Chapter 2 #2
Over the sharp, steep sea wall, the Argenti Strait throws itself against the historic barrier of stone.
The thick rock is mottled with centuries-old salt stains.
Occasionally a fine spray kicks up from the white froth and tumbling waves as the base.
Over the other side of this wide old walkway, a few feet below the raised path, are thickly packed Halician homes.
The cobbled roads are narrow and winding, the roofs slanted but maintained – some folk have even climbed out to enjoy the sparse, autumnal sunshine.
People go about their daily business, many alerting each other to my presence.
Glares are multiplying, scowls abound. We are getting closer to the docks, traditionally an area loyal to Idris.
I suddenly feel like I am in hostile territory with the sensation of a thousand bloodthirsty eyes boring into the back of my neck.
My throat tightens. I clench my fist to stop my fingers shaking.
“It’ll be good to have you on our team,” Savino says brightly to Tahira. “Your experience in battle is a great skill I hope we can learn from.”
“Well, I’m happy to help with strategy if you want my opinion,” Tahira says almost eagerly, the tactician ready for a problem. “Anything in particular on your mind?”
“The Church Militia numbers are growing on their side of the border, gathering ready for an offensive. It won’t be long, a matter of weeks at best,” Savino sighs.
“It would take them five days of marching to get to the city,” I add quietly. “Armies move slower than smaller groups with all their equipment and supplies, not to mention the roads and hills will slow their progress.”
“I don’t like the idea of bringing the fight here,” admits Savino. “This is where our people have fled for safety. Allowing them to besiege us without challenge backs us into a corner. Fighting from the city itself should be a last resort.”
“You want to meet them on the field?” I frown, stomach churning at the idea of an open battle against the ruthless Church Militia. They have been trained for battle for years and they are skilled soldiers, while our army is fledgling at best.
“If the Red Sands Bannerhood stands with us … I think we have a real chance of keeping the war away from our people, or at least severely slowing down the advancing armies to evacuate as many as we can before the siege starts,” Savino says, before gesturing to Tahira. “Your opinion?”
“My men are skilled, trained fighters with lots of experience. Open fields, deserts, a siege? All fine by them. It’s your men I question.
They are not used to a battle, let alone the open field.
And I’ve fought Church Militia before. They’re well trained for any environment.
Your open fields will be easy for them,” Tahira says consideringly.
“Many of our men are fresh,” I say to Savino.
We’ve opened army recruitment to anyone of age.
Not all the jobs have reappeared; the city’s economic recovery is taking time to reach all corners.
But we are recovering now that new trade is flooding the city, and that’s important.
Those who need work can find it in the army, which pays decently and provides clean, safe lodgings.
“We are training them.” Savino frowns, but his tone doesn’t fill me with hope.
We stroll further along the sea wall, breathing in the coastal air.
The city slowly changes as we grow closer to the docks.
The buildings are older and closer knit.
The nods of recognition from the passing people morph to disgruntled glares and unwelcome nudges amongst folk pointing up at me.
The hostile mutterings hover at the edge of my ears, and I’m tempted to suggest we walk back the way we came.
“Would you be willing to lend some expertise to our training?” I ask Tahira, stretching out my fingers to fight the unease settling over my limbs. She barks with laughter.
“You do not have the time to make them real fighters. But we can put a few tricks in their hands, I suppose,” Tahira answers.
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Careful, though. I might end up poaching the good ones.” Tahira winks at me.
We pause at the edge of the wall, looking out at the boats gently coming in and out of the dock.
My stomach curls thinking that Idris might be down there.
What is he doing right now? Besides plaguing me with useless thoughts about him.
Wasting my time and energy for no gain – both resources are wearing thin.
“That’s a new one.” Savino points to a ship clearly in the smaller, faster Coari style.
“Yes, Father sent it,” Tahira says with a soft smile. “It’s for Kaz’s ninth birthday.”
“Wow, my father got me a toy solider,” mutters Savino, and I laugh.
“Our fathers weren’t kings, Savino, that’s the difference,” I answer.
“But they were kings amongst men,” Savino adds fondly as he continues our path. I nod in complete agreement as we settle into pace with him.
We round the next corner and Savino stops sharply. I step to the side to see for myself, Savino’s hand coming out to take my arm.
Smeared across one of the walls is a vicious, graphic piece of art, depicting me …
run through by a large sword, my guts spilling over the floor, dirt and other unmentionables smeared over me …
so many wounds. The words “Filthy City Stealer” are written in bold letters over the image in running crimson letters.
I swallow sharply. I clench my fingers to keep them from trembling.
I feel a thousand eyes, searing as knives, digging into my throat and face.
“Are you okay?” asks Savino quietly. I nod.
“It’s just a picture,” I lie, smothering my horror with a mask of calm. The violence depicted here is brutal, the injuries gruesome and filled with unrelenting rage. They want me not just dead, but to suffer. This is a call for violence against me.
“Let’s get that filth removed,” Savino says scowling. He points at one of the guards. “You, with me. The rest of you, be alert in your positions.”
Savino hurries away with one of the City Guards in tow.
I force a slow breath from my lips, unable to look at the vile depiction anymore.
I turn my back to the piece and look out over the ocean.
I press my hands to the waist-high barrier, the old stone dusty and dry beneath my sweaty palms. The regular crashing of the waves, the tuneless cries of the sea birds, the gentle afternoon sunshine – perhaps something will wipe the art from my mind.
Does Idris know about this? So close to the docks, how could he not? He allows it to stand?
The pain of those heart-aching questions burrows deeper and sharper than any fear for my safety.
I can’t believe I used to think our being a Fated pairing was anything other than a curse.
Everyone has their Soulmate and their Soulhate, their perfect partner and their worst enemy.
Meeting them is a chance, or at least that’s what the church teaches.
But Idris and I? I’ve always felt like we’re more, like our bond is a message.
That we aren’t like the tragic stories of people who tried to defy their Fated bond.
But I was wrong. I was arrogant in underestimating those stories, a fool for thinking I could conquer a force like Fate itself.
Tahira takes her place beside me and studies me with a sideways stare. I don’t flinch or rebuff her, knowing a question is brewing on her tongue.
“People haven’t been taking to your new title and powers well then,” she ventures carefully. I laugh ruefully, looking down as my hands grip the salty stone wall.
“It’s like a chasm has formed through the city,” I admit quietly. “Half of the people support me doing my best in a time of war, the other half think I stole their democracy for personal glory or greed. People are allowed their opinions…”
“But?” Tahira pushes, turning to look at me and folding her arms. I hesitate, but she raises her eyebrows patiently.
“It’s getting … uncomfortable around here.
Everyone is on tenterhooks. The staff from my house are afraid to go to some places because they’re known to work for Maineri.
I know tensions are high, given the war, and the refugees and people are on edge.
But I wish there were some way I could show the people that I’m not going to be in this position forever.
I don’t want that. I never wanted to steal anything. ”
I wanted Idris to see that.
I’d had no choice. I’d had to become Maestrus.
People kept getting hurt. Idris had been dying!
As Maestrus, I have become the prime target.
I gave our enemy someone to aim for. Not to mention that the threats to our city, our leadership, our families slipped into this city on my watch.
Because I couldn’t see everything. Anything that was out of my control, my supervision, was vulnerable to attack.
But now I can see everything happening in this city – I read every report, memorise every movement and number.
And while I know the attacks are coming, that the Holy States are constantly plotting in the dark and coming for us, I can now do everything possible to stop them or ensure the damage radius is kept as small as possible.
I don’t understand how Idris can’t see that. That I didn’t take this for me, that I did it for them.
For him.
“Damn,” Tahira breathes, shaking her head sadly. “It sucks when the people you fight for turn against you.”
“People are allowed their opinions,” I repeat softly and clear my throat.