28 Rhona
Rhona
The Iron Retinue had kept Rhona busy for days after her eventful conversations in the prison. First, she had been tasked with
preparing three contingents of soldiers to depart for the southwestern coast of Astra, between Archport and Broughton. Rhona
thought back to her conversation with Lord General Kerrigan about the Corisians and how they were not particularly amenable
to renewing the peace treaty between Astra and Corisia. Then she thought about the Corisians trying to disrupt the Iron Empire’s
trade . . . tensions were building, and it could mean all-out war sooner than any of them expected.
Now Rhona tracked through the mud to the farmer standing in the middle of his field, sent on a mission to talk to those who
grew the Iron Empire’s food about their destroyed crops to determine if it was Corisian sabotage or just poor farming. She
kicked the mud, frustrated once again that she wasn’t one of the soldiers sent into glorious battle.
“Sir, I did what I could to keep the crop good this year,” the farmer said. Rhona couldn’t even figure out what the man had been farming, the organic matter black and crumbled, far past wilting.
“Did you not water your crops?” Rhona asked, far too gruffly. She felt instantly guilty as she watched the farmer’s face fall.
She hadn’t risen so far that she had forgotten how hard a life like his was.
“Sir,” the farmer said, “I watered them every day as I have the past thirty years, and as my father did before me. First they
wilted, and then overnight it all died. Sir, I do not know what to do.”
“Were the crops burned?” Rhona heard a crunch under her feet as she stomped on one of the bundles of decayed matter.
“No, ma—” Rhona glared at the man. She wouldn’t harm him if he called her “madam,” but she certainly wouldn’t be overjoyed
about it either. “Sir, there have been no fires set.”
“Has this happened to the other farmers?” Rhona asked as she placed a hand on her forehead to block the sun’s glare as it
bore down on her in her plate armor, and she squinted to look at the fields adjacent to this man’s farm.
“Not around here,” the farmer said. “I worry Astra has forsaken me.”
“Do not fear the land we till, there is very likely a reasonable explanation for this,” Rhona said, not wanting to cause fear-mongering
by agreeing it was the doing of the earth below them. She had to admit it didn’t make much sense, though. As a farmer’s daughter,
Rhona knew how growing things worked. If there was a sickness, or a plague of bugs any given year, all of the crops in the
area would be destroyed. One or two farms in each town? It seemed more deliberate than anything.
“I will investigate this,” she said, grabbing a bundle of the rotten crops and dropping them as a wave of disgust rolled over
her. “And have a missive sent to you from the Iron Empire on our progress. For now, please do what you can do ensure your
remaining crop survives.”
It was all she could say. Looking at the crops, she could clearly see there was no reviving them.
Rhona thought back to all the times that bugs or sickness had destroyed her family’s livelihood and never, never, had it resembled anything like this.
This, whatever it was, felt wrong. Wrong, and deliberate.
A few hours later she found herself in front of the lord general’s desk as he paced back and forth, listening to her report.
Each time he took a step toward her she held back an instinctive flinch, her jaw pulsing with a phantom ache from the slap
the other day.
Maeve’s voice rang through her head: Those who incited a violent uprising would choose to use violence as a primary source of education.
“The crops looked crumbled, as if they’d been burned or destroyed somehow,” Rhona continued. “Though the farmer would know
if fire had been laid to his lands, and he insisted there had been no arson.”
Lord General Kerrigan ushered Rhona over to the table with a swift flick of his gloved hand. He stood in front of the Corisian
empire’s northeastern corner, where it bordered Astra.
“These bastards,” he growled, “are harming Astra by refusing our trade and peace treaty. Between the noble houses burning
and the attacks on our crops, I have half a mind to think we’re already at war.”
Rhona didn’t know how to tell him that, while she suspected the Corisians were attacking Astra in more ways than just arson, she wasn’t sure if the crops dying were something that the Corisians had done.
But she was just a knight, and he the lord general, so he knew better than her.
“What is your plan of attack, then?” Rhona asked instead, fear keeping her from speaking her mind.
“I must connect with Osnia soon, before anything else. I hope they are amenable to working together against what is happening here in Astra. If not, we’ll need to rally an army here in the Iron Empire.
In the meantime, I need you to prepare for your next steps,” he said, and Rhona’s heart started racing.
“Should this political dance continue to devolve, I intend to send you into Corisia with a legion of soldiers of your choosing. Please take the next few weeks to decide who you would like to take with you should the need arise.”
“Lord General, I am honored,” Rhona said, eyes glued to the map of Corisia.
“Don’t be honored. You trained under one of our best commanders and have proven that his betrayal did not taint you by association.
You are a true Iron Retinue knight, Sir Rhona.”
“Thank you,” Rhona said, guilt laced into her gratitude. Lord General Kerrigan didn’t know who she’d been working with—or
that she’d been giving Maeve information that only the Iron Retinue should know.
The two were interrupted when the door opened, a young soldier stepping inside with a letter in hand.
“Lord General,” he said, stuttering lightly. “M-my apologies for intruding, but you have received an urgent communication.”
“Give it here, boy,” the lord general said, stepping toward him and taking the parchment before dismissing him with a curt
wave of his hand.
Rhona watched Lord General Kerrigan’s neck veins bulge more the longer he read; whatever was in that letter couldn’t be good
news.
“Lord General, what is it?”
“Commander Hugo has managed to escape the grasp of another knight . . . He’s becoming more of a problem than I thought he
would be.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Rhona asked, secretly hoping Lord General Kerrigan would send her after her former leader.
She’d love to be the one to dispatch him after he abandoned them—but his paranoia before he had left kept creeping up on her
when she thought too hard about it. He had been so loyal . . . what had changed that?
“No, Sir Rhona,” the Lord General said gruffly. “You have your orders, you’re dismissed. 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 responded as she saluted.
As she left the room she nearly walked into Lady Maeve Heathecote, who stepped out of the way and smiled up at Rhona.
“Good afternoon, Sir Rhona,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to accompany me back to my apartments? I’ll be staying at
the castle now that the Heathecote manor will need to be rebuilt.”
Had the witch been waiting for her? Rhona instantly flushed with rage, then looked down at the beautiful woman standing in
front of her, dark skin contrasted by a beautiful bright pink dress, a matching hat nestled atop her shiny black curls.
“Good afternoon, Lady Heathecote,” Rhona responded stiffly as she held out her arm for Maeve. “I’d be happy to show you where
your quarters are.”
Rhona had no idea where Maeve’s quarters were, but she was sure Maeve did. After several minutes of walking with Maeve’s hand
on Rhona’s arm, she finally spoke.
“Did you wait for me there?” Rhona asked.
“No,” Maeve said as a smirk fell over her round lips. “I was perfectly on time. No need for waiting.”
Rhona needed to get used to the idea that Maeve would be there when Maeve wanted to be there, and that Rhona didn’t have much
of a say in the matter. This was why seers had been killed—their ability to interfere, and for it be precisely what was meant
to happen, was unparalleled.
“What do you want?” Rhona said gruffly.
“You don’t have to be rude just because you don’t know how to handle that you think I’m pretty,” Maeve said with a wry smile, and Rhona instantly flushed.
“Please don’t try to pretend like you don’t.
I don’t need to be able to see visions of the future to tell that you blush every time my hand even hovers near you. ”
“I’m n-not sure what you’re talking about,” Rhona stuttered.
“Right,” Maeve said. “Okay, I guess we’re not at that part yet.”
Which part? What was she talking about? Rhona hated this. She preferred it when things were simple, and working with a witch
was complicated enough. Never mind that she did find Maeve beautiful.
“Let’s move on to more important things,” Rhona choked out as she tried to recover from the discomfort.
“Certainly. How did the discussion with the prisoner go?” Maeve asked, back on track.
Rhona opened her mouth to speak, a single syllable exiting her mouth before Maeve interrupted.
“Don’t ask me how I know that you talked to them already,” she said, touching the tip of Rhona’s nose.
“Lady Maeve, please don’t—”
“Don’t interrupt you? Understood.” Maeve grinned, waiting for Rhona to finish rolling her eyes and speak.
“The Corisians did set the fires. They wanted to try and clear out some of the influential nobility to destabilize us. The
thing that interested me was the witch.”
“Oh?” Maeve questioned.
“She said there are soldiers and prisoners going missing. I’ve noticed it too. Commander Hugo defected, and then Sir Saoirse
defected—”
Maeve gasped.
“What?” Rhona asked.
“Nothing,” Maeve coughed. “Just stubbed my toe.”
Rhona looked down at the ground to see nothing that could have caused Maeve to stub her toe. Maeve was still hiding things
from Rhona, and it infuriated her.
“Anyways, between all of the soldiers defecting, and then the witch saying prisoners were going missing . . . I think something is going on under our noses, on top of the Corisians attacking.”
“Hmm,” Maeve mused as they turned a corner, and she stopped in front of a door. “I have seen shadowy visions of a dark space
when I look into your path. It feels close in my visions.”
“What do you see in them?” Rhona asked, pushing down the sick feeling as she realized Maeve was actively looking into Rhona’s
future . . . possibly even daily.
“Nothing yet, just the pathway down. A stone archway with a gilded bull’s head at the peak. I’ve been looking for it but haven’t
seen anything like it.”
“Could be a clue,” Rhona exhaled loudly.
“Could also be nothing, the path may change.” Maeve shrugged. “But it doesn’t feel like nothing, you know?”
“I’ll keep an eye out. If I can save prisoners and soldiers . . . well, that would be good for the Iron Empire.” Rhona nodded
to herself. She said it to convince herself that it was okay that she was working with a witch.
Maeve looked up at her, her eyes deep pools of brown as she reached up and tucked a piece of Rhona’s hair behind her ear.
“Does it help you to think you’re helping the Iron Empire and not me?” she asked, her fingers lingering near Rhona’s ear.
“I am helping the Iron Empire,” Rhona sputtered, her heart racing, half believing what she was saying. It was bad that people
were disappearing, and it would be good for the people of the Iron Empire to have that mystery figured out. Rhona also worried
that the lord general was too focused on the Corisians. She worried he wasn’t seeing the unrest happening within his army,
or whoever the Astrans were that worked with Corisia to attack the noble houses. She could help with that. For the Iron Empire . . .
for her future with them. Rhona had no intention of going back to farming, back to the life she’d run from.
Maeve smirked, her eyes boring into Rhona’s. “I also think you’re beautiful,” Maeve said. “In case you were wondering.”
Rhona blinked, unsure of what she was hearing. No one had ever called Rhona Mayhew beautiful before, and while Rhona didn’t
want to believe Maeve, with her shapely curves and glowing skin, Rhona heard a ring of truth in what the lady was saying to
her.
Her father’s voice rang through her head unbidden. No one will ever love you for your beauty, but you’re big and you can make big babies. Big babies make strong farmers, and
someone will want that.
But Maeve thought she was . . . beautiful?
“Oh,” Rhona said, stuttering nervously. “Th-thank you. Good night.”
Rhona ran before she could do anything stupid like kiss the lady, and when she went to bed that night, she dreamed of the
moment Maeve had tucked her hair behind her ear.