Hero, Traitor, Daughter

The coughing fit caught Felene by surprise, almost doubling her up with the force of it. It ripped through her, her lungs feeling as though they were on fire. She put a hand to her mouth, and it came away wet with blood.

“Are you all right down there?” the captain of the Felldust ship called, in a voice of clear suspicion. “Is that blood? You’re not carrying some plague, are you?”

Felene had no doubt that he would make her travel alone if he thought she did. That, or fire her ship just to be certain that no disease got close.

“Got gut punched in a fight on the docks,” she lied, wiping her hand on the railing. “It’s no big deal.”

“If you’re coughing blood, it sounds bad enough,” the captain called back. “You should go off and find a healer. Can’t spend gold if you’re dead.”

It was probably good advice, but then, Felene had never been one to listen to such things. Especially not when she had better things to do. If it had been just gold on the line, she might have done exactly what the man suggested.

“So they say,” Felene joked. “Me, I say they’re not trying hard enough.”

She let the other ship’s captain laugh. She had better things to do.

It was time to kill Stephania and Elethe.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Every day, the convoy of former conscripts made its way around the countryside surrounding Delos, and every day, Sartes found himself staring at Leyana, trying to find a way to tell her how he felt having her around.

Every day, Sartes spent time trying to put it into words, thinking of the things someone more eloquent might have come up with. What would Thanos have said, or Akila, or… or anyone else who was half in love and didn’t know what to do next?

He spent his time caught between thinking about Leyana and thinking of the things he ought to be doing. They went from village to village, passing out what supplies they had, giving back conscripts who had been taken from their homes, and reassuring people as best they could that the rebellion would not be another set of tyrants.

Every day, he tried to compose something to say, and every day, he found himself getting to the point of making camp without having done it.

“Are you all right?” Leyana asked with a smile. She’d taken to riding on the same wagon as Sartes, and Sartes had to admit that he liked that. When they made camp every night, her tent was never far away from his. Sartes liked that too. He found himself grateful that if they were to be attacked, he would be able to rush out and save her.

He found himself half hoping that someone would attack so that he could.

Was this what being in love felt like? Sartes didn’t know. He didn’t have enough experience with girls to know for sure, and it wasn’t as though he could just ask someone, because he was supposed to be the leader, and he’d learned from watching Anka that leaders couldn’t afford to be that uncertain in public. He had to be strong, so that they could keep doing what Ceres had sent him to do.

He wished that Anka were there to talk to, rather than dead. He wished that Ceres were there too. Maybe his big sister would have been able to give him some advice. Maybe she could have told him how she knew what she felt about Thanos.

They traveled down through a village, handing out food. As seemed to happen in almost every village now, people started to appear the moment it was clear that the conscripts weren’t there to attack them. Far too many looked painfully thin, starving after Lucious had burned the countryside.

There were more of them now. Sartes had seen the lines of refugees, some carrying everything they owned. Twice now, his conscripts had come across thieves or bandits trying to rob them. Twice, Sartes and the others had driven them off.

He hoped it would be that simple with the invasion. Every group of refugees they passed brought rumors with them, talking about the great fleet that was coming, the battles that were raging on the open water around the city as Akila’s fleet tried to slow the invasion.

A part of him wanted to rush back right then and help, but Sartes had to trust that his sister knew what she was doing. If Ceres had a role for him in the defense of the city, she would send a messenger. Until she did, the best thing Sartes could do was keep going, trying to make the countryside safer.

The next time they stopped, though, he took his sword from his belt, holding it up for everyone there to see.

“This is coming,” he called out to the refugees. “You’re running from it, but you won’t be able to run forever. The invasion will spread beyond the city, so you might as well learn how to protect yourselves. Grab whatever weapons you can find. You’re going to learn how to use them.”

He hoped that he sounded enough like a leader for them to believe it. Plenty of them grabbed what they could: knives and hatchets, hoes, and even the occasional sword. Sartes tried to remember what he could of the lessons they’d forced into him in the army.

“You need to stand together if soldiers come,” Sartes said, moving around the group of them. “You can’t just look after yourself; you look after the people next to you as well. No, hold it lightly, or you won’t be able to put the blade where you want. Stay in line. If you go off alone, you’ll be surrounded by anyone who attacks.”

To his surprise, he found Leyana at the end of the line, holding a knife as long as her forearm.

“I want to learn how to fight,” she said. “The next time men come, I might not be able to hide.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Sartes promised.

She smiled at that. “That’s sweet, but what if you aren’t there?”

Sartes couldn’t imagine not being there, because that would mean leaving Leyana’s side.

“I’ll be there,” he promised. He realized what he was saying. “That is… I mean… if you want me to be.”

“I want you to be,” Leyana replied. “But if you’re protecting me, it’s only right that I should protect you, isn’t it?”

That was a fair point, and Leyana seemed to get the basics of using the weapon quickly. Even so, Sartes hoped that she wouldn’t have to fight anytime soon. He couldn’t stand the thought of her potentially being hurt, and any fight came with risks.

To Sartes’s surprise, when they left, a couple of men walked along with the wagons. Sartes frowned at that.

“They want to help fight the invasion,” Leyana said beside him. “You said it yourself: we have to stand together.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Sartes said.

Sometimes, though, it didn’t matter what you were trying to do. It mattered what you did. Sartes just hoped that everything he did would prove to be enough.

***

They moved on, heading for the next village. There always seemed to be another village. When they finally stopped for the night, Sartes wandered from the road a little way. He spun at the sound of footsteps behind him, padding across the meadow grass, his hand already going to his sword.

He relaxed when he saw it was Leyana, although her presence brought nerves of a very different kind.

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