31 Rhona
Rhona
Lord General Kerrigan watched from the parapet as Rhona and several of her fellow knights trained in the cold air of the morning.
It was an Iron Empire tradition to train with real swords; any injuries that came from training showed unpreparedness, a need
for more training. Rhona had a few scars to show for her early days with the retinue, back when they were just the Iron Resistance.
Rhona and her compatriots did this every other morning, but rarely did Lord General Kerrigan watch.
“I heard you had to go and talk to the farmers,” Sir Jack grunted. “Must have felt like home.” He swung his sword and Rhona
parried it, swinging hers in a wide sweep and forcing Sir Jack to jump out of the way.
“At least I have enough charm to actually speak to people who aren’t the men I share a barracks with,” Rhona chirped, thinking
about how little charm she had had during her last conversation with Maeve. She’d dreamed of her every night since, and the
dreams were becoming increasingly concerning. It was bad enough to be working with a seer, but dreaming about kissing a seer?
Unfathomable. Except it was fathomable, and just the thought of it had a blush creeping onto Rhona’s cold cheeks.
Sir Jack swung again before responding. “Did you hear that the lord general thinks it’s the Corisians? That’s why we’re sending
troops down to Archport.”
Rhona had, in fact, heard that.
“Where did you hear that?” she asked instead of answering. Sir Jack was new to the Iron Retinue and hadn’t had much exposure to their machinations,
aside from his shifts guarding the dungeons. There was no reason why he should have intel on important, high-level retinue
business.
“I have my sources,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Such as?” Rhona pushed, both physically and with her words. Jack stumbled backward, and Rhona loomed over him.
“Some of us heard from a commander. I also heard you’re looking for recruits for a mission to somewhere warm,” Sir Jack said,
grinning.
How had that information gotten out? Rhona looked up at Lord General Kerrigan, who was keenly watching, and probably listening,
to whatever they were saying.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Rhona said, unsure of how transparent she should be. An invasion of Corisia needed
to be of the utmost secrecy, so she changed the topic.
“What do you think happened to the crops?” Rhona asked, swinging in a low arc and denting Sir Jack’s chest plate armor, a whoosh of air
leaving his lungs before he dropped to the ground. Rhona stepped forward and stood over him, reaching out a hand to help him
up.
“I mean,” he said as he grabbed her arm and grunted and levered to his feet, leaning on her heavily.
“My father mills flour from the grain farmers send him—he told me the grain crop this year wasn’t completely destroyed, and you’d think Corisia would burn all of it if they were going to bother with sabotaging the crop at all, you know?
Feels strange to be so picky. Plus, I saw some of it in the mill.
Some of it had already started to rot after it had been harvested.
If Corisia is behind it, they’re not burning our food—they’re poisoning it somehow.
” Sir Jack shrugged. “But I’m just a brute with a sword,
as my father says. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Rhona sheathed her sword and looked to Lord General Kerrigan, only to see he’d already left the training grounds. She desperately
hoped that he was happy with her decision to keep quiet about the mission she was to be sent on.
Rhona did wonder if there was something to the idea of things being poisoned. She remembered a briefing meeting with a mousy
little man of science named Dr. Balet a year ago, when he’d first come to the capital for his work with the Iron Empire. Whatever
his work was had been kept secret, but Rhona wondered if he could do some research outside of his current project, for the
good of the empire.
If he was a doctor, he might have insight into what poisons could be at work. If Rhona could find out what poison Corisia
was using, she could gain more favor with the lord general . . . and thwart the Corisian plot in the process.
The rest of Rhona’s training passed in a blur as she planned her next steps. Within hours, she found herself back at the farm
she’d been at the other day, a glass container in one hand as she scooped up the rotten debris of what had once been grain
with the other. Rhona remembered that she often saw Dr. Balet on his daily walks through the cliffside gardens, so she rode
back as quickly as she could to try to catch him before he returned to whatever room he sequestered himself in, working on
his top secret projects.
As she dashed into the gardens, she saw the man’s familiar wiry frame with its poor posture from afar, pacing and murmuring
something to himself.
“Dr. Balet,” she panted as she approached, winded from running so far to intercept him.
The doctor jumped, startling as he noticed Rhona in front of him. “You are one of the knights,” he said as he looked up to Rhona. “Are you not?”
“Yes, Doctor,” Rhona answered, nodding.
“Has the lord general sent you? Is he looking for me? I hope he isn’t . . . I haven’t made much progress since he last came
to me.” The doctor frantically looked around for anyone behind Rhona, as if she was there to escort him into a dangerous situation.
“Oh, no,” Rhona said. “No, I was hoping to show you something and see if you would be able to help.”
“I . . . I am very busy,” he said, shaking his head.
“Dr. Balet, this is for the safety of the Iron Empire,” Rhona insisted.
The doctor sighed and nodded, relenting and willing to listen to whatever Rhona had to say. The Iron Empire was always the
priority, as it should be.
“I think the Corisians have been poisoning our food supply with some sort of toxin unknown to Astra. You were brought here
to help the Iron Empire, so I thought you could possibly take this sample to your lab and run some tests for me.”
The doctor cocked his head, wiry white hair a frizzled mess that fought to break free from the messily tied bun at the back
of his head. “You did this of your own volition?” the doctor asked.
“Yes sir, I am a member of the Iron Retinue . . . I do what needs to be done to protect the Iron Empire,” Rhona answered,
the question strange and unsettling to her. Dr. Balet didn’t need to be socially capable—Rhona knew she wasn’t always, herself—but
why wouldn’t she have taken this action of her own volition?
“All of the others I’ve worked on have been so compliant. They don’t think for themselves . . . Hmm . . . maybe they never
did.” He tapped his chin and looked out at the distant, roiling sea.
All of the others he’d been . . . working on? Was the man going senile? He wasn’t making any sense.
“Doctor?” Rhona prodded, waving her free hand in front of his face. He snapped to attention and looked at her again, bloodshot
eyes glittering.
“Hmm? Oh! Yes,” he said, taking the glass container from Rhona’s hand. “I will examine this poison for you and find you with
my thoughts. Thank you . . . for your work.”
The doctor tapped his too-long nails on the glass and mumbled as he walked away, leaving Rhona feeling stranger than after
any conversation she’d ever had with Maeve. The term “worked on” echoed uncomfortably in her ears as she walked back to the
barracks.