Jade
Blissfully, I had drifted into a sea of dreamless sleep when they came to move me the first night. Even with several strong men, a stretcher and great care, it still hurt more than I could have imagined. Or at least, I let them believe it hurt as much. In truth, while I was in pain, it wasn't the worst I had experienced in my short life. Should the injury to my arm might prove to be permanent, perhaps, I would have to concede it to be the worst at that point, but stubbornness made me believe I would eventually regain its use. Regardless, none of them knew my personal injury or pain threshold, and so I made it a point to cry out now and again.
Time was fluid while they moved me, and I was forced a concoction of herbs, for the pain and for infection. My mother had done the same for me on several occasions, even against my will so recognized the taste. While I was keen to slow their progress, I had no death wish. I let them hold the cup to my lips for me to drink, my requests to release a hand to use going unanswered. They had sweetened it with honey, but it did little to mask the flavor.
I found that while Melena, the Archer and Horus, the man Hera had so triumphantly injured, were talkative, no one else was willing to pass even a few words with me. They came to give me my drink, a few bits of food and to make sure I hadn't died. One young woman gave me a glare that said she'd gladly let me die horribly, so I made an assumption that one of the men I had cut down had been her lover or relative. Or more. I didn't relish the kill, but I wasn't going to let the guilt take me under for trying to protect Hera.
The next day, while I laid on the cot, earnestly listening for any signs of search, I plotted a way to leave some mark, a clue, anything. I had settled on picking at the wrappings on my injured wrist, pulling at the strings. It was painful, slow work, but I managed to get a few small pieces torn and balled into the hand. The fact that I could curl my fingers enough to hold onto the tiny scraps was encouraging.
When they came to move me that evening, I let the little pieces fall, a tiny trail of breadcrumbs. Gil was a good tracker, and several of the 51st even better. One of them would find it, I was certain. All I had to do was make sure they knew their general still lived, and they would find me, and lay waste to the assassins holding me.
The second day, I knew we were out of the Capital. Even covered, I could smell the clear air, tinged with hay and manure. When they pulled the coverings off me, I was left in a small room of a farmhouse, laying on a rope bed against a far wall. I recognized the type of structure, so similar to the one I had spent my early years growing up in, and a bit of it pulled at my heart. Before my father had set out on his quest to regain our place in the Empire, we had spent many happy nights laughing, my mother singing, with wooden sword play and shadow puppet stories. What sort of woman would I have been had I not be forced onto a battlefield? Would I be married now with a child? Would I be longingly looking up at the distant Capital city and wondering? I shuddered to think. They were full, beautiful lives, but I could not imagine myself truly content in such a one.
The Archer came in to untie my wrists and ankles, apparently confident in their ability to prevent my escape. Or that I was far enough away they would be able to track me before I reached help. I gratefully pushed myself into a sitting position, rolling my ankles and working out the knots that had formed. My side burned and throbbed, forcing my eyes closed, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Carefully I set my wrapped arm in my lap.
"I'm sorry to have so gravely injured you, little Empress."
"Don't call me that."
His face was the picture of innocence. "What should I call you then?"
"General."
He smiled. He might even have been considered handsome by some. Thea perhaps. "General, then. I am still sorry. You are a valiant fighter, and one of our own now."
I snorted it and held my arm aloft.
The Archer nodded gravely. "That is my deepest regret. You can fight with your other hand, yes?" I narrowed my eyes. "We will fix you. Do not worry, General."
Slowly, I shifted so that my back was against the cool, smooth wall of the little room. "You may not wish that."
Genuine pleasure lit in his eyes. "We'll see. An archer and a swordsman fight very differently."
Another snort. "I couldn't tell."
He crossed his arms over his slender chest. "You like to lash out, like a viper. I had a friend like you once."
"Oh, joy." I quipped. "A story."
Some of the pleasure left his eyes, and I was genuinely sorry for it. "Yes, General. A story. We are all stories. They are what make or break us, and remake us again. You will listen to this story."
"I don't have a choice."
"No," a bit more light returning to his eyes, "you don't." The Archer sat down on the far end of the rope bed, poking the toe of my boot to give him more room. Reluctantly, I obliged, if only to bend my legs which had been left so long straight and tied.
"My friend, he was like you. He liked to bite at his enemies. Goad them into foolish anger. I always told him that he took too much pleasure in it, as I'm sure you do. He would push and push. For many battles, he was the victor for it. They became angry and made foolish mistakes that would cost them their lives. One day, he pushed too far, and with too skilled a warrior. A sharp tongue could do little against a sharp blade in the chest."
I listened, patiently, as I would have to General Lorr and one of his lectures. When he had finished, I curled my legs under me more. "Are you saying you're going to put a blade through my chest?" It was more genuine than combative.
"No, but someone will."
"Of course they will." It was a frank admission. "I have spent my life on a battlefield, Archer, and that makes all sorts of enemies. The fact that I haven't met my end just yet, is a miracle. When I was knighted, many men made foolish threats. When I was given a command, many tried to relieve me of it. When I was named General, well, at that point many had learned their lessons, but still, the attempts came, and failed. I am Empress now, and that target is bigger. I do not expect to grow old."
The Archer stared at me for a long moment. "Xavi. My name is Xavi. And that is a very sad way to live."
"Xavi," I repeated. "And you expect to grow old? In your line of work that's a dangerous sort of confidence."
Xavi gave me a small smile, rising from the bed. "I don't intend to be this forever. Just as one day, you will have to stop calling yourself 'General,' and accept that you are now 'Empress' and only that."
He didn't wait for me to respond. The archer simply turned and left the room, and me sitting on the rope bed.
I sat for a time before I slowly stood. My head swam a little as the pain came in waves, forcing me to concede inwardly that I hurt far more than I wanted to admit. The wrap around my ribs and waist was well done, and tight, mercifully. Escape on my own was out of the picture, at least until I was more stable and more capable of moving quickly, which meant, I would need to rely on my men to find me. It wasn't a position I was fond of, but one I had to accept. For now.
Tentatively, I paced the small room. Four paces wide and five paces long, it wasn't much. The rope bed was shoved against the wall, a mattress of stuffed straw and feathers atop. The floor was covered with flat beams of wood, carefully laid but had seen a lifetime or two of footfalls and were showing their age. Some of the edges curled up, and I was careful not to trip and tear open my side. There was a window with wood planks hastily boarded in from the outside to slow my escape if I should think to climb out. Through the slats, I could see that the sun was high, and a little stable wasn't too far off.
After the second, slow turn about the room, I set my sights on the door. The moment my toe peeked over the threshold two spears, a sword and a dagger centered on my chest. No doubt an archer was nearby, Xavi even. I sighed and held up my hands in surrender, one heavily bandaged, and stepped back into the room. They wouldn't be able to maintain such a heavy guard on me for long.
I returned to the bed, cradling my arm in my lap. Gently, I began to unwrap the bandage to see for myself for the first time just how bad the injury was, and judge how much work it would be to get my swing back. I had only briefly looked at it when the arrow had pierced through. Pulling away the last of it, I hissed.
The wound had been burned closed, and an ointment spread around it. Still, I could see the angry red that would hint at a long recovery if I wasn't careful. If the infection wasn't managed, it could even kill me. I assumed my side looked much the same. Gingerly, I began to feel around the wound itself, for breaks or cracks, but it must have gone through the bones. A lucky break or a deliberate one made by an expert archer, but the muscle was a mess and curling my fingers was difficult. My last two fingers did not respond as well as I would have liked. I might never be able to swing a sword with that arm again. But I had hope a dagger might be manageable.
The loss struck something deep in my chest. Of course I could train up my left hand, but swordplay had always been something I excelled in, even before I knew what I was doing. My left would never be quite as good as my right, which I supposed I had no one to blame but myself for having relied on my other hand so much. Without a sword in my hand, what sort of general would I be? Was that what Xavi was hinting at? I couldn't imagine life without a sword on my hip.
I curled my fingers again, wincing.
"Stop fussing with it." Melena's voice came from the doorway. How long she'd been standing there, I wasn't sure. She was an assassin after all. I reached for the bandage to begin re-wrapping it. "Stop." She commanded. "Use a clean one." The assassin leader snapped her fingers and one of the spearmen leaned around the door. "Bandages and ointment." He disappeared to do as he was commanded.
Melena leaned against the doorframe while we waited, studying me. She crossed her arms over her chest, arms that while I was strong, would lose against in an arm wrestling match. The woman who led the Hired Hands was not a woman to be trifled with, but all the more reason to either gain her on my side for the Empire, or find a way to remove her. The later was more than likely not possible on my own.
"Give it time," she nodded toward my arm, "before you dismiss it."
"Or accept the reality and move on."
She lifted a shoulder. "Or that."
I looked down at the arm again, turning it over to see the identical wound on the other side. What would Merien say to see me now? He'd say I was a damned fool.
"How is your side?" If I wasn't so skeptical, I'd say I heard a touch of concern in her voice.
"Broken. Bruised. Sliced open." I didn't bother to look at the wrapping, or the fact that my shirt had been torn to do so.
She nodded, braids dancing. "You did kill several of my men."
My eyes narrowed. "You tried to kill mine. Paralyzed her."
"Fair enough." She conceded as the spearman returned with new cloth and a bottle of ointment. Melena took them from him and made quick work crossing the room to sit beside me. She held out a hand in silent command. I gave her my arm.
She was gentle with the ointment, and ignored my hissing when it stung. Just as gently, and efficiently, she wrapped my arm, producing a small knife to cut the bit of cloth and tie it down. "You'll need your side redone." When I glared at her, she stared back. "I can get Xavi to do it."
I chewed my bottom lip, then set about to unwrap my waist myself. To her credit, she let me, sitting patiently while I peeled the soaked cloth away from my side. I'd been right. The slice wasn't a pretty one, but it had been stitched up admirably. Better than Gil's stitches. The edges were looking angry, but the soft pink bled away into blacks and blues and purples that spotted my ribs. I was surprised I was breathing as well as I was looking down at the damage.
Melena dipped her fingers into the ointment and waited until I nodded my permission before applying it to my gash. She tisked at my flinching, but worked quickly. "Your ribs are not as bad as they look. Bruised more than broken." A small concession but not by much. She worked quickly, capping the ointment and using a bit of the cloth to clean her fingers, before cutting off the end and discarding it.
She picked up the rest of the cloth, handing me one end to help pass the fabric around. I watched her carefully. "So, a daughter?" It was a blunt question, but sometimes being blunt worked.
It did not work on Melena, though she smiled anyway. "Yes. And while I admire your strategy, you will have to find out more about her on your own. Consider it part of your training."
I clenched and unclenched my jaw. "Training."
"Yes," she chuckled, taking the last bit of cloth and tying it tight. "And know that while you are an obstinate girl, a thing your mother and I would agree on, I believe, my daughter is more so. I look forward to seeing who will win."
I blinked. "You don't wish her the victory?"
Melena sat back, setting aside the ointment on the floor, making a point to show me where it was for the future. "Little Empress, when one day you have a daughter, and she turns out to be just like yourself, I hope you will do her the honor of letting her fight her battles without you, and the respect of your honesty about her odds."
"And what are her odds?"
She looked me over pointedly. "Considering the state you are in? Tipping in her favor."
Self conscious, I tried to cover myself with my good arm. "I'd like a new shirt."
Melena chuckled again. "Of course. You're far too distracting as is."
I frowned. "Are you mocking me?"
Melena blinked. Something about my question had knocked off her balance. "Why would you think so? Oh," an understanding dawned on her, "Little Empress, do you not know? You're rough around the edges, but a bit of kohl, some rouge, your hair done and a deliciously scandalous dress, and you'd be a dangerous distraction. You'd end up opening your mouth and all would be lost, but just standing there, I can see how men would wage wars for you. And they did, didn't they? And you didn't even have to comb your hair. Hm." She turned thoughtful.
"I'm not a pawn, Melena." My voice dropped.
"No," she was still thoughtful when she stood from the bed, looking me over in my disheveled and injured state, "Not a pawn. Rather something else."
"And I'm not just an ornament." I ground out.
"I wasn't suggesting that you were or should. I am suggesting that you take a look in a mirror and recognize that there are more weapons at your disposal than just a blade." She held my gaze.
"I won't play those games."
Melena sighed. "Then you'll lose in the end. Hear me, Jade. It's not right, and it certainly isn't fair, but we've been handed a shorter stick. There is no shame in using what we have to equal the playing field. You've spent your life proving that in a suit of armor. Now you need to learn to do that with just some scraps of fabric and a sly smile. You'd do anything for your Empire, would you not?"
"Of course."
"Perhaps it is worth losing a little bit of that self righteousness and stepping down off that high horse you've been shoved onto." Melena didn't wait for me to reply, she simply turned and strode out the door.
Night had fallen. Horus had come by with a lantern placed just at the door jam of my room. What he thought I would do with a single lantern I wasn't sure, but when he had set it down, he had held my gaze, daring me to try that something.
The lantern set flickering shadows dancing across the room. It was soothing, a welcome reminder of those days in the farmhouse. I could almost picture those times, and smell the delicious bread mother would make for the coming week in the bread oven. As my stomach began to rumble at the very thought, Xavi appeared in the doorway, holding a plate of steaming stew, brown bread, and what appeared to be some vegetable pickles.
I moved to get up to retrieve the plate, but he took two long strides into the room, and gently slid it onto the crude mattress. He stepped back, but didn't retreat like all the others. Instead, he leaned against the door, foot crossed over his ankle. "You have not attempted escape."
Taking a moment, I picked off a piece of dark bread and popped it into my mouth. "I made a deal."
"That," he pointed at me, "is a lie. If you are to rule this empire, you need to be better at lying."
I picked another piece off. "How am I to do any of that when I'm here?"
He hummed but didn't answer. I was coming to understand that he wasn't just some foot soldier assassin. Whether he was Melena's right hand or not had yet to be determined, but he was being trusted with my care, and my guard, and I know that I wouldn't have trusted such a task to anyone who wasn't at least as close to me as Gil. Perhaps he was her "Gil." I hummed in return, as I popped the last of the bread into my mouth.
He waited, watching me, until I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Escape. How do I do that in this state?" I picked up the spoon and waved it toward myself before shoveling a full ladle of stew into my mouth.
"Are you waiting for your men to do it?" Xavi's face was stone, expressionless. I narrowed my eyes in response. "Perhaps they will find you, but it will not go as you think."
I wasn't a fool. If even Merien's prized troops had been decimated by these men and women, I knew that however good the 51st was, they were no match. I would lose many good men. I also knew that there was no way to stop them. Even if I managed to get word to stop the search, they would come for me. Melena had been right; my men followed me, perhaps too much. They would rather find me than survive, a thought that did not sit well in the pit of my stomach.
True, I had been trying to lead them to me. To control whatever outcome for the inevitable that I could. If I could set them up with the best possible battle field, perhaps so many would not die for my life. Perhaps I could even prevent it. I wasn't sure how exactly yet, but with each scoop of stew, I rolled it around in my head.
"What do you propose I do?"
Xavi blinked. "You made a deal. Tell your men to honor it."
I coughed on my stew and snorted. "And remain here as a prisoner until I can find some way to leave? I did not fight, bleed, and lose countless good people to spend my days here. I did those things to change the world, Xavi. As Empress. As my father wanted."
He hummed again. "Is that what you want?"
I looked him square in the eyes. "Of course. And it doesn't matter. To be empress is to serve. I would have thought you'd known that since you serve your own master."
Xavi's stone face moved, the corners of his lips dropping. "Careful, General. The ground you stand on is not firm."
I laughed, then immediately regretted it, wincing. "The ground is never firm under my feet, Xavi. I've learned to live or die with it."