Chapter 12
We don’t finish our game of questions thanks to my inability to hold onto the contents of my stomach. When we finally stop to make camp, I’m relegated to firewood duty again in hopes that I can walk off the last of the hangover that might finally be leaving my body.
Branches litter the outskirts of the clearing, likely courtesy of the storm from two nights ago, and my arms are quickly full of wood that will burn well into the night.
A litany of chatter echoes through the trees from the direction of where I left Cal to set up our camp. Three distinct voices but only one that I recognize.
I peer around the trunk of a large oak tree and find two men talking to the captain, tension evident between them.
“You don’t think I know that?” The captain runs his fingers frustratedly through his dark hair, his voice nearly a growl.
Silently, I set the firewood down, choosing to fill my hands with the daggers sheathed at my thighs instead of logs. I could throw the wood but it wouldn’t be nearly as deadly. These men don’t appear to be a threat to Cal, but they very well could be to me.
I step around the tree, fists wrapped tightly around the hilts of my sharpest daggers and eyes locked on the strangers. Cal’s head whips in my direction, sensing me before I’m clearly in view. The men, startled by his sudden movement, draw their own daggers as they follow his gaze.
“Put your blades away, princess,” Cal says calmly, exposing his palms in an act of submission.
“As soon as they put away theirs.” I look cautiously between the two men standing on either side of the captain. They’re dressed in plain brown clothes, no colors of allegiance on public display.
“You heard her, boys,” Cal says with a smile. “I’m not stitching anyone up before dinner.”
“She really is as vicious as they say,” the man on Cal’s left, the larger of the two, says, sheathing his dagger.
“Forgive my brother’s clear lack of manners and allow me to introduce us.” The other man sheaths his blade and steps forward with a sweeping bow, his blonde hair falling over his face. “The name’s Theo, my lady.”
He looks up at me, hazel eyes sparkling in the dimming light as the corners of his mouth turn up in a charming smile.
Brothers.
There’s no familial resemblance between the men and Cal. Nothing that would indicate that the two of them are closely related to the captain. Maybe that’s what kept the knowledge of their existence secret from the Corinthian rumor mill.
A large hand swats Theo across the back of the head, causing him to lose his balance and stumble slightly to the left.
“Shameless flirt,” the owner of the hand grumbles.
I instinctively grip the handles of my daggers tighter and hold my chin high as the large man walks towards me.
The man sweeps his amber gaze over the length of me and I bite back the scathing remark rising in me.
His body is nearly a copy of Cal, the same broad chest and honed muscles that are no doubt from a lifetime of military training, but his face is distinctly different.
“Henry,” he says, nodding approvingly with his hand outstretched.
I hold my ground, making no move to lower my blades. The corner of his lips turn up on one side and I get the feeling that I just passed some sort of test.
“My brothers will be camping with us tonight, Ivy.” Cal’s voice cuts across the clearing but my eyes are still locked in Henry’s unrelenting stare. “Oh for the gods’ sake. Henry, carry that damn firewood over here before she cuts you.”
Henry scoffs as he walks to the firewood pile, never turning his back to me. “I’d like to see her try.”
If it’s a show he wants, it’s a show he’ll get. I snarl, baring my teeth at him as he walks by. Theo falls to his knees laughing, his arms wrapping around his midsection in exaggeration.
“The rumors definitely undersold you, my lady,” he jokes through heaving laughs.
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop calling her that.”
Cal and I say in unison.
Theo pauses his laughing long enough to share a look with Henry before erupting into laughter again.
“I seem to have stumbled into some sort of joke that I’m not privy to.” Sheathing my daggers at my side, I make my way toward the tent to fetch my canteen.
Cal sighs loudly, dragging his hands through his already tousled hair. “I’m going to try to catch some dinner. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone. Please.”
Exasperation is evident in his added plea. I’m not sure who he’s more worried about, his brothers or me.
“No need, Cal. I’ve got dinner right here.” Theo pulls a brown wineskin from his rucksack, holding it out in my direction. “Care for a drink, darling?”
“Don’t call me that either.”
“Lay off her, Theo. Ivy hit the bottle a little too hard last night, “ Cal interjects. “I don’t think she’ll be drinking for a while.”
Never one to back down from a challenge, I take the wineskin from Theo, pulling the cork out by my teeth before taking a long swig. My defiant eyes never leave the captain’s as the sweet liquid barrels down my throat, my magic thrumming to life as the barest hint of a smile tugs at his lip.
Another chuckle cuts the tension, this time from Henry. “We’re definitely going to need that dinner, brother.”
While Cal tries to catch something large enough to feed four mouths, Henry carefully constructs a fire.
Logs meticulously stacked in a woven pattern guaranteed to burn through the night.
Theo, clearly the more extroverted of the brothers, downs a truly impressive amount of wine while he attempts multiple times to engage in conversation with me.
“I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot.” Theo takes another swig before offering it to me. “Meeting someone at knifepoint isn’t usually how good relationships start.”
“The daggers weren’t personal,” I say, taking the wineskin from him. “A woman should never walk into a circle of strange men unarmed.”
A half-smile quirks up on Henry’s face. He slides something from his pocket as he settles against the trunk of a nearby tree.
The polished blade of a small knife glints in the firelight.
There’s a small chunk of wood in his hand that is just beginning to take an odd humanoid shape.
Perhaps an effigy to the gods or the figure of a woman.
“Smart,” Henry says. “... but you have nothing to fear. Any friend of our brother’s is safe with us.”
My stomach clenches at the way Henry says the word ‘friend’. Theo clears his throat and exchanges a pointed look with his brother across the flames. There is definitely something they’re not telling me.
“And compulsory travel companions? Are they safe as well, or should I pull out my blades again?” I provoke.
The brothers exchange another glance, quicker this time. It’s the younger brother who answers me.
“Our brother can be a bit of an acquired taste. But once you get to know him—”
“I doubt that will happen.” I sigh, laying it on thick in hopes that his brothers’ lips will be looser than Cal’s. “Your dear brother has told me next to nothing about himself. I didn’t even know his name until two days ago.”
Henry pauses his sharpening briefly, waiting to see if I’ll press on. But I have nothing else to share.
What am I supposed to say? It’s not like I know anything of substance about Cal. Hells, I only learned his age and that he had a brother a few hours ago. It’s not like he confessed that he’s waited a lifetime to be poisoned by me or anything … that would be ridiculous.
No, if I want to make any progress on learning Cal’s secrets, I need to focus on getting Theo to unwittingly divulge them. If a life in politics has taught me anything, the best way to keep people talking and covertly extract information is to ask them about themselves.
“Are you two in the military as well?”
“I’m wounded that you haven’t heard of the famed Captain of Corinth’s prized lieutenants,” Theo jokes, clutching his chest. “We’re prettier than him. You think they’d write songs about us instead.”
“They did write a song about you, brother. It’s called ‘The Lieutenant Who Can’t Keep His Pants On.’” Henry chucks a small rock that Theo barely dodges before it smacks the tree behind his head.
“You’d know all about songs, wouldn’t you brother? Tell me, did Marianne sing you to sleep after she was done playing your flute.”
Theo takes a small instrument from his bag and tosses it towards the fire. Henry, murderous rage filling his eyes, scrambles to catch it before the flames claim the silver flute.
“Marianne?” Cal approaches the fire holding two dead rabbits by their ears. “I thought you ended things with Marianne, Henry?”
“He did.” Theo takes another drink from the wineskin. “And then he un-ended things. What was it your letter said, brother? All the sapphires in Corinth couldn’t compare to the sparkling blue of your eyes.”
Henry forcefully chucks another rock at Theo with a concentrated effort to hit him. I jump to my feet, barely dodging the rock as it ricochets off the younger brother’s head.
Marianne? Is Cal’s brother in love with the twin sister to the heir of the Sapphire Region? There’s no way her father or brother are okay with her love affair with one of Marks’ lieutenants—not after what the Lord General did to their region.
The men seemed primed, spun up from Theo’s reckless words and ready to fight. When anger rises, lips tend to loosen. And if they think I’m not around, perhaps they’ll spill more than they intended.
“I’m going to go wash up for dinner,” I say, excusing myself. “I think it’s my turn to ask you not to kill each other while I’m gone.”
I’m just beyond the tree line when Henry’s voice echoes through the clearing. “Touch my shit and I’ll break your fucking nose.”
“I’ll quit touching your shit when you quit playing that godsdamned flute every night while I’m trying to sleep.” Theo snaps back, squaring up to his older brother.
“That’s enough, Theo.” Cal’s voice is commanding.
“I should have known you’d side with him. You’re no better than he is,” the youngest lieutenant scoffs.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Cal snaps.
“You know good and well what it means,” Theo says. “How many years have you been walking around with that godsdamned tattoo on your—”
“Enough!” Henry’s booming voice cuts off his brother. “You know what’s at stake here, Theo. Don’t risk it all because you want to play the cocky, playboy brother in front of a pretty lady.”
The strange pulling sensation in my gut returns. I want to stay, to hear the rest of whatever anger-fueled words may tumble from their lips, but its beckoning call is too strong to resist. Blindly, I leave the men to their conversation and follow it deeper into the forest.
The chilly water running over the rocks in the small brook that cuts across my path is crystal clear.
My fingers trail through it, my skin numb to the biting cold temperature.
My mind is wholly fixated on the mention of Cal’s tattoo—the large primordial sea beast swimming through cresting waves, the inky image that appeared to dance across his chiseled muscles, the tail that dipped dangerously low below his towel.
Sharp pain radiates from the tips of my fingers, a mixture of cold and magic snapping me back to reality.
Focus, Ivy.
Unlike me, Cal is likely not the sole keeper of his secret. The story of his encounter with the sea serpent was probably shared over a meal or around the hearth—things normal families do when discussing the events of their day.
Nothing like my own upbringing.
I was loved in the ways it mattered, but I was never nurtured.
Not doted upon, but rather trained to take on a world that was never designed to accept me.
We are not a family that shares secrets, because secrets are weaknesses and weaknesses can be exploited.
I never told my father about the sea beast, the ever growing magic in my veins, or the nightmares that plague me.
The more vivid my dreams get, the more I wonder if I made a mistake. It’s too late to contemplate what kind of life I could have had if I had told my father. I know in the depths of my soul that I’ll meet Death before I see him again.
But what if the fellowship I’ve always craved is within reach in my final days? The more time I spend around Cal, the more certain I am that his tattoo is a sign of the magic he has yet to openly admit he possesses. An inked hint reserved only for those in on the ancient secret.
My own tattoo tingles between my shoulder blades at the thought. The dark rendering of the godsbane bloom sears the place the sea beast touched my skin with a furious flare.
Giving in to the call of magic, I sink my fingers into the ground and let my power out to play.
Small dark purple flowers pop up in a cluster along the bank.
If we get a heavy rain soon and this stream floods, they’ll die.
But they’ll live beautifully until then, thriving in the wintery nip of the early spring air.
There’s a beauty in the fragility of life. A precarious, divinely-crafted balance between the realms of the living and the dead. The space where our souls are allowed to trod for the briefest moments in time. The world existed before us, and the world will go on without us.
Father used to tell me that it’s what we do with those fleeting moments in between that matters.
And that’s the force that spurs me. The one that beckons me to speak when I want to keep silent.
The one that pushes me onward when I wish to stop.
The one that drives me forward to face my enemies again when I’d rather stay home.
The reason that I’m on this road headed straight into the waiting arms of Death.
The predestined story of the princess and the captain is sickeningly poetic. The poisonous woman and the murderous man, inexplicably linked and impossibly intertwined.
I pluck a newly grown bloom from its stem, closing my fist around it and letting my magic decay it. When my fingers open, only powdery dust remains. Death where beauty once stood.
Hours pass silently by as I repeat the same process. Growing things only to kill them, giving into the dark and wasting magic that could be spent bettering the world if I wasn’t such a coward.
The moon is high overhead when I finally head back to camp, leaving only a few poisonous little creations alive in the woods to face the cruel world alone.