Chapter 25 Calluna
CALLUNA
T he next week was a blur of dirt roads and odorous towns as Calluna traveled the steadily flattening hills more and more covered with potato and cabbage fields.
With each step, her nervousness grew. It was one thing to flash a smile at a dumb prince and rely on his lust to obtain the privacy she needed.
Trying to seduce a queen in the middle of her conquest was another…
especially when two of her brothers would be nearby.
Isabelle will dance as your puppet , she told herself as she approached the sprawling military camp fifty miles outside the city of Lontaine.
It filled an entire valley, tents and boots flattening the grass and ruining what beauty the tranquil landscape had once possessed.
Now it was carved with latrine ditches and tent spikes.
What grass endured was devoured by their horses and the oxen pulling their supply wagons.
You will play and then toss her away, like all the rest.
Calluna walked among the throng of bodies, unnoticed because she chose to be unnoticed.
She was such a little thing compared to them, plainly dressed and with her dagger hidden.
It was easy to overlook her. She had a hundred lifetimes of practice, and a flicker of radiance at those who cast her sideways glances was enough to make them turn away.
Banners flew above the tents, and she compared them to the information Petr had given her.
Most were the same as when she first vanished into her swamp, family heirs clinging to traditions, though a few were upstart nobles or newly enthroned kings and queens, such as Rudou.
All of them unified by Sariel and Faron.
The people might believe Isabelle responsible, but they were all fooled.
Calluna walked without thinking, letting her feet guide her.
She’d find Isabelle in time. She had to be patient.
Best she fully take in the layout of the camp before making a move.
That was the excuse she told herself anyway.
The truth of it was beyond denial when she approached a small roaring fire and a cluster of men and women seated around it.
“This is bullshit,” an older man with a heavily scarred face said while pointing at a cluster of dice on a small wooden board before him. “There’s no way you knew I had axes waiting for the clash.”
“But why else would you have rerolled your swords?” a young freckled man at the opposite side of the board asked.
Calluna used the nearby tent to hide her arrival. She peered around the fabric, her heart leaping into her throat.
“Because you were trying for swords,” the scarred man grumbled. He pointed an accusatory finger past the young man. “You’ve been teaching him, haven’t you, Faron?”
Her brother laughed, the enormous mug in his hand splashing a bit of its contents as he slapped his knee.
“Sorry, Derek, but I’m a poor Wounds player myself. If Bart’s winning, it’s because he’s better than you.”
Bart blushed hard enough to hide his freckles.
“Our marches are so long and boring,” he said. “I’ve nothing else to think about but our previous games, and things I wanted to try instead.”
“You spend your whole marches thinking about dice?” Derek asked. “Leliel help me, you’re dull as ditchwater.”
The blushing intensified.
“What should I be thinking about?” he asked.
“Besides one foot in front of the other?” Derek shrugged. “How you’re going to spend your pay come the next town, for example… or maybe what color hair your next lady will have.”
Faron pointed at the dice board. “You’re stalling, Derek. Roll your remaining dice so we can all watch the dull little farm boy humiliate your ass.”
Laughter all around, and Faron at the center of it.
Calluna watched, her fingernails digging into the tent fabric.
Jealousy burned hot in her chest. That could never be her.
She’d tried. She once spent years alongside Faron fighting in some pointless war, trying to smile the way he smiled, to encourage those who needed encouraging, and to use her radiance to give strength to those whose willpower faltered.
It didn’t suit her. She’d ended each day exhausted, and though men and women were all too eager to share her bed, she’d denied them, craving solitude instead.
There was just something about Faron. While these social inanities drained energy from Calluna’s mind, he seemed to grow on them like a fire constantly fed new kindling.
“That’s what I thought,” Faron said after the final roll.
He scooped up four of the dice and clattered them about in his palm.
“But now my honor’s been assailed! If you think I’ve been helping Bart, then let’s show how well that would work.
Two against two, Bart and me against you and…
whoever else is willing to endure the misery of having you as a partner. ”
Bart grabbed a die from Faron’s hand.
“He’ll probably have to pay like he always does his partners.”
The entire group froze in shock, their mouths dropping open.
“Damn, the kid found his balls,” a red-haired woman said, smacking him across the back as howls of laughter erupted throughout the group. This time it was Derek who blushed a bit of red. “And I’ll be your partner, no payment required. Consider it my obligation as a surgeon to help the wounded.”
“I don’t pay for my women,” Derek grumbled, scooping up two of the dice. He sounded honestly offended.
“I don’t pay for mine, either,” the woman said. “But I suspect they say yes to me as often as they say no to you.”
Faron cleared the board, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he handed over two of the dice to the surgeon.
“The man’s already bleeding, Rowan. You don’t need to twist the knife.”
Calluna turned her back to the group and crouched within the tent, her arms crossed over her knees.
She listened as the dice rolled and the banter flowed, little pokes at someone’s skill or cleverness.
She drank in their joy and camaraderie like a parasite, but it did not feed her.
Instead it darkened her mood and left an aching hole in her chest that pulsed with sadness.
She fed upon a thing she would forever want and could never have.
Robbed of whatever joy she felt upon seeing her brother, Calluna departed the campfire for new environs. She had her mission, after all. Using the many banners to guide her, she sought out the heart of the Doremy camp.
Where is Sariel? she wondered as she walked.
Usually the brothers kept together in camps, with Sariel quiet and lurking, content to be in his brother’s presence in a way Calluna was not.
A need to see him gripped her, but it must wait.
Once Isabelle was dead, there would be time. Assuming he forgave her.
Calluna clenched her hands tightly, digging her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. Sariel would forgive her for killing Isabelle. He always did. He was good that way, no matter how often he insisted that he was the coldest and cruelest of the six.
The highest hill contained the largest tent.
A peculiar flag waved from its center pole, a new banner for a new Doremy empire.
Sewn in black over a yellow background was a pair of wings enveloping an upturned sword, a lidless eye serving as its cross guard.
Calluna climbed the hill, needing to expend a bit more radiance to ensure no eyes lingered on her.
This had to be Queen Isabelle’s tent. There were even posted guards forming a little circle around the tent.
Getting past them would be more difficult, for they were actively searching for interlopers.
More difficult, but hardly a challenge. She smiled at the nearest guard as she approached.
Bending simple humans to her will would forever be easy to her.
“Hello,” she said, smiling brightly at the soldier. “Are you hungry?”
The man tilted his head, confused by the question.
He didn’t answer immediately, either, Calluna’s radiance already starting to seep into him.
Not the deep threads, not yet. She needed to touch him first. Just hints of it, wafting off her like rays of the moon.
Enough to unsettle him, make him pliable.
“Supper won’t be for several hours,” he answered. “I barely choked down the morning porridge, though, so I could certainly eat. Why, are you a baker, miss?”
Before she could answer, a couple exited the tent. Her eyes widened, and she positioned herself so the soldier’s bulky frame blocked her from view.
Sariel, and with him, a silver-armored, blond-haired woman who matched Petr’s description of the Bastard Queen.
“We must reinforce our numbers with spearmen,” Sariel was saying. “Our swords will not suffice against a cavalry charge of the size King Murta can bring upon us.”
“You say that as if I may snap my fingers and conjure said spears into existence,” the woman said, shaking her head. “I’m looking into where I can purchase more, but for now, Queen Sillia’s two hundred will have to suffice.”
The soldier Calluna hid behind tapped her on the shoulder.
“Miss?” he said, still trying to be polite.
Calluna shoved her hand against his mouth, and she spiked a dozen threads of radiance straight into him.
“Shhh,” she whispered, peering around his shoulder to watch Isabelle and Sariel pass by. The way they walked, the way they talked… there was a familiarity there Calluna immediately hated. The two respected each other. Why? What did her brother see in that woman?
No. Calluna licked her lips. She was being unkind. The way Isabelle carried herself, the way her hair seemed to sparkle in the daylight, her body strong with muscle, her smile warm but measured…
“I have a present for the queen,” Calluna told the soldier. She withdrew her hand but did not withdraw her control. Her eyes flooded with stars as she exerted her influence to its fullest. “But it has to be a surprise. No telling anyone, all right?”