If the gates of Hades existed on Earth, they would surely be found in Rivania. Gemma drove her knife into the unclothed savage in front of her and moved on to the next before his knees even had time to hit the blood-soaked dirt at their feet.
The Ulriki were a sight to behold, completely hairless with bronzed skin tinted with a ruby colored oil. It hadn’t taken long after her arrival two years ago to this godforsaken place for Gemma to become unfazed by the sight of the warriors clad only in loincloth and wielding nothing more than a short-handled ax.
Gemma snatched up an ax from a fallen Ulriki and threw it at one of his compatriots. One of her fellow Rivanian soldiers stepped into the weapon’s path. Dust plumed the air as he went down with the ax protruding from his back—an unfortunate accident that happened all too often on the battlefield. No time to worry about it now. She leaped over his prone body and cut her intended target’s throat in midair.
With a shake of her head, Gemma skirted around two Rivanians who chose to fight each other rather than the still advancing Ulriki and went after her next kill. The most likely reason we haven’t won this war and probably never will. These people would just as soon kill each other as the enemy.
The whole thing was senseless—especially that she was even here. She’d give anything to return to Gilvary, but once you made the pledge to serve Potentate Renata, there was no going back.
The sound of a horn rent the air and what was left of the Ulriki army retreated. The Rivanian army surged forward in a last-ditch effort to dispatch the stragglers before they melted into the thick forest.
The adrenaline that had kept Gemma going seeped away like the flow of a river. She took a deep breath and willed her body to keep moving forward—past the exhaustion of one battle after another and past the pain now making itself known. Her time here in Rivania had aged her well beyond her twenty-five years. People didn’t live long here. How long before the ax of an opponent cut her down?
Gemma scanned the battlefield for any survivors as she made her way back to camp. A battle-scarred lump of a man clad in leather armor suddenly blocked her path and she smiled up at him. “Glad to see you made it through the battle, Egon.”
The man had been in hot pursuit of her since they met a week ago. If anything developed between them it would be superficial at best, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready for even that. She also hadn’t decided exactly what he was after. It wasn’t her heart, that was for sure. Good thing, because she no longer had one to give. The fact that they were assigned to different squadrons on opposite ends of the camp helped slow things down, giving her time to make up her mind about him.
“Not all of us did, emiko.”
She had no idea what emiko translated to, but it gave her a warm feeling every time he said it. In fact, his accent and the way he sprinkled in foreign words here and there were the most appealing things about him. Though, there was a good chance it was all fake as a means to attract his prey. He looked no different than any other Rivanian and every time she asked where he originated from, he changed the subject.
She shrugged. “You can’t have war without casualties.”
It was a common saying among the soldiers. It didn’t pay to get too attached.
A man larger than Egon stopped beside them—one she didn’t recognize. He leaned in closer with an intimidating grimace. A mask of indifference covered her expression as she stared back at him.
A wad of his spit landed in the dirt next to her boot. “Don’t glare those unnatural eyes at me, you witch.”
Her blond hair and green eyes were unremarkable where she was from, but everything came in shades of only one color in Rivania and that color was brown. She’d taken to dyeing her hair in a concoction made from walnut hulls so she wouldn’t stand out as an open target on the battlefield. But other than making sure the enemy didn’t get close enough to notice, there was nothing she could do about her eyes.
Egon made a clicking sound with his tongue, drawing her attention back to him. “You messed up, emiko. You killed our captain. We both saw you.”
Tension pulled across her brow as she tried to conjure an image of the man with the ax in his back that she’d accidentally dispatched. He could have been anybody. For that matter, in the heat of battle more than one Rivanian soldier could have taken an accidental blow without her noticing.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” She shoved her hand against Egon’s chest. “You can take your fake accent along with your comrade here and go—”
Pain barely registered at the base of her skull before blackness overtook her.
Gemma lost count of how many days had passed. Every time she started to regain consciousness, someone would force another dose of a foul-tasting tonic down her throat, and she was too weak to resist. This time when consciousness began to seep in, things felt different. For one thing, she was no longer moving. And her wrists and ankles were now free of shackles. As far as she could tell, she had been transported in a wagon, but to where?
What part did Egon have in hauling me here? The last time she remembered hearing his voice had been when they stood face to face on the battlefield and he’d accused her of killing his captain. If she deserved punishment, why hadn’t he or one of his companions struck her down right then? Why had they kept her alive?
Water trickled nearby and someone hummed a soothing tune that was somehow familiar, though she couldn’t place it. A few words broke through in a language she didn’t recognize. The voice had a feminine quality. Gemma couldn’t imagine a soldier making such a peaceful sound. Did she have enough strength to overpower them?
“Open those eyes. I know you have been awake for a while now. We must get you ready to go before the potentate.”
The potentate?
Gemma blinked against the light and frowned up at the woman smiling down at her. The woman’s long black hair, her black eyes, and the swarthiness of her skin reminded Gemma of someone else. Someone who had stolen her future happiness, which had landed her in this wretched place.
She tried to sit up, but fell back against the bed beneath her, weak as a newborn kitten.
“Here, let me help you.” The woman wrapped one hand around Gemma’s arm and the other slipped beneath her head and swiveled her around until she was sitting on the side of the bed.
Gemma winced and touched the tender knot at the back of her head. She looked down and realized she only wore a thin shift and her undergarments. She didn’t even want to think about who had divested her of her leather armor and weapons.
“I have some tea that will help restore your strength.”
She was already shaking her head before the woman turned back with a cup in her hand.
“There are no drugs in this drink. I promise.”
At this point it didn’t really matter. Her mouth was so dry, she couldn’t even speak. If she couldn’t defend herself, she might as well sleep. She reached for the cup with shaking hands. The woman wrapped her hands around Gemma’s and helped her take a drink. The little bit of liquid at the bottom of the cup was gone in two swallows.
“You don’t want to go too fast, or you’ll be sick. See how that settles and then you can have more. I also have dry bread to soothe your stomach and hold you over until dinner. You will be dining with Potentate Renata.”
“Why?” Gemma’s voice cracked and she cleared her throat.
The woman’s dark eyes flickered toward Gemma and then away. “I am not privy to that information. My job is to get you ready. My name is Ursa, by the way.”
Gemma didn’t give her name. She’d learned it was best not to become too familiar. She’d already taken in her surroundings. Since she was to dine with the potentate, something she still couldn’t wrap her mind around, her best guess was this was a cell in the castle’s dungeon. Beyond the rusted bars of her cell, the rest of the cavernous room appeared to be empty.
She’d heard that the potentate didn’t believe in taking prisoners. Most were executed on the spot. Which brought up even more questions. She’d been accused of killing a captain of the Rivanian army. If she was guilty, it had been an accident. Did the potentate even care about such things? Had the captain been someone close to him?
She looked down at the steaming bath next to the cell door. If he planned to have her killed, the potentate wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of having her brought here, and he certainly wouldn’t care about her hygiene. A shiver ran through her at the thought of why he might want her to take a bath before meeting with him. If he valued his life, he’d keep his hands to himself.
She allowed Ursa to help her bathe and accepted the rest of the tea and the bread. No protests left her lips until the servant tried to slip a silk, tunic-style dress over her head. “Where are my belongings? My clothes and the personal items that were in my tent. Did they not bring them?”
Ursa nodded once. “They did, but nothing in there was deemed appropriate for your meeting with the potentate.”
“You went through my things?” Everything she owned fit into one leather bag—not that she expected part of her belongings weren’t pilfered by whomever gathered them from her tent. Everything in one bag except for her weapons, which she wore at all times. She even kept them with her when she slept. “Where are my weapons?”
“Locked away with the rest of your belongings, but of course I am not at liberty to get them for you.” Ursa held up the cream-colored garment with gold trim. “This should suffice for now.”
Gemma snatched the tunic from the servant’s hand and put it on. The embroidered hem fell to her ankles but still left her feeling naked. The sandals Ursa handed her didn’t help much. She was given a wide-toothed comb and she made quick strokes through her short hair.
She touched the lines of stubble on the side of her head. “What about the signa?” Rivania soldiers were required to shave thin lines on the side of their head, identifying them as enlisted.
“I wasn’t allowed a razor. I’m sure you will be excused for now.”
Gemma ran her hand back over her wet hair and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Something was off about this whole scenario, but she wouldn’t find the answers stuck in this cell. Time to face the music and move on. “Are we done here?”
The tone of her own voice pricked her conscience. She couldn’t afford to let her guard down with her fellow soldiers, but she’d been taught to treat servants with kindness. Yet, she couldn’t apologize and be thought weak. No doubt everything she said and did would be analyzed and reported.
Ursa nodded and gathered everything on her tray. She used a ring on her hand to make a clanging noise on one of the bars enclosing the cell. “Master Mellick, we are ready now.”
A chill ran through Gemma at the realization that someone had been within hearing distance this whole time and she hadn’t been aware of it.
The thump of a cane accompanied shuffling steps. A bent man with gray hair and beard and a face full of wrinkles finally made an appearance. He fumbled with an iron ring of keys until he found the right one.
Gemma had not seen a person this aged since her arrival to Rivania. She could take him out with little effort, but it would certainly mean death. Even if she made it out of the castle, she would be hunted like an animal. If the potentate had let her live until now, she at least had a chance if she cooperated. And she would, until it became absolutely necessary to do otherwise.
She bowed her head, folded her hands in front of her, and took a step back from the cell door. Ursa passed in front of her and kept walking once she exited. With the urge to be free pressing in on her like a lead blanket, Gemma wanted to run after her.
“Come.” The old man motioned her forward with a knobby hand bent with arthritis.
She followed him from the dungeon at a snail’s pace, chaffing to speed up even as she dreaded reaching her destination. At least this gave her time to take in the lay of the castle and try to gauge where the exits might be. She’d grown up in a castle much like this one, though a little less ornate. Gold trim glittered from the walls and fixtures here, paid for with the blood of its citizens.
They eventually made it to the dining hall. One long table spanned the length of the room that could seat thirty or more, bare except for a white tablecloth and two place settings at the very end. The seat at the end looked like it belonged in the throne room.
In Gilvary, and in the other two kingdoms in Kearnley for that matter, the royal family sat separately on a dais while guests and servants spread out at an array of tables below them. She doubted very seriously that Potentate Renata ate in the same room with castle servants. This table was no doubt reserved for honored guests.
Her guide led her to the place setting next to the head of the table. “Stand here until the potentate enters and takes his seat.”
The old man shuffled through the nearest exit, leaving her totally alone and unguarded in the grand room. She didn’t have long to stand there. A baldheaded man stopped just inside the door. He wore a long tunic similar to the one she wore but with a brown, heavily embroidered vest that was almost as long as his tunic. She quickly dismissed the idea that he might be the potentate. He must be a pompous, high-ranking servant then.
Potentate Renata entered less than a minute later. Once you got past the layers of gold-trimmed and heavily embroidered clothing, he wasn’t bad looking. If not for the veil of contempt coloring Gemma’s view, she might even consider him handsome with his black curly hair and a hint of humor in his dark eyes.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, Madam Fergus.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke and sat with the aid of his servant. He gestured to the seat in front of her. “Come, sit. You must be famished.”
Hunger gnawed at her, but she was loathe to admit it.
The servant pulled a carafe from a cabinet next to the wall and poured the jewel-studded goblet in front of the potentate full of dark red wine before filling the less ornate one in front of Gemma. Everything about the setting was designed to let the table occupants know that the man at the head of the table held more importance than anyone else.
The ruler gestured again with his hand. “Drink up. The food will be here any moment.”
She followed his lead with a tiny sip from her goblet. Alcohol had much more power on an empty stomach, and she planned to keep her wits about her.
“Sorry for the lack of table ornamentation.” He looked over at the servant standing guard. “Bruno here feared you might use a candelabra as a weapon, but I was told that wasn’t necessary. Rumor has it that you are a weapon.”
For the first time, his smoky brown eyes were trained on her, calculating, contemplating her reaction but she didn’t give one. She only stared back at him without expression.
“Ah, a woman of few words. A virtue, for certain.”
“If conversation is what you desire, sir, a great starter would be you explaining why I am here.”
“All in good time, friend. All in good time.”
Friend. She almost scoffed at the word.
A rattling of dishes signaled the arrival of their supper being rolled in on a wooden cart. The servant pushing the cart left it near the table and then exited. The one named Bruno began adding food, first to the potentate’s plate and then to hers. She got the feeling that the potentate didn’t want too many ears listening in on this meeting.
Half of a partridge with mushroom gravy was nestled in next to a pillow of creamed potatoes on her plate with a side of garden peas and carrots. Her stomach cramped at the sight, and she was thankful for the bit of dry bread she’d been offered before. That small staple was the only thing holding her back from tearing into the food with her bare hands.
The potentate dug in without ceremony, releasing her to do the same. Half of her meal was gone when he spoke again.
“So what brought you all the way from peaceful Gilvary to the lovely, if not a bit violent, country of Rivania?”
Stupidity brought me here. Stupidity and the hope of forgetting a set of pale green eyes that haunts me still. Eyes that now shine with love for another.
She slowly chewed as she contemplated her answer. “There was nothing for me there. What good is a warrior during peaceful times?”
“You’re not the first Gilvarian to come here seeking adventure. A prince once sat where you now sit, asking to return to his homeland. One that now presides as king of Dermot.”
Was this only a tale of the past, or did he know of her connection to the king of Dermot? The one with the haunting green eyes. She wiped her mouth with her serviette, then set it beside her plate.
The potentate indicated for the servant to take away their dishes. Maybe now he was ready to get down to the heart of why she was here.
“It’s rare that an avowed soldier of Rivania is released from service, but I felt it prudent to let the prince go.”
Prudent because you couldn’t afford to start a war with Kearnley had his family found out that you held him here. She had no such family. No one in all of Kearnley longed for her return. She didn’t even remember her parents who died when she was a young girl. And she’d gotten word that the woman who’d raised her passed away the year after Gemma left.
Glynis had begged her not to leave, that it would break her heart for Gemma to be cut from her life forever. But Gemma had her own broken heart to contend with at the time. Now she had only her regrets and a tiny cross on a chain as a token of memory for the woman who’d loved her as her own.
The cross was hidden in the seams of her bag, and she prayed no one had found it. Rivania claimed to be open to any religion but one. The blatant symbol of Christianity could get you killed. Not that she’d made allegiance to that religion or any other. It was only a memory piece. That was all.
“How would you like to get off the battlefield with an end date for your service to this country in sight?”
That got her attention. She studied the potentate’s face for any subterfuge to the offer he was about to make. “I’m listening.”
He took a drink from his goblet, probably wondering if he’d gotten to the point too soon. “Maybe you heard that I am recently widowed.”
She leaned back in her chair. “If you’re looking for anything like a replacement for your wife, I’m not interested.”
His gaze traveled slowly down to her slight breasts before moving back up to her face. “Neither am I.”
She let go of the breath she’d been holding. Whatever else he wanted from her, she was up for the challenge. Especially if it meant she could leave this rotten place. She didn’t have to return to Kearnley, but there were surely better places to live out the rest of her life than this.
“Let me start again. Do you know anything about Perdier Island?”
“You mean the island where you raise orphan girls to use as nothing but fodder for your war? Yes, I have heard of it.”
It was one of the most atrocious things she’d ever witnessed. The war and depravity produced orphans in spades. The boys were trained to fight but according to what she’d been told, the girls were taken to an island and left to their own devices until they turned eighteen. Then they were sent to the front lines without the benefit of the least bit of training.
Even now, she could picture the fear on the girls’ faces the first time she saw this in action. After that, she made a point of looking away when the orphans showed up on the battlefield. No use torturing herself for a cause she could do nothing about.
“You are right. They are nothing. A tool to wear the enemy down before they get to the real fighters. Unfortunately, that is their only value to this country.”
Her stomach revolted at his calloused words.
“With your help, I’d like to change that.”
She had to temper her stare to keep it from becoming insolent. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Train them.”
Peace settled over her shoulders like a well-loved cloak. Something about this idea felt right, like she would be serving a greater purpose than battling for land, won today and lost tomorrow.
She replayed every word said at this table. Something lurked there and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Why had he mentioned the death of his wife? She couldn’t find a connection, so she grasped at a different mystery she could dig into. “You said this service would have an ending. What did you have in mind?”
“My only child is a daughter. In sixteen years, she will be expected to marry. Her husband will then be trained as the next potentate. I have no say in who that man will be. What I do have control over is my daughter. I want her raised knowing what is at stake. I want her to understand the importance of this battle.”
Gemma’s thoughts swirled. The fact that he would not handpick the next potentate surprised her. That he expected the current battle to still be going on when his daughter came of age saddened her. She didn’t doubt he was right, and she also knew if she stayed out there, she wouldn’t last that long.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, where does this circle meet? You want me to train these orphans and when I asked for how long, you added this seemingly unrelated detail about your daughter. How does this all come together?”
“I want you to take my daughter with you. When she turns eighteen, she will return here, and you can move on with your life.”
“I’m no nursemaid. I have no idea what to do with a two-year-old.”
He leaned toward her with a smirk. “Did you think these orphans were all grown when they’re sent to the island? No, the older ones bring up the younger.” He shrugged. “Let her be brought up like the rest, but with the secret knowledge of who she really is.”
“This is the life you would choose for your daughter, the future ruler of this country?”
“I know how it is in Kearnley.” He scrunched his nose and the sides of his lips turned down in disgust. “The women rule alongside their husbands. Not here. My daughter will one day carry the title of empress, but she will be expected to obey her husband in every way. I want her to value what this country is about, so she’ll have no trouble supporting the future potentate. I also don’t want her to be pampered as she already is here. I expect you to rule that island with an iron fist as you train those girls, as well as my daughter, for what their future holds. Do I make myself clear?”
She almost laughed at the irony. Women didn’t rule here, but he’d just ordered her to rule with an iron fist, and he wanted his daughter to be subservient but also trained as a warrior. Moron. She would accept the challenge, not that he was giving her a real choice, but the end results may not be what he expected.
“Perfectly clear. When do we leave?”
Two days later when she sat on a rocking ship with a screaming toddler in her lap and a half dozen orphaned girls of various ages sitting at her feet, Gemma wasn’t as sure about this endeavor as before. Not that she’d been thrilled about the assignment to start with. Though she had taken pleasure in the thought of the potentate sixteen years from now when faced with the independent woman Gemma planned to mold his daughter into.
She looked down into the cherub face of the future empress of Rivania. Tear-filled smoky brown eyes looked back at her—eyes the child had inherited from her father. Good thing Gemma hadn’t spent too much time in the evil man’s presence. She’d hate to think of him every time she looked at the girl for the rest of their time together.
Gemma used her thumb to swipe the trail of tears from each chubby cheek. “Time to dry those tears, child. They will not be of good service to you where we are going.”
Glynis would have never said those words to you. Her adoptive mother showered kindness along with the discipline, and Gemma had turned out to be a tough and independent woman. Maybe she didn’t need to be so rough.
What would Glynis do in this situation? For starters, she’d probably call her by name. Gemma shook her head. The child had been given a ridiculous name. Nicolette Moira Oona Renata. Well, I’ll definitely be leaving off the Renata part. That would be a dead giveaway.
She touched the little girl’s nose and smiled at her, the first she’d given since the child had been placed in her arms. “I’m going to call you Oona. What do you think of that?” The last of the toddler’s tears slid down her cheeks as she smiled back at her. It caused a pleasant twinge in Gemma’s chest, the same kind she used to feel when Glynis talked to her like this. Maybe she was on the right track. Only time would tell.
Andrea Boyd 