8 Rhona
Rhona
The walls of the Great Hall of Claridge Castle had once been adorned with tapestries. Rhona remembered it all too clearly
as she walked back to the lord general’s offices. Gaudy and lavish—the capital had been for showcasing the wealth and opulence
of the monarchy. Then, the Iron Empire had risen and the De Clares were overthrown. Rhona remembered rejoicing the day the
tapestries were taken down, knowing that, finally, Astra’s people had leaders that cared about them.
The Iron Empire, much like iron itself, was simple and strong. Transforming this space sent a message, felt like the right
way to have started this empire. Rhona admired Lord General Kerrigan for his choices each day.
When she arrived at the lord general’s quarters, she found him almost exactly where he had been the last time she had spoken
to him, the same place he was most days, leaning over the map of Astra with a deep crease settling in between his brows.
Rhona saluted, her hand to the Iron Empire’s sigil on her chest.
“At ease, Sir Rhona,” he said without looking up.
“Lord General,” she said, placing her arms awkwardly at her sides, unsure of where he wanted her to stand.
“Rhona, come look at what I’m working on.” Lord General Kerrigan motioned crisply with his right hand for Rhona to come to
the table where he stooped over the map of the Iron Empire.
Was Lord General Kerrigan giving Rhona the chance to prove her tactical wits? Her compatriots had told her that this opportunity
had been given to some of them in the past. Before the uprising, as Lord General Kerrigan built the ranks of the resistance,
and after, as the lord general established the new empire. The Iron Empire was built on merit: merit, and grit. The lord general
made sure to give everyone their opportunities to be rewarded for their talents . . . regardless of their history, or their
family name. In the old days, Sir Rhona would have been Sir Mayhew . . . but now, with merit and not family history at the
forefront of recognition, Rhona could be whoever she wanted to be, if she worked hard enough.
Perhaps this was her first test. Her heart raced and her palms sweated under her leather gloves as she stepped toward the
lavishly carved table of Astra, her iron plate armor clinking as she walked.
“The Corisian delegates have not been responsive to our letters for the past year,” he said, pointing in the direction of
the continent to the south, of which the map showed Corisia’s northernmost corner. “Our spies have heard rumblings that they
may invade, as they deem the Iron Empire to be a false one.”
“As expected from a true power-hungry monarchy,” Rhona said under her breath.
“Precisely.” Lord General Kerrigan nodded sharply before moving his hand to the eastern corner of the map to the Osnian Empire.
“The Osnians are civil with us, but have made it clear that they’re waiting to see what we do with our power in these coming
years before they decide who to align with.”
“So we’re facing a war with the Corisians and have no support from the Osnians,” Rhona mused, her hand hovering over the map. She’d never touched the map before, and she so desperately wanted to.
“And to top it off,” Lord General Kerrigan spoke, breaking Rhona out of her thoughts, pointing to the north of Astra, “we’re
approaching winter—and quickly at that.”
Winters were harsh in Astra, with only the southernmost areas of the country able to continue to grow grain and crops for
the rest of the empire.
“How are the grain stores?” Rhona asked, marching around the table with her hands behind her back. She couldn’t be tempted
to touch the map if her hands were occupied.
“Enough. But that’s not what I’m trying to plan for.”
Rhona paused, looking up at Lord General Kerrigan, who was now watching her. A pang of unease rippled through her—something
about the way he’d said “enough” felt like it wasn’t the whole truth. Rhona shook her head to snap herself out of her thoughts;
the lord general was trying to figure out if she could strategize, see the bigger picture. She stopped and truly looked at
the map. What did the lord general see that she couldn’t?
Astra under the De Clares had been so strict about who was allowed to become a knight and who could learn battle strategy.
Lowly farmer’s daughter Rhona Mayhew had not been granted the social presence to learn until she’d joined the Iron Retinue.
But under the new regime, she was a knight now, and she could figure this out. “If the Corisians invade, they’ll take our
only fertile land in the winter.” It seemed so obvious once she thought about it.
“Precisely,” the lord general said, smirking.
Rhona felt her heart swell with pride. She was worthy of this rank, and maybe others.
“So, we fortify the southern border. Specifically,” she said as she pointed to the port city of Archport, “here.”
She stepped to the other side of the map as excited jitters rushed through her. “Realistically, that is their most likely place to land. The smaller towns along the southern border are helpful, but not from a ‘conquering and affecting Astra’s fishing and trade’ standpoint.”
“Mmm,” he said, hands clasped behind his back, urging Rhona to continue.
“A border force in Archport with a naval presence could work . . . but then the Corisians would know we are prepared. I would
say that a border force in Archport would be good with cavalry supports that could mobilize naval units stationed in smaller
towns for an element of surprise. Unless . . . we want to invade first.”
“Interesting,” was all Lord General Kerrigan said as he stepped around the table to the southernmost part of the Iron Empire’s
lands. He caught Rhona’s eye for a brief moment, something in his gaze that she couldn’t quite decipher before he looked back
down at the map. Rhona suddenly felt like she hadn’t been given the whole truth, again.
“Thank you, Sir Rhona. You are dismissed,” Lord General Kerrigan said without looking up. “May the iron in your blood strengthen
the iron in your sword.”
“May the iron in your blood strengthen the iron in your sword,” Rhona echoed and saluted before she turned on her heel and
left the room. As she walked back through the palace halls, she replayed what she had just said to the lord general in her
head over and over again, making sure she had sounded intelligent enough. This could be her big break—leading the charge down
to Archport to defend from the Corisians. There had been fighting since the rise of the Iron Empire, but nothing quite as
significant as the rebellion. This could be her moment for glory.
But first, Rhona had a hunch about a pretty witch in the castle—and she intended to find out if Lady Heathecote was truly
a seer, or if she was just an unnaturally intuitive thinker.