Love Thy Enemy Part Seven
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six
Callista pulled her horse to a stop just before the palace spires disappeared behind the trees. The animal shifted impatiently beneath her, eager to catch up to the cart and the other horses moving along without them.
She patted its gray neck idly, promising just a few moments longer. She had an odd pit in her stomach, and it sunk deeper the further away from the city they rode. If she could pause a moment, let it settle, she could move on again.
Perhaps this is a mistake.
The little voice in the back of her head had proved unreliable more than once, but that one time...the once when it had saved her neck and her throne made her reluctant to ignore it.
There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn't leave. For one, 8 months was nothing compared to centuries of national history. She shouldn't jeopardize the momentum she had already gained by leaving the city now. With the coronation ceremony so close, she should be doing more to endear herself to the citizens. What if the soldiers grew cruel in her absence? Treating their new fellows like captives rather than equal citizens. What if said"new citizens" staged an uprising? There were still plenty of rogues and loyalists around trying to stir the pot.
Callista worried not only for the hatred that still burned in the depths of his eyes but for his vulnerability as the only free Totholi military member in the center of an Avarose conquest.
"He'll be alright," Eero said, pulling up beside her. Their horses nickered at each other, his great bay nibbling affectionately at her gray's face.
He sat tall and stiff in his saddle, his black sash voidal against his already black armor. Some of the generals wore lighter shades of leather, charcoal grey or walnut brown, so that the black stood out better, but Eero was never one to flaunt his accomplishments.
"How astute," Callista said, and flicked her horse's reigns. She'd lingered long enough. No need to start talk amongst the traveling party.
"There is no other thing you would look back for."
Callista bristled internally. What did he mean by that? It sounded dangerously of assumptions.
"It would be inconvenient if something happened," she said cooly. "So much of the empire's fate depends on him."
"You put too little trust in your soldiers."
Ah. He read her meaning immediately. Then, he'd already been a soldier when she'd taken the throne. Andros's blood on the cuff of her sleeve would probably always live fresh in his mind. As it did in hers.
"I think I trust them just enough." She paused, staring at the uniformed back of the soldiers ahead of her, taking in their stations, faces, the way they held themselves, and tried to imagine each one laced with treachery, or at the very least, secret insubordination. It was not a hard picture to summon. She lowered her voice. "I recently learned that a group--I don't know how large--has been exploiting the palace staff."
Eeros frowned. "Such things happen when soldiers gain a sense of importance too grand for their station. They've been positioned in power for too long."
"Not in my empire," she snapped. Then, catching herself, "It will not happen here. I've informed the generals and the captains, and in case they're involved as well, I've asked several unrelated staff to watch the generals and the captains. If this turns out to be more than novice arrogance, I will cut the poison out."
Eeros tugged his horse's bridle to the right, preventing him from stealing bites of the long grass growing up from the side of the path while the pacing was slow. "You can't cut out the whole world, your majesty."
He didn't wait for a response. In typical Eeros fashion, he probably wanted to leave her with thoughts rather than actually debate with her. He simply pulled his horse around and trotted toward the very back of the party where he could keep a good watch on everyone.
Callista huffed to herself. She didn't have much to think about. Her father had gotten used to living with venom, thinking if he kept each snake in the right box they wouldn't strike. But snakes couldn't be contented with comfortable walls. When presented the chance, they always slithered free. The Emperor had choked on that venom in the end. When they came for her, she cut off their heads before they could bite, and she'd continue to do so for as long as it worked.
Those who knew her from a distance called her monstrous. Bloodthirsty. Her soldiers looked at her with a healthy dose of fear, not like a monster but like a wild animal they should be careful with. Or maybe a weapon that had as much likelihood to cut them as it did their enemies. But anyone who got really close, close enough to see into her head, with all her hardbound rules shelved behind her eyes and chessboard brain constantly in play...well they called her paranoid. She heard it sometimes in whispers from ladiesmaids who found knives under her pillows when they changed the sheets, or she heard it more blatantly from people like Eeros.
But no one really knew the whole of it.
Inexplicably, her mind wandered back to Vorrin. He was a strange one too. Opposite of her. Beloved simply for the sake of being beloved. Armies betrayed their monarchy for him, yet he didn't seek a throne. Didn't wish past his station. But so stubborn.
She wondered which version Vorrin saw in her.
The answer came immediately, and she tightened her grip on the reins.
Well. That was one of the better options. And he was only one of many pieces on the board after all. A valuable one, but still a piece. Who said the queen had to care for the king to keep him out of checkmate?
She rolled her shoulders a little straighter.
An Empress needs only to care for her empire.
The morning of Callista's departure, Vorrin took breakfast in the barracks mess hall. Pins had gaped and Switch had spluttered, but neither of them had argued. They'd simply gotten to work on getting him ready. It was a rich, green thing today, long and loose with golden embroidery on the hem and chest. Matching emerald armbands stretched from wrist to forearm, a gold floral pattern emblazoned into the fabric. They were like faux gauntlets without any of the protection--though the fabric was a bit stiffer than that in the shirt.
Vorrin looked at himself sideways in the mirror. The sleeves were more drapery than sleeves, and it showed a great deal more chest than he'd usually go about displaying, but at least, even with its robeish length, it came with a decent set of trousers. His hair had been allowed loose today, the front pieces held out of his face with tight gold rings. It was probably as close to casual as he was going to get, but he still felt like a peacock amongst chickens.
It was almost like it had been back as a squire: sitting alone, the others dispersing warily around him. Except those stares had been more judgmental, half a step from disgust, whereas these were a mixture of awe and venom. Such stares no longer bothered him. Being paid attention to had its ups and downs, but Vorrin found it better to be known; at least then, attentions could be twisted.
Vorrin bided his time, drinking his coffee and scraping the remains of his porridge with his bread until he spotted a familiar face amongst the next wave of soldiers entering the hall.
The young man froze, his smile fading fast as he turned his head toward Vorrin's table.
Vorrin offered two curt waves, then raised his brow.
Button gave a glance to his compatriots, but ultimately made his way slowly over. Surprisingly, his group followed.
As he neared the table, Button bowed stiffly, strawberry locks falling over his face. "Royal consort."
The young man obeyed, moving around the table so that he was across from Vorrin, and set his bowl and mug down in front of him. The other men stood awkwardly, glancing between Vorrin, Button, and themselves before Vorrin put them out of their misery.
"Join if you like. Or not. It's your mess hour."
Slowly and nervously, they settled down onto the bench as well. They were a young trio in the same red sashes as Button.
"You wanted to speak to me, Royal Consort?" Button said.
Vorrin finished off his last bite of bread and clapped the crumbs from his hands.
Button kept his head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on his porridge. "As you know, Royal Consort, I'm at your disposal for anything that aligns with the will of my Empress."
"I want to get to know the soldiers. All of them."
Button's head shot up, eyes widening a fraction. "All of them? There are several hundred posted within the capital city, and they are in constant rotation within and without the palace. To meet every single soldier would take...months."
"I don't only want to meet them," Vorrin said. "I want to be well-acquainted with them. Faces, names, station, likes and dislikes, belief systems, anything they're willing to share. That means multiple meetings. Perhaps rotating escorts and group meals. As much time as I can spend with them as possible."
Buttons looked even more aghast now. "But my Royal Consort you don't--" He froze mid-sentence, mouth parted as if he were trying to gulp the words back in.
One of the trio finished for him. A tall, thick-armed man, despite the youngness of his face.
"You no longer carry a military station. What would be the purpose?"
Vorrin folded his hands in front of him and stared Tayin directly in the eyes. "The purpose is presence. It has been nearly a year, but to most of the soldiers here, I am still an enemy. I must build an image beyond a Totholi general. And I must be more than the empress's consort. If I am to ever to carve a place of respect for myself in this...assimilation, I must connect with those who have most reason to despise me. That aside, I don't particularly like being in a palace full of strangers. For my own safety, I would like to know which soldiers I can trust."
"No one would go against the Empress," one of the other men piped up. He was slender, dark-haired, and nearly identical to the fourth member of their group aside for a lack of cheek scruff. They were certainly brothers, possibly twins.
Vorrin turned toward him now, and he shrank a little in his seat at the attention. "A nice notion, but not true. There's always someone willing to stretch the rules. To go a little too far. To take matters into their own hands. I haven't run an army for the last six years without being intimately aware of that."
Maybe it was impossible to get the same level of dedication and unity from a once-enemy, but if Vorrin wanted to get any sort of real power, any edge against the Empress, he had to try. It had taken a good, long while for him to make his own army the cohesive unit it was now, but he had done it. Even if he got a portion of the Empress's soldiers on his side it would be enough.
Button mulled over Vorrin's words with pursed lips and a vague stir of his spoon. "Why are you asking me?" he finally said. "Couldn't you make an arrangement with one of the generals? They're better equipped for that sort of thing."
And more likely to see straight through him.
"I don't trust anyone of high station to do more than keep me pacified. You've still got some pride in you, and I know you're conflicted about me, but you are more decent than most of the men I have met so far. In essence, I like you."
At least that much was true.
Button flushed a little, whether from the censure or the praise Vorrin didn't know, but he looked thoughtful, so Vorrin decided to take it as a good sign.
"Total unification is the Empress's goal, Button said, " so it's my duty to aid her in any way I can." He glanced around at his companions. "Er...this is Tayin, Alith, and Rone."
Alith, the clean-shaven brother who had spoken up earlier, gave a small wave, while Rone leaned forward on his elbows, narrowly missing his bowl.
"Is it true that you and Empress Callista fought hand to hand for almost two hours?"
Vorrin's stomach twisted into a minor knot and a short phantom ache shot up both arms at just the mention of the battle. To be honest, he had no idea how long he'd fought the Empress. It had felt like an eternity, the sting of sweat in his eyes, lungs on fire, muscles ready to give, the nauseating stench of gore so strong he could taste it, and yet it had ended all too soon. Time always acted strangely in battle, expanding and constricting with the deterioration of one's body and, more importantly, mind.
Avarose had worn them down slowly. The suddenness of their siege giving them an advantage of preparation, which paired with King Duras's rash decision making, had the Tolothi troops locked in almost constant battle. By the time the Empress found him, he'd been on the verge of delirium. For all Vorrin knew the fight could have been two hours or two minutes, but only one of those options was going to bring him respect, so he simply said:
The men's eyes widened; Button gaped a little.
"Raoden said you can use the training grounds now," Rone said. "Can we come watch sometime?"
"I'll do you one better. I need sparrring partners. You help me stay in practice, and I'll show you some tips."
"I don't know if we can--" Alith began, but Rone was already thrusting out his hand.
Alith sighed, eying Vorrin and his brother's clasped hands. "Aren't you angry?"
"Ah." Button paled a little, "I don't think that's any of our concern."
"I am," Vorrin said. The young guard was right to worry about such a sensitive topic. Vorrin might not have taken it so well a few weeks ago. But now he had goals ahead. Hope hung on half-truths and compliance. "I'm sure my behavior over the last several months has made my feelings more than clear. I can't say I'm content with all that has befallen my country, but Empress Callista has acquainted me with the indesputable proof that right now my people need stability. As of now, that is my only goal."
Alith seemed to mull that over a moment, eventually letting out an even longer sigh. "Fine. You said you want to meet all of us? Let's get this over with."
"I appreciate that, but before we get into deeper conversation..." Vorrin fixed his stare back on Button. The guard shifted nervously in his seat. "I have one more favor to ask."
Button looked up and down the passage anxiously, as if at any moment someone would stop them and demand to know what they were doing. Conversely, Vorrin kept his stride steady and confident. He couldn't appear guilty. A sniff of deceit, and it would be back to his rooms for a more restricted routine until the Empress's return. And his chances of going about his schemes unbothered while she was around were close to none.
"Just to clarify, I'm escorting you to the entrance," Button said, "but allowing you passage is way above my authority."
"Of course. I don't expect anything more than your presence."
Pins and Switch were enough of a presence for most palace outings, but Vorrin had a feeling that wouldn't go over well for this particular destination.
Within a few moments, they stood outside the gaping maw to the dungeons. The door was set deeper into the arched entrance than most, its dark wood blending into shadow.
A large, ruddy-cheeked man in full plate armor and a deep red sash stood with his back against the archway. He held his halberd out in front of him, but the way he held it like a walking stick rather than a weapon spoke of many days of uneventful disuse.
He didn't notice them immediately, eyes gazing off toward the wall ahead until Vorrin and Button were just a couple of feet ahead. He jolted, lofting his halberd in their direction, then he registered Button's uniform, eyes flicked to his lighter red sash. Next, his gaze moved to Vorrin next, first narrowed and confused, and then widening large.
"Royal Consort," he said, clearing his throat and straightening up. "What brings you to this wing?"
“I’d like to visit the prisoners," Vorrin said.
The man choked, searching briefly down the hall, as if an explanation for this situation might suddenly appear. “You... Apologies, Royal Consort, but no one but soldiers higher than the fifth red rank is allowed past this point.”
“Of course not. Not anyone can have access to the dungeons, but surely such base restrictions do not apply to the Empress's consort."
"I...well...not usually, but..." The guard hesitated. “I suppose we can inquire with the Empress upon her return.”
"In a few weeks?" Vorrin fixed him with his coldest stare.
"Er...yes. She would want to know about it."
“Oh, she will certainly know about it. It will be the first thing I tell her. How I was treated as an enemy in my own home. Like an inferior."
"W-wait, I didn't-- It's just that--"
I thought I was a consort, not a prisoner.”
“Y-you’re not a prisoner,” the guard said, obviously unsure how to respond to such an unpleasant truth.
“Then I am your superior."
"Uh, technically, yes..."
"Not technically. I am. So I will tell you again, let me pass. You may leave your post or send another guard down to monitor me if you wish.”
The guard glanced at Button, who stood behind Vorrin's shoulder in parade rest. Though the young soldier was doing his best to seem controlled, Vorrin could feel his nervous tension.
"Very well. But only for ten minutes." Then hastily, probably to avoid further argument, "That's an average visiting time. Any more must be discussed with the Empress."
"Of course," Vorrin said. He wouldn't push it.
The guard exchanged looks with Button, and Button nodded slightly. It was a confirmation that Button would be reporting every detail back to the guard. They were simply too diplomatic to say it out loud.
Before the guard could hesitate further, Vorrin strode forward, yanking on the large rings hooked in the double doors, and heaving them open wide.
Lamps lined the steep steps all the way down to the dungeon's depths, eventually opening up to a long, shadowy hall, large enough to contain several aisles. Cells lined either side, each about the size of the cheapest tavern room. About as furnished as one, too, just a couple of beds and a bucket. No windows, though; they were too deep for that. At least everything was dry. Vorrin had heard of prisons where the floor stayed constantly damp, slowly softening the skin into rot and filling the prisoners' lungs with pneumonia.
He made his way down the first aisle, peering through the bars, but found only strangers staring back.
One greasy woman with yellow teeth locked eyes with him, face contorting into a sneer.
"Well, if it isn't the blessed traitor," She spat through the bars. "Finally come to join us?"
"Hey! I'm talking to you, trophy-wife! They should be hanging you! You hear? When King Duras rises again, you're going to pay!"
A string of loud obscenities followed, which the other prisoners on the aisle quickly joined in on.
"Royal Consort..."Button piped against the shouting.
"Who are these ones?" Vorrin said, nodding to the angry prisoners.
"I believe they're rabble-rousers. People who tried to incite rioting. Violent ones. Sometimes to the point of harming each other as much as our soldiers."
Vorrin couldn't contest that. As much as he agreed with their point of view, the law was no different than when King Duras was in power. A kingdom had to protect itself. And causing unrest that could harm citizens couldn't be overlooked. Besides, even if he wanted to start an argument for their freedom, he didn't have the time.
He made his way up the second aisle, then the third; the yells faded the further he walked from the entrance, and he was on the fifth aisle when he finally spotted it: deep bruise colored surcoats emblazoned over with scattered pricks of gold thread, stars that didn't gleam so much in the dungeon's dim light.
Vorrin let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, and in the quiet, it came out like a gasp.
One of the men turned his head, the deep auburn hair tucked stringy behind his ears.
"Aster." It was out before Vorrin had time to think of a more diplomatic greeting. Something that might soften the resentment.
Aster leapt to his feet. "General?"
The other soldiers' heads immediately snapped in his direction.
The chorus of voices clamored over each other in excitement. Aengus, Raylin, Everard, Will, Aimery, Sel, Tayne...
The tears came to his eyes sudden and unexpected. An overpowering relief washing over him in thick waves that seemed to bind his tongue. He wanted to greet them. To explain. To apologize. To beg for forgiveness. But all he seemed able to do was laugh and cry.
Their hands grasped at him through the bars, ruffling hair, clasping shoulders, arms, pulling at robe hems, as if they could pull him straight through the iron and into their open-armed huddle.
"What the hell are you dressed as?" Everard cried, scarred hands pulling at robeish shirt. "Is it supposed to cover so little chest, or are you showing off?"
"Showing off what?" Aengus said. His raven hair had been shorn short when Vorrin last saw him, but now it brushed his sharp collarbones. "He's clearly not taking care of his figure. Pretty sure he surrendered so he could spend all day eating fancy Avarosian food.
Raylin shouldered him. "Yeah, it'd be a relief to escape training you and your clumsy swordwork."
"Hey, I'm not judging," Aengus said, holding up his hands. "I'd defect for a sausage roll right now."
Vorrin laughed. "Believe it or not, this is actually one of the better outfits."
"Oh?" Aengus raised a brow.
"Let's not talk about that right now."
"Can we talk about how pretty you smell?" He turned laughingly toward the others. "Doesn’t he?”
A blonde man with frizzy curls tied out of his face pushed to the front and inhaled sharply, grinning up at Vorrin with a wicked grin. "Like a rose."
"Oh, shut up, Emil." He paused. "I heard you're mother was able to 'visit' you?"
The young man barked a laugh. "You mean busted her way with an assault charge? I heard she gave you quite the walloping."
"Yeah, you should have her when I forgot to clean the horse stall." Despite the teasing words, his eyes had softened over the mention of his mother. "It was...good to see her. Knowing she was ok. I'm guessing you had something to do with that."
Vorrin grimaced. His tantrum had barely done anything, but perhaps it had at least made it known how difficult he could become if the woman was executed. "Only minorly. I think it was mostly mercy on the Empress's part."
Their expressions seemed to tighten and loosen all at once. An anxiety at the mention of their captor but also...was that pity?
"How...has it been?" Emil asked. "Are you alright?"
Vorrin swallowed. "I'm...I'm fine. It's just a lot of boring routine and sitting around like a trophy on a shelf. Nothing horrific. The worst part is how much time I have in my own thoughts." He cleared his throat. "But that doesn't matter. I only have a few minutes down here. How are all of you?"
The men exchanged a few looks.
"Supringly," Aengus said. "Ok? No one has been taken away. And the food isn't half bad, just sort of bland. The worst part is how cramped it is."
Vorrin looked over the cells. They were overcrowded, but at the very least, they were clean and well supplied. Plenty of blankets to keep out the chill that bled through the holes between the stone, but even most of those had been patched.
"How many soldiers are here?" he asked.
Everard furrowed his brow. "A few hundred? After we surrendered, they gathered us all up in a group. We slept out on the field, completely surrounded by Avarosian forces. Healers treated the worst of our wounds, and within a couple of days, we were here. Stragglers were added over the next few weeks, but then after a while, when people stopped being added, we figured whoever wasn't here was...gone for good... I...I assume it's true about King Duras?"
Vorrin nodded solemnly. "No body was found, but..."
"So Tothalan is really gone."
Vorrin opened his mouth to protest, to let them know he hadn't given up just yet. A brief shifting from Button behind him stopped him short.
"Royal Consort," the Avarosian said. "It's time."
Vorrin's insides jolted. So little time. So little he could do.
He nodded solemnly in Button's direction before turning back to his soldiers for a farewell. "It's going to be alright." He clasped Everard's hand, slipping the parchment fragment into the gnarled palm. "I'm going to talk to Empress."
Everard didn't react. He simply squeezed Vorrin's hand with a natural camaraderie, then dropped both hands to his sides. Parchment now safely in his fist. He'd always had the best poker face. It was good he'd been in this first cell.
"Let everyone know," Vorrin said, gazing around at them all as they murmured goodbyes, but holding eye contact with Everard a little longer. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
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Bonus info: This Pinterest picture was the inspiration for Vorrin's outfit in this chapter. Just minus the fur. No idea who this character is, but I was loving the vibe.
Also, I apologize for the very very very long wait for this chapter! I haven't had much time for writing lately, but I really hope that I can begin scheduling better writing time for myself soon.
@whatiswhump, @aprilraine, @ilovescarletwitch, @conniedensazation, @feedthebirds, @bloodinkandashes @yourslimeologist @everythingwasalreadypicked @elle297382