Chapter 19:
Sowing Doubt
A cold draft tugs me awake. I open my eyes to darkness. The fire crackles behind me, but the sun hasn’t risen yet.
I rub my eyes clear. We’re huddled together in the Balin ruins. The fire has died down, and cold evening air flows through the hollow doorframe. My exhausted body yearns to retreat deeper into the warm pouch and return to sleep, but a sudden sharp thought puts me on edge – Trevus said we were five days from Nepolis yesterday. That leaves only five nights. Nighttime is my best opportunity to make a move, and one is burning away right now.
One of them must be on watch, and they probably know I’m awake. Who’s watching determines my options. With Giddius, he can be provoked. With Marcellus, I’ll have free rein. With Trevus, I might as well go back to sleep. He’ll turn the conversation in his favor, putting me on defense.
I cast my gaze to my feet, and Marcellus’s ginger hair is just visible.
I tilt my head up, and the shape of the sleeping pouch above shows it’s occupied – Trevus. That leaves only Giddius. His pouch is on the opposite side of the fire to mine – as far away as I could manage. It’s nearly morning, and he’s stopped feeding the fire.
I have an idea. With some effort, I’m able to untie my boot laces through my sleeves. I peel my boots and socks off into the bottom of the pouch, leaving my feet bare.
Without looking back, I slide out from my sleeping pouch and slip out the hollow doorframe.
The frigid night air hits like a bucket of ice. I wrap my arms around my middle to conserve the tender heat from the pouch. Giddius couldn’t have missed me leave, but he hasn’t come out yet. He’s not one to sleep on task. It won’t take long.
I take a seat against the old building, bringing my knees to my chest.
A sharp piece of charred wood pokes my back. I brush it out of the way, only to pause on its smooth curved texture. Twisting around, I examine the wooden column. Underneath the powdery surface are fine carvings, decorative shapes that stretch all the way up the frame. Perhaps the family that lived here were master woodworkers. King Tytius truly is rotten.
Gravel shifts beneath a boot. Giddius has finally stepped out. His eyes move over my form, settling on my bare feet. I’m still seated, and I wouldn’t make it a hundred yards into the wilderness without some form of shoe.
“You have not taken flight,” he says.
“Would you have preferred I did?” I ask.
“You have a history.”
“Then why’d you take so long to follow?”
“Perhaps I care not.”
“So, if I started walking now, you’d let me go?”
He folds his arms, his eyes not leaving mine.
“I think you want me to run. That’s why you waited – to have an excuse to strike me.”
He approaches. “I do not require an excuse.”
I rise to my feet. “You do. I doubt you could get away with it for anything less than thwarting an escape attempt.”
He grabs my arm, his iron fist pinning me in place. With my sleeves on, he has nothing to be afraid of. “You should not probe my limits,” he says.
“You lectured me about casting my lot with favorable odds, yet you keep pushing your luck,” I say. “You’re walking around with your eyes closed.”
His grip remains stiff. “What are you on about?”
“With your insubordination, Trevus is nearly ready to leave you behind. Even I’ve noticed.”
His fingers tighten. “You disrespectful-”
Another pair of boots disturb the gravel. Giddius’s grip on my arm swiftly disappears as Trevus steps outside.
I’m making it up, but my words are getting to him.
“Am I interrupting something?” Trevus asks.
“I just wanted some fresh air,” I say. “Giddius doesn’t trust I wouldn’t run.”
Trevus glances at my bare feet for a moment. “Good. He should not.”
The sun peeks over the horizon, casting us in light. Trevus is carrying an empty bag with him.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
“Farmers desire fruit. Trees of such nature are often planted along a field perimeter,” he says.
I rush back inside our dilapidated house and throw my boots on, hurrying out to walk beside him. The idea of picking fruit I haven’t tasted in ages is exciting, and the more time Giddius sees me spending with Trevus, the better.
We climb the hill side by side. Walking alone with him puts us in contrast. I’m shorter than him, reaching only to his shoulder. With his strength, he could easily lift and carry me over this hill, whereas his broad stature would make it difficult for me to even drag him were he lying down. Despite our size difference, we’re both wearing the same black oban – tall gray boots, black pants, and a buttoned-up shirt. Anyone looking at us would assume we’re from the same unit. While that was an odd thought when we left Antiock last week, it doesn’t feel so strange anymore.
“What shall you make of yourself after Nepolis?” Trevus asks.
Living in Mephia would be safer than Versillia, but it may not be the best idea to share which direction I’ll be heading with him. His question does highlight a factor I hadn’t considered – I want to become a tailor, to have my own store like tailor Jenia, but I don’t know how I’m going to manage that. When I was taken from Mephia, I was a child depending on the generosity of village elders. Now I’ve passed the age where others will care for me. I don’t even know where my village is, only that it’s in Mephia. It could have been decimated while I was away, as King Tytius did to Balin.
“I foresee that you shall return to your homeland. That is not what I query,” Trevus says. “Shall you keep your sorcery a secret, giving your body over to the fields as a farmer or to another’s home as a servant? If you embraced your sorcery, perhaps Mephia would graduate to a Council of Seven.”
We reach the top of the hill. As Trevus predicted, there are rows of trees bearing little round oranges. I look up at him. Trevus, the great soldier, would consider my dream of having my own tailoring store pitiful. He wouldn’t understand, but it fulfills my every desire – independence, self-sufficiency, purpose, and most importantly, it would make me more than just my connection.
“Are you going to mock me for blundering my connection like Giddius does?” I ask. Taking a noble position in that council would mean using my connection on others, and I have no such desire.
“I shall not.” Trevus reaches up and picks an orange from the tree, inspecting it before dropping it in his brown sack. “I simply observe that you curse your sorcery. I ponder what you would forfeit to leave it idle.”
I take an orange, brushing some dirt off the side of its dimpled skin. I would forfeit my life. “Antiock’s soldiers titled me the Mephian witch. I was taken from Mephia at age ten. I’m now twenty. What does a child know of their country?” Mephia being ruled by sorcerers was only revealed to me by Trevus and his band.
“It was a stupid title,” I continue. “I never wanted to be seen as a witch, and I know nothing about Mephia. I don’t want to be the Mephian witch anymore. It’s lonely.”
Trevus doesn’t say anything. I stop picking oranges. He’s just staring at me as if I were an intricate painting. I shouldn’t have revealed as much as I did. I shouldn’t have let myself appear vulnerable in front of him.
“Enroll as a servicewoman. There are many positions free of violence,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. Why would I join the military of a country when I have no country to call home?
Trevus reaches up high and picks another orange. “As a servicewoman, you shall be provided direction. ‘Tis a place where you shall no longer be so different to those around you. Whether you serve Versillia or Mephia, it is of no matter.”
“Is that why you became a soldier – to fit in?” I ask.
Trevus pauses from his foraging. “In the palace, being a child of a peasant, I was a peasant. In the city, being a child of the king, I was a prince. In the barracks, I am a soldier.”
I stretch my arm up high, but my covered fingers only graze the bottom of the largest, juiciest looking orange on the tree.
A pair of hands find my middle, and I’m raised up into the air. I grab the orange and pull it off the branch. Trevus lowers me back down, and I turn to face him.
Being a soldier is not for me, even if I never raised a sword myself. I could not contribute to organized killing. “Were Marcellus and Giddius also searching for a place to fit in?” I ask.
Trevus opens the sack. I toss in my oranges but keep my favorite for myself.
“Marcellus and Giddius have always had a place,” Trevus says. “Marcellus’s father was a great warrior, and so is Marcellus. Giddius is of a minor noble house, and he seeks influence attained through victories. I myself do not yearn for such things.”
He’s not like Giddius and Marcellus – that much I’ve always known. Perhaps Trevus only ever superficially fit in as a soldier. “You’ve already deserted once. If finding your mother means leaving the military forever, would you do it?”
Trevus hauls the sack over his shoulder and begins back down the hill. “From my time in this world, I have discovered ‘tis rare to find others who truly care about you. If I had recognized that when I was younger, I would have followed Elie from the beginning, even with her new husband.”
I match his leisurely pace, working at the orange’s skin with my teeth. “Perhaps your duties as a soldier, kicking babies and trampling fresh flowers, kept you too busy to find love.”
“I do not trample fresh flowers,” Trevus says. “Merchants marry merchants, and together they open their own city store. Farmers marry farmers, and together they work and harvest fields. Nobles marry nobles, and together they lobby and chase prestige. My father is a noble king, and my mother is a merchant, but I am neither. I do not relate to merchants, farmers or nobles.”
We’re almost back at the house. “You seem like you’re doing pretty well as a soldier,” I say. He’s the captain of the Palace Guard. I’m sure that there are women who dream of warriors like him.
“I have talent with the sword, but it is not my friend.”
So, he doesn’t like the role of a soldier, or at least not the more violent aspects.
We’re in earshot of the house, with Giddius and Marcellus still inside. It’s time to shift the conversation in a new direction. I stop in place. “Why did you choose Giddius for your quest?”
Trevus stops too. Perfect. “Giddius is a wise strategist. I did not simply invite him along. This venture was as much his plan as my own.”
This isn’t the sentiment I’m looking for. Trevus has enough leadership sense to not alienate his followers. I up the volume of my voice, speaking clearly and spacing out my words. “It seems like you and Giddius argue a lot.”
“Giddius and I have our differences, but our objective remains the same,” Trevus says.
Giddius steps out the house. I keep my eyes fixed on Trevus, pretending not to notice him yet. “Well, I think you and Giddius-” I cut myself off, my eyes jumping to Giddius.
Trevus folds his arms. “You think what?”
Giddius joins us.
“Nothing. Never mind.” I step around the two of them, heading back to the house.
It’s tough to resist the urge to look back. Is Giddius staring at me or Trevus?
But he kicks babies 😂
Probably with a little bit of difficulty and probably didn’t put them on properly…
I think because Trevus is saying no when Giddius wants to do something yet he gave in when she didn’t want them to kill the boy. So I think he’s growing resentful and probably feels that Trevus is respecting her more than he should and so feelings of animosity have grown deeper… I think – because lately he becomes increasingly challenging towards Trevus when it concerns Jade, like when Trevus asked Marcellus not to tell her about Balin so Giddius went against him and proceeded to tell her about Balin…
She’s very smart.
w author 😍
And it’s working
😂
Trevus is really diplomatic 😂🤭
Which means he’s good at his job, but not neccesarily likes it.
Yes!
That’s what they have in common
Exactly
True
Yes
She’s the lost 7 member of the council of Memphia
Good question. I wanna know too
Same
Like genuinely surprised
Agreed
Yes, she really has learn to read them well
manipulative queen😻
🤔😒😶
Notice that he didn’t deny kicking babies…
is a secret hehe
Those two need to have a chat about what Jade is up to
Well she doesnt want their plan to succeed afterall
So they are alike in a way since neither really have a place they belong just skills they can use
Its not his friend?
Makes sense his mother remarried, espiclaly once he was independant himself. or cared for by others
So hes only himself in the army…
She doesnt want to be lonely, even if it means a humble life
it still works lol
Council of 7?
How did she put her boots on with the sleeves on?
I mean its notnthe first time you’ve provoked him… so its not beyond you to do something to do so
Aw, but she has no shoes on. it wouod be dumb to run
I guess you could say that lol
Except she doesnt care if it does if she succeeds in her goal
You know I kinda forgot wy he hates her so much
There are ways to strike someone that doesnt leave a mark. Or at least not in a obious place
He seemed suprised lol
Thats so calculating, she really has read them well
Wait what happened and what did she do that was out of character?
I don’t think this plan of hers is a good one
*What gave you that idea (autocorrect hates me)
Well, I think you and Giddius should pick those trampled flowers and I’ll totally be here when you get back
Just being a fair person, while she’s trying to drive in stakes lol
as before, that much he probably already knows.
why have you that idea? lol
provoke the bear, see if it bites
Yeah but Trevus definitely isn’t one to be trifled with and he wants her somewhat protected