tray to the visitor for the wait?” It would be the polite thing to do, but I had few hopes that it would be allowed. Lieutenant Lessin took Costas’s rationing plan seriously. Food and drink were only served at scheduled meals. Getting a tea tray was more difficult than mining for diamonds these days.

After I put away my archery gear, I returned to my room. I scanned my dresses, but they tended towards unflattering colors: drab browns, beiges, murky greens, all in unfashionable cuts. Mama, who’d ordered them, had been determined that I should remain a wallflower because of her own shame at producing a disfigured daughter. If Papa would have allowed it, she would have sent me away and pretended I didn’t exist.

I frowned and snatched a dress at random. What did it matter what I wore, anyway? I had my mark, and the visitor would see only that. I struggled into the greenish, sack-like thing. It felt too tight across the chest; I supposed I had not worn it in years.

The soldier-butler paced in the black and white-tiled front hall. I wanted to dismiss him; I was sure he served as Costas’s spy. I would not be allowed a private audience, no matter who the mysterious visitor might be.

The young man didn’t even understand his rudeness in preceding me into the room. I followed behind him, saying nothing. “Lady Rickangel,” he announced.

Erich rose from the divan.

What was he doing here?

“Sterling.” He grabbed my hand and brushed his lips over it. No sparks, of course, but my stomach fluttered with desperate anticipation all the same.

The soldier-butler had lied to me. He had recognized Erich Talata, and Erich would have announced himself upon arrival. The soldier-butler had deliberately kept me in the dark, probably because he wanted to see my reaction to Erich’s presence without any filters. Did he suspect Erich or me of a betrayal?

“Lord Erich,” I said formally, withdrawing my hand as soon as possible. I wished I’d picked a more flattering dress and put on cosmetic. Already a creeping blush heated my face. “I’m sorry I cannot offer you refreshments. We are on a rationing system.”

I sank onto the divan, spreading my skirts wide to discourage Erich from taking the spot right next to me.

He used the straight-backed chair opposite me. The soldier-butler did not leave, confirming my suspicions.

“What brings you to Shankar?” I asked lightly, as though Erich had come on a social visit.

Erich glared at the intruding spy. “My mother sent a legion of Talatan troops to support Costas. I led them here.”

“Will you go with them to the border?” My heart flipped in my chest. I hated to think of him in danger.

“No.” Of course he wouldn’t. As heir to his House, his life was precious. “I beg your hospitality for a few days, Sterling. I wish to rest before I return to Talat City.”

“Of course. You may stay as long as you wish.” I spoke before recalling that I no longer ruled my house. I sighed. “Though we will need to ask Lieutenant Lessin,” I added.

“Who?” Erich’s face had worn a permanent frown since his arrival. I wanted to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

I wished I could remember the soldier-butler’s name to send him to fetch the Lieutenant, winning a few moments alone with Erich. I couldn’t bring myself to summon him by saying—

“You!” Erich showed no qualms about rude address. “Go and get the Lieutenant. We must speak with him.”

The soldier-butler hesitated, looking at Erich, the door, and then me.

“What are you waiting for?” Erich waved peremptorily. “Go!”

The young man failed to resist such a display of Ten Houses privilege. With a short bow, he departed.

Erich flew onto the divan, crumpling my skirt before I could move it. My heart fluttered madly against my ribcage.

“Sterling, what has happened? You cannot welcome guests into your own home?”

“Costas requisitioned everything,” I said. “He put his man in charge, and he controls the house and the city. How long can you stay?” I’d forgotten to feel ugly.

Erich grabbed both my hands, leaning so close that I could have kissed him. “As long as I can. I’ve been worried about you.”

His words caused tears to pool in my eyes.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Erich leapt gracefully into the opposing seat and pasted on a languid expression. I folded my hands in my lap.

“Lord Erich.” The slender Lieutenant marched through the salon door, his clothing, as always, perfectly ironed and starched. “What are you doing here, my lord?”

“I came with the Talatan troops my mother sent.”

Lessin nodded. “Costas will be pleased. He wants to station more troops farther north. The border in Shiree is vulnerable.”

Erich snorted. “That border is a waterless wasteland. I’d like to see the Imperials
try
to march a legion across those dry plains. They are not so foolish.”

“That is exactly what they’d like us to think,” Lessin said. “We must be prepared for anything.”

“Who are you, again?” Erich snapped, his eyes like ice.

“Lieutenant Alexei Lessin. Dragonnaire First Cohort. I am the head of Shankar’s operations.”

“I presume I may rest here in the Ricknagel mansion while I recover from my travels?” Erich asked.

The lieutenant glanced my way as if to gauge my reaction to Erich’s request. If I appeared pleased he would forbid it. I kept my face blank, though a creeping flush warmed me.

“You may rest here two days, Lord Erich. But we are on rations. You will live and eat the same as my men.” He left, his boots clipping my floors.

“He acts as though he rules the Manor!” Erich seemed put out.

“He does.” I stood and whispered, “The Dragonnaires are always watching.” Erich could not show even the slightest disloyalty to Costas here in Shankar; the Dragonnaires would not tolerate it.

I left him in the sitting room, because if I remained and spoke to him further, it would be reported. Besides, looking at Erich bruised my heart.

T
hat afternoon
, to relieve my tension, I returned to the range to shoot. Galen was there already, leading a troop of new recruits in archery practice. Galen walked along the line, correcting them, sometimes stepping in to demonstrate.

He met my gaze and bowed, a gesture of deference that made me cry. I’d been such a mess since returning home. Galen’s show of respect brought back all my grief for Papa. I ran off the pitch, dashing into one of the rooms used for swordplay. Of course two men were practicing there. There was no escape from training men on the Ricknagel grounds.

Metal clanged against metal. The swordsmen wielded rapiers and wore full gear—vests and masks and thigh guards—so I surmised they used real blades.

One did not grow up at Ricknagel Manor without learning about the various martial arts. Vast grounds dedicated to military training surrounded the house. A simple walk through the gardens, when I was a child, had shown me men practicing with butterfly blades, spears, swords, daggers, maces, and other weapons.

If Papa had fathered sons, they would have been consummate warriors, skilled in all battle forms. But my mother would not have even her ugly daughter doing something so unladylike. My archery practice had been secret until Papa had found out, and he had never revealed it to my mother. I always wished I could have learned other such skills, too. It would have given me something beyond my ugly face.

But I hadn’t often seen a proper rapier duel.
The rapier is a weapon for privileged lords, not men who expect to fight on the battlefield,
Papa had told me when we’d seen a demonstration of the art at Karenne’s Playground on the Shankar waterfront.
It has too many rules to be practical in dire conditions. It’s for duels and matters of honor. War is not a matter of honor. Anything goes on the battlefield.

Curiosity inched me into the training room. The fencers didn’t notice me. Their practice demanded total concentration. The blades flashed quickly, tangled, and then retracted.

The fencers held themselves upright, chests lifting and legs moving in patterns like courtly dances. Sharp sounds echoed with every meeting of their blades. The attacks came quickly and finished in the space of a breath, whereupon the opponents returned to prowling and circling around one another.

One attacked, the slender blade jabbing into the opponent’s vest and bending.

I wished, again, that I had been a man. Not only would my mark have cast a smaller shadow over my life—ugliness in a boy was a lesser stigma than in a girl—but I would have trained in these arts and mastered a skill that had no bearing on my appearance.

They went through three more rounds. I took vicarious pleasure in observing, pretending that I performed the motions, imagining such springiness in my own muscles, such fast reactions. I forgot my marred face and my limited opportunities in a momentary reprieve from my claustrophobic circumstances.

Disappointment washed through me when the men set down their blades. They shed their protective clothing, finally removing the helmet-masks. That had to be Erich’s dark gold hair.

“Sterling!” He broke into a smile. My insides liquefied and drizzled down into my feet, as they always did when he noticed me. At least I’d grown accustomed to the sensation.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You could never be a disturbance. Have you been watching long?” He looked like a cat gloating over a bowl of cream.

Erich, of course, had won all the points in the practice session.

I wished he’d lost one of the matches. It would have made me feel better to know he had some weakness. He’d once said he was ugly on the inside, but I’d never seen a trace of such a flaw.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said. The door stood open behind me. Why could I not move myself through it?

“Janus, please go and make sure the rooms they gave me are suitable,” Erich said. The opponent—Erich’s manservant, perhaps?—stepped around me to leave.

“What do you think of the rapier?” Erich asked.

I opened my mouth to parrot Papa. “I found the sparring beautiful,” I said instead. “I’ve rarely seen a rapier match. My father did not train in it. He did not find it practical.”

“No, I suppose not. But there is still benefit in the training. It requires concentration, skill, and discipline. It hones the mind and the body.” Erich beckoned me. “Come look.”

He grasped his blade and offered me the intricate metal guard designed to protect the hand.

“My blade is too big for you, but try it anyway. Your father didn’t keep any others here.” Erich stepped back, placing his right foot in front of his left.

“First try lifting.” He demonstrated, raising the blade with an outstretched arm. My archery practice prepared me for such an action; the sword weighed less than my bow.

“You’re strong,” Erich commented, watching me. “But I already knew that.”

“I’m a Ricknagel.” If all the men of the Ten Houses were to stand in a line, Papa would have stood tallest, with the broadest shoulders, the manliest form. We came from a long line of renowned warriors. I bit my lip, remembering Papa’s body crumpled on the red carpet. What beast, what monster had defeated Xander Ricknagel?
Leila Galatien had said it was a mere boy, her Gantean brother. It seemed so preposterous I could hardly believe it.

“Lunge,” Erich directed. He bent his front leg while his back one remained straight.

I imitated him, but I lacked finesse.

Erich moved behind me. “Let’s try it together.”

I assumed the starting position again, feet angled, arm up. Erich slid into the same stance, as if we danced, but so close the entire front of his body molded against my back. His arm came beneath mine, offering support.

Even with his help, my arm fatigued quickly. I lowered the sword. “Thank you for showing me.”

He shrugged. “It was a pleasure. We can do it any time.”

I shook my head. “They will find out.” I’d been absent too long. The Dragonnaires would be looking for me.

Erich grabbed my wrist. “Are they holding you captive, Sterling?”

“I’m being watched; that’s all. I haven’t pushed to see what is permitted.”

“Well, maybe you should push, sweetheart.” Erich raised his eyebrows. “Let’s practice again tomorrow at this same time.” He let my hand fall.

I darted out of the training hall, heart racing and cheeks aflame.

* * *

A
fter my target
practice the following morning, I wandered around my gardens. I took a quick moment to check on the roses that Serafina had loved so much, and then went to watch the Dragonnaires practicing. But I found the training grounds empty.

Concern crimped my innards. Had something happened in the night? The air felt oddly vacant and still;something was off. I hastened to the house. Not for the first time in the past sennights, I nearly lost my breakfast from anxiety.

The grand foyer stood empty. Normally the soldier-butler lurked near the door in case a messenger arrived.

After Costas had departed, Lieutenant Lessin had taken over Papa’s salon without so much as a “by your leave.” He seemed to think that Costas’s permission gave him every right to do anything he pleased in my house. As I peeked into Papa’s favorite room, fresh anger surged. Lessin had rearranged the furniture, moving the desk away from the window, pushing the divans against the walls.

I closed the door behind me and wandered to the mahogany table in the middle of the room. One of Papa’s best maps covered it, a huge rendering that showed the entire eastern border of Lethemia. Someone had plotted the map with markers that represented troops.

As clearly as if he stood there, Papa spoke in my memory.

“A marker represents a thousand troops.” Papa and I leaned over the same table, a different map spread before us, this one showing the entire country. He placed several blue markers over Galantia. “House Galatien likes to keep their Guards close. They station the majority of them in the High City.”

Papa put more blue markers over the Galatien port cities of Anastaia and Murana and along the River Rift. “They also spread troops along the River Rift. They do not much trust House Talata.”

“But what about us, Papa? How can you distinguish between Ricknagel troops and Galatien troops?”

“Remember this is only a game, Starry.”

“I know.”

“We are pretending the Galatiens are our enemies, yes? For the sake of your understanding.” Papa picked up one of the markers from Galantia and handed it to me. “Enemy markers are blue. Our troops are red.” He handed me a red marker. “Now, let’s arrange the Ricknagel troops.”

I shook my head, trying to cast out the memory. I leaned over Lessin’s map.

Costas had spread Lethemia’s army along the eastern border, though they were concentrated in the southern region between Orvia and Shankar. As Erich had said, the arid land above Orvia was difficult for both sides—not enough water to keep legions of men and horses moving.

Out in the Parting Sea, several of “our” red figures marked where Papa’s fleet—Lethemia’s de facto navy—patrolled Ricknagel waters. My disregarded opinion was that Shankar, of all the Lethemian coastal cities, stood most vulnerable to a sea attack from the Empire. I checked for enemy markers in the Parting Sea, but there were none. Was this because the Eastern Empire had no ships out or because Lessin had no information?

Several enemy markers rested in the Imperial city of Muscan, only a day’s hard ride from Shankar across the border. The Imperials had a garrison there, and so the troops were not unexpected. What concerned me more were the enemy markers amassed in the Empire’s city of Vorisipor, farther south on the Vhimsantese coast. Those Vorisipor troops could easily be launched onto the sea. Travel on a warship between Vorisipor and Shankar took only four to six days, winds willing. Vorisipor had an empire’s naval resources at their disposal.

Shankar needed more sea protection, but we had no way to get it. Did the Imperial generals know how thoroughly our civil war had destroyed Lethemia’s provincial navies? Worse, did they know we had lost our magic?

A rolled parchment rested beside a pile of unplaced enemy markers, as if Lessin had not finished his troop mapping.

I unfurled it.

Urgent.
For Lieutenant Alexei Lessin’s eyes only.
I continued reading, undaunted.
Imperial troops on move. Ten thousand or more riding west towards our border, destination unknown. Orvia likely.

The message, though short, spoke volumes. The Empire moved upon the Lethemian border. They had either become aware of Costas’s maneuverings or they possessed the intelligence that our magic had broken. Or both.

Lessin had not placed markers for the troops mentioned in the letter. I put ten new enemy markers in western Vhimsantyr near the border by Orvia.

I prayed that Costas’s own map in his battlefield tent showed his markers gathering in preparation to meet this invasion. Costas needed to defeat those ten thousand Vhimsantese troops at the border, before they entered Lethemia.

I caught my breath in understanding. Costas would recruit from Shankar if he needed more troops. He would draw men from
here
to meet the threat at Orvia.

I spun and ran out of the office.
He wouldn’t be so foolish, would he?
What about all those Imperial troops in Vorisipor? What about a sea attack? If Costas borrowed troops from Shankar we’d be so vulnerable.

I ran outside, but the Manor grounds remained ominously quiet.
The garrison
, I thought.
They must all be meeting at the garrison.
Thankful that I still wore my riding habit from my archery practice, I raced to the stables.

“Lieutenant Lessin,” I gasped at the groom. “Where did he go?”

The groom wore Galatien colors, not Ricknagel. He eyed me suspiciously. “He left early this morning with his cohort.”

“Saddle my horse, please. I need to go to the garrison.”