Sergeant Werneus looked suitably uneasy as he ducked under Klia’s tent flap and went down on one knee before her. “You sent for me, Commander?”
Myrhini stepped behind him, guarding the door.
“Yes,” said Klia. “At attention, rider.”
Werneus, a grizzled warrior at least two decades her senior, stood stiffly, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on a spot just over her shoulder.
“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors, Sergeant. Rumors involving me.”
Werneus said nothing, but she caught a flash of alarm in his eyes.
“Speak, Sergeant!” she ordered.
“It’s just soldiers’ talk, Commander.”
“About what?”
A muscle flexed in the man’s stubbled jaw. “Just talk, Commander, about what it might be like if you was in charge of the regiment, that’s all.”
“Just the regiment?” Klia narrowed her eyes. “I heard that some might want me to be queen.”
The man went paler still under the scruff and grime. “That’d be talking treason against Queen Phoria, Commander!”
“You were heard, man.”
Werneus stiffened. “There’s talk, but it’s only wishful thinking, Commander. All the riders love you. We’d follow you to Bilairy’s gate.”
“And would you follow General Moraus?”
“Yes, Commander!”
Klia regarded him in silence for a moment. Her gut told her this was an honest man. “You know that mutiny and inciting mutiny are hanging offenses, don’t you?”
To the man’s credit, he met her eye squarely. “ ’Course I do, Commander. I swear by the Flame, it’s just talk!”
“And who’s doing the talking? Out with it, man!”
“Some of the other riders, Commander.”
“Names, Sergeant!” Myrhini barked.
“Rethus, Morson, Sorian…”
“And?” snapped Myrhini.
“And Callin, but he’s just a boy. He don’t mean any harm, just takes in the older riders’ talk.”
“That doesn’t excuse him, Sergeant. But none of your officers?”
“No, Commander, by the Flame I’ve heard nothing of the sort from any one of them. They’re as loyal as summer’s turning is long.”
“We’ll see about that. I want you to go back to your friends and tell them what we’ve said here. I will hang anyone talking mutiny against the queen or our general. Is that clear?”
“As springwater, Commander.” Werneus saluted, fist to heart.
Klia nodded and Myrhini dismissed the shaken soldier.
“What do you think?” asked Myrhini.
“Summon the others he named.”
One by one the riders appeared, and each told the same story as Werneus, young Callin in tears. It was only the mutterings of loyal soldiers who idolized their commander. She’d deal with that in the morning. Which left Danos to worry about.
CHAPTER 18. Brader
STARVING on the road had been hard on the whole company, but their stunning degree of success here in Rh iminee carried its own burdens. Atre had hired scrim painters and a few servants, but he’d also set up a grueling performance schedule. Brader saw his family more onstage than he did in their quarters. Atre was in great demand among the nobles, too, and often disappeared after the night’s performance to entertain at private parties.
On the days the theater was dark, Brader took his wife and children away to find various amusements about the city-anything to get them away from the crowded house and the demands of the theater. In the markets they found necessities for the company, like pigments and cloth, toys, puppet and mummer’s shows to amuse the children, and dressmakers for Merina. The long months of deprivation had been hard on her, and he was happy to buy her the pretty things that made her so happy. Good food and a proper roof over their heads had put the roses back in her cheeks and the children’s, too. He didn’t ever want them to suffer like that again. If only Atre could be content here, and live quietly. Sometimes Brader wished he could pack up his family and leave the company, setting up somewhere to herd cattle, as he had as a boy, before Atre had lured him away to this traveling life. How many years had it been? He’d lost count. He’d forgotten what his mother’s face looked like.
He’d had other wives and other children, and walked away when he had to, but Merina was different; leaving her and
the children would be like cutting out his own heart. And so he couldn’t leave Atre, either-the man his children called uncle, as others had before.
Returning from such a day out, Brader found Atre in the room with the bucolic murals that might have served as a salon in the past, but was now a practice space. He was helping the twins with their tumbling skills, and laughing with them as they flipped backward and walked on their hands in their loose-fitting leggings and tunics. They were playing mischievous spirits in the play opening the following week. They adored Atre and lived for his praise.
“Excellent! Outstanding!” Atre cried. “You’ll have the audience believing you can float and fly like hummingbirds at this rate. Ah, Brader, back so soon?”
“It’s going to rain,” Merina told him, kissing Teibo and Tanni. “Such hard work, you two! Now, children, I believe it’s your turn to practice with Uncle Atre. Run upstairs and change your clothes.”
Atre kissed her on both cheeks. “They are coming along well, too. They have their mother’s talent.”
“I should hope so!” Merina laughed as she followed her children upstairs.
“Can we go now, Master Atre?” asked Teibo.
“Yes, go have some fun. You’ve earned it. Just be ready for practice tomorrow morning.”
“We will!” Tanni said as she followed her brother from the room, already pulling off her sweat-soaked tunic.
When they were alone, Atre looked closely at Brader. “You’re looking weary, cousin, and I see some lines around your eyes.”
Brader nodded, resigned. “Yes, it’s time.”
“Tonight, then, after the show.”
Atre was changing into fresh clothing when Brader came to his room that night. “You’re going out again?”
Atre went to the mirror and pulled his long auburn hair back with a ribbon that matched his embroidered black coat.
“Yes, Duke Laneus invited me to a drinking party he’s having tonight. Tanni is coming with me. Didn’t she tell you?”
“No.” Brader frowned, not liking the idea of the impressionable girl in such company. “Does her father know?”
“Zell doesn’t mind. Why should you?” Atre replied with a shrug. He appraised Brader’s reflection in the mirror. “You go too long between these days, cousin,” he scolded. “It makes things noticeable.”
“And you do it too often,” Brader said, weary of the perpetual argument. “You’ll start to look like Teibo if you’re not careful. The night of the opening I noticed Lord Seregil and Lady Kylith staring at you all evening.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know what I’m doing. It’s your own choice to starve yourself.” Going to the wardrobe, he moved a few hats aside on the upper shelf and took down a battered leather case. Setting it on the dressing table, he unlocked it and took out two glass phials sealed with cork and wax incised with a circle of tiny symbols. The contents were milky and one of the phials clinked as he handled it, the child’s clay marble he’d used to make the elixir knocking against the glass.
“There you are,” he said, giving it to Brader.
The tall man gazed at it a moment, his expression a mix of regret and revulsion, then broke the seal and quickly downed the contents. The effect was slight, not even eliciting a shudder as some of the stronger ones did, but those were risky. And addictive. Brader had given them up years ago.