Picking the hem of her new shirt and crimson waistcoat, Ginger coughed loudly at the doorway to a lavish tent. “Ginger, wanting to speak to Janize.”
She could hear the ruffle of clothing and some scurrying around. Hushed whispers abounded as the former convict, turned soldier, turned next queen of Erisdale waited, her grimace growing deeper by the second.
“Come in,” called an arch female voice.
Ginger brushed aside the tent flap. The now heavily pregnant Janize sat by a table, pouring out a drink. The tent seemed empty, but for a changing screen at one side and several chests that belonged to the former queen.
Sniffing the air, Ginger sighed, “Leila, either leave or just sit yourself down.”
Janize blinked whilst a female voice squeaked behind the changing screen. “How did you—”
“I know you entered, but you haven’t left and I heard you trying to figure out a place to hide. Are you decent?” Ginger growled.
“Yes yes.” Leila strutted out, trying to straighten the collar of her shirt. She was not, however, able to hide a mark on her neck. “What do you want us for?”
Ginger planted both hands on the table, but did not sit down. “How long are you two going to keep fucking around?”
Leila straightened, one eyebrow arched. “Hey! I was just checking up on Janize—”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Ginger swallowed, shaking his hand. “Not that. You two need to get your lords and ladies in line.”
Janize pressed a hand over her mouth, not really hiding her chuckle. “Well they are your lords and ladies now—”
Pulling out a piece of parchment, Ginger slammed it into the table. Both Janize and Ginger jumped and froze, letting the former convict slide the paper to the pair.
“See that diagram of the defences of Kairon Aoun? We lost the First Terrace two days ago. We are six days' march from Kairon Aoun and we are still not done getting this damn army together. I don’t have to remind you what is going to happen if we don’t get there in time.”
Janize took a breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Who are you waiting for?”
“Lord Tarquin and Viscountess Katia. They’re here, but they keep saying their forces aren’t ready to move out. I’m sure they’re making excuses—”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because they, particularly Tarquin, keep doing that stupid thing where they talk shit about me and Martin but aren’t technically doing so!” Ginger hissed.
To the relief of the redhead, the former queen did seem to seriously consider her words. She was frowning deeply, one hand gently massaging her swollen belly.
Janize suddenly, shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Ginger blinked, fingers pressing so hard against the table they turned the color of Janize’s pale skin. “Why?”
“Because if I do then who is going to be ruling Erisdale? You and your husband or me?”
Ginger bit the inside of her lip, her eyes studying the former queen. She expected Janize to be sarcastic, to give some kind of witty retort. There was a note of that sarcasm in her tone, but all she was faced with was the woman’s cool expression.
“King Jerome and Queen Forowena rule—”
“And she is not here,” Janize interrupted with a surprising gentleness. “Their heirs however are and they need to exert their authority now. Speaking of which, why are you here?”
“What?”
Resting her sharp chin on her knuckles, Janize’s smile sharpened. “You’re a former convict, a peasant, and although many of my previously held beliefs about the common folk have been very much disproven by my dear Leila, I imagine this must be rather overwhelming for you. So why are you here?”
Ginger shook her head. This meaning between the lines kind of thing was not her forte and now despite herself, she was scowling. “Look, someone’s gotta do it and it might as well be me.”
Leila snorted. “Bullshit—”
“Leila?” sing-songed Janize. The moment her lover turned to her, the former queen flicked the younger girl’s nose.
“Ow! What was that for!” squawked the Otherworlder.
“Leila dear, you are correct, but let’s try to be diplomatic. Ginger has reason to be frustrated and I do admire her tenacity,” said Janize.
Ginger narrowed her eyes. “You’re calling me a liar, and you’re complimenting me.”
The smirk that twisted Janize’s lips made Ginger’s fists itch. “I can do both. You have a reason for doing this. The thing you’re forgetting is that most nobles—most human are anyway—are self-interested and we don’t know why you want to be Erisdale’s future queen and what that means for us all. So why should they support you?”
“I don’t know, the fate of the continent and Erisdale depends on it?” Ginger growled.
“And what does that mean for them? For themselves, their families and their interests?”
Ginger pursed her lips. It felt at first like Janize was insulting her, but the more she thought about it, the question made her heart pound.
“This is beyond simple self-interest.”
Janize sighed. “Not everybody is as forward thinking as you are, Ginger. Or to be more exact, not everybody can grasp the consequences of their actions as we do. I suspect that’s why you and Martin were King Jerome and Queen Forowena’s choices for their successors.”
“Now you’re just mocking me. I’m a former convict.”
“And yet you are willing to rule the kingdom that put you behind bars and persecuted you.”
“I just want to do some good.” Shutting her eyes, Ginger grimaced. “So, how do I convince these idiots?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions.” Janize settled back on her chair. “Appeal to their self interest, or show them why your interests align. Tarquin will likely side with you once you do so. He’s not an idiot, he’s just being very cautious.”
“Viscountess Katia?” Ginger asked.
The queen shrugged. “Her I have no idea. Her father died fighting for us in the Siege of Erisdale against Darius.”
Leila snorted. “Just put your head together with your fiance. He probably has a few ideas.”
That sounded like an actual good idea. Nodding, Ginger straightened. “Thank you, both of you. Sorry for being rude.”
“Eh, you didn’t know better and honestly, I do not envy you,” said Janize. She waved a delicate hand. “Good luck.”
“I’ll need it,” muttered Ginger as she exited the tent.
***
The Lightning Battalion and the assembling Erisdalian forces were camped at the foot of the mountain pass that led toward Leipmont, onward to the the twin-towns of Kwent and finally Athelda-Aoun and Kairon Aoun. That leant itself to a number of places where one could overlook the sprawled out camp.
Ginger found her husband-to-be sitting on a gentle ledge, quite literally twiddling his thumbs. He waved to her as she clambered up, a smile on his face. Yet, Ginger could tell that the love of her life wasn’t truly happy. She knew when he was truly joyful.
Given the circumstances, though, she could hardly blame him.
“Martin?”
“Hello hot stuff.”
Blinking, Ginger couldn’t help but snicker. “What are you playing at?” she asked as she clambered up the rock to sit beside him. She could see why he had chosen the spot.
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They could see the hundreds of tents lined up below them, with paddocks for the horses and neatly arranged wagons for the journey ahead. Soldiers were marching in column for practice and exercise. Musketeers were drilling their reload, whilst pikemen and knights were sparring. Even the few mages they had were casting spells at boulders.
Martin pursed his lips before meeting Ginger’s gaze. In the setting sun, his bright blue eyes shone with a contemplative, and sad light. “Well, I’m thinking I’m going to call you all the inappropriate nicknames I can now. We’ll have less of a chance later on.”
Closing her eyes, Ginger curled her fingers in-between Martin’s and leant against his shoulder. “Do you regret that we accepted this?”
The knight shrugged. “A little, but you and I care too much about Erisdale to just leave it to anybody else. We probably would have regretted refusing.”
“We could just change things, call each other inappropriate nicknames in public and they’ll be forced to follow us,” Ginger drawled. She coughed and dropped the tone of her voice. “Greetings My King and Hail Your Glorious Ass.”
Martin clamped a hand over his mouth. Shaking with mirth, he took a moment to gather himself. “You are right. It’s just I also kind of want to keep them private. A little something between us.”
“I know. And…I think we’ll figure it out eventually, my love.” She leaned in and as if they were in sync, he turned to meet his lips to hers.
“So, what’s on your mind?” Martin whispered, as they parted, their foreheads still touching, not wanting the closeness to end.
“I talked to Queen Janize—former queen Janize, and she suggested we appeal to Lord Tarquin’s self interest. She told me he’ll see sense once we show him why supporting us directly benefits him,” Ginger said.
“I like that idea, but no luck on Katia?” Martin asked.
“No.” She felt Martin’s brow furrow against her forehead. “Did you know her, Martin? You told me that all nobles sortof knew each other.”
A quiet sigh. “She had a crush on me years ago. A childhood thing. We then fell out of touch and…I never knew what she was doing aside from being on the Traditionalists side.”
“Well, maybe it’s time for a chat then. Catch up on old times,” said Ginger.
Martin grimaced, giving Ginger a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if she was happy to see me.”
“We need her troops and I think…it would be at least polite of you to ask how her father was doing. After all, he died not too long ago,” said Ginger softly.
“I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure. You won’t mind me heading to her tent alone?”
“Of course not. She’s not your type anyway.” Ginger nudged her fiance, prompting a chuckle. “Besides, I need to knock some sense into Tarquin. I have a plan.”
“That’s what I love about you, dear,” said Martin quite suddenly. Her cheeks burning, Ginger’s eyes widened as her fiance cupped her cheek with a battle-worn hand. “You always have my back.”
Ginger swallowed, trying her best not to smile like some giddy teen.“And you always have mine.”
They kissed again, more desperately in this instance. For they knew the time they had may be quite short.
***
There was nothing special about Lord Tarquin of Sigon if Ginger was being honest. He did however, have soldiers that she knew he was holding back for whatever reason, and so that made her examine the man more closely.
He was older than her, but most Erisdalian nobles were and like her husband-to-be, he also had Erisdalian blonde hair and darker-toned skin. His sharply cut beard made him look older, as did the bony fingers that he drummed on the table.
“I told you, I don’t have any men to spare, miss Ginger,” said Tarquin. His tone wasn’t exactly bored, but it was spoke that he’d rather be anywhere but in front of Ginger.
“We both know you’re bullshitting, Lord Tarquin, but I’ll humor you for the moment.” Ginger sat against the table, not caring about the arched eyebrow the noble gave her. “Tarquin, you do realize that not committing your troops is stupid, right?”
“You’ve called me that repeatedly,” said Tarquin, not even bothering to meet Ginger’s gaze.
“I’m sorry for that, but I’m hoping you get that you not joining us in the battle at Athelda Aoun is going to hurt you as well?”
Adjusting his lace-lined shirt, “Yes, the whole fate of the continent and kingdom thing you keep telling me about. I’m going to be going with you, and Sir Martin, Miss Ginger, so what’s your point?”
Ginger blinked. “You are? This is the first time I’ve heard of it.”
“I’m not a coward.” Tarquin sneered at Ginger. “Besides, if King Jerome is fighting, and Queen Janize is going, then I cannot afford to stay.”
Ginger pursed her lips. She could call out the lord for calling Janize queen, but it probably was an intentional jab.
“But none of the one thousand or so veterans that are part of your personal retinue?” she drawled.
Tarquin finally met Ginger’s glare. “You have the Otherworlders, the Lightning Battalion, mages, the Lapanterians and Erlenberg with you. A thousand soldiers is a pittance in the scheme of things.”
“Tarquin, you do realize that we’re fighting Thorgoth and dragons, right?”
The lord shrugged, eyes glancing away and toward his clasped hands. “Yes, and why would you need a thousand soldiers to do that?”
“You can’t use that argument—” Ginger sighed. “Alright, let’s come at it from your perspective. You don’t want to lose those soldiers. I can understand that. They’re what remains of your power and influence, but wouldn’t you gain more when we win the battle because of you and your soldiers’ contributions?”
That seemed to make the lord pause. Now he gave Ginger a sidelong glance, his eyes, a darker shade of blue than Martin’s had narrowed.
“And what if you don’t win? What are our chances of victory?”
“Higher if you and your soldiers come with us,” said Ginger, allowing a bit of a smirk to twist her lips upward.
Tarquin snorted. “Hah hah, very funny. Be honest with me, Miss Ginger. You’re asking me to bet the remaining men and women under my care and command.”
Ginger didn’t flinch from the lord’s gaze, though, she did allow her eyes to drop to the table and for her arms to cross. After all, she’d made her peace with the possibility of defeat and her own death. She never really had to think about the chances of their success.
It was what had to be done, and she was going to do it no matter what. The consequences were too scary to think about.
“I can’t say, Tarquin. All I do know is that I consider life under Thorgoth’s rule to be unbearable.” Looking the lord right in the eye, she took a deep breath. “Do you know what Thorgoth and his supporters do to humans, hell even half-human, half-Alavari children?”
“I’ve heard stories, but the king surely knows he can’t just kill every human. He has to be reasonable—” Tarquin blinked and grimaced. “Surely that’s propaganda.”
Ginger didn’t bother to hide her scowl, but she did not move toward the lord, despite how she ached to bury her knuckles into the man’s face.
“Are you fucking kidding me or are you playing dumb? Athelda-Aoun has been rebuilt with hundreds of refugees, fleeing both Erisdalian persecution and Alavari. Half-human, humans and Alavari who have been unable to live because of Darius’s fanaticism and King Thorgoth’s wish to kill or subjugate every human on the continent.”
Tarquin frowned. “Even if it is so bad, he has to leave some alive—”
“Quiet.” The lord blinked. Ginger’s voice was soft, and yet every syllable dripped with menace. “I will excuse the treasonous implication of your statement for this moment as you seem horribly misinformed about our situation. Have you not heard of how Thorgoth murdered his own heir, Teutobal because he didn’t want war with the humans? Have you completely forgotten that it was likely Alavari assassins sent by Thorgoth that killed King Oliver? Do you not recall the stories of the humans we rescued in Gestoch, who were enslaved and worked to death?”
“Now let’s say you survive the battle, and surrender to King Thorgoth, do you think that he’ll allow you to keep all your lands and your authority? Won’t it be more reasonable that he’ll assign you an Alavari magistrate to watch every move of you and your family? Let’s say that he doesn’t, have you not considered he will raise taxes on your domain to repair the damage done to his realm? Taxes that would be extraordinarily harsh due to the ravages of war and rather high, especially compared to the ones on Thorgoth’s own Alavari subjects. After all, he has no interest in allowing you to preserve your wealth. You’re human, you’re a conquered subject, you’ll be a threat to him and he’ll want to impoverish you to prevent that.”
The color was draining from Tarquin’s face and he’d gone quite still. His eyes were wide, yet unfocused, his imagination clearly painting the picture Ginger was describing.
“But say he doesn’t. Say he decides that he’ll be merciful to you. He’ll still want to make sure you’re loyal to him, to maintain your loyalty. So his attention shall turn to your daughter Taqina and your son.”
Tarquin stood up, his chair flying backward, slamming into the ground with a thud. “What—leave my family out of this!”
Ginger groaned, but managed to resist the temptation to roll her eyes. “Are you so naive to think Thorgoth will leave your family out of this? He is a king, and not the king of Erisdale. He’ll twist your arm, put a gun to your head, do anything necessary to ensure that Alavaria controls your lands and he will use marriage to do that. Fuck, he did that to his own kind!”
“What?” Tarquin stammered.
“When the harpy Lady Sparrowpeak of the Warflock showed signs of resisting Thorgoth, he had her killed and married her teenage daughter to one of his most loyal generals, a man ten years her senior! That’s the life that awaits you and your family if you decide to submit to Thorgoth. Death would be preferred.” Ginger grimaced as a look of horror as it all sunk in, and she hadn’t even administered the coup de grace.
“You are also assuming that Thorgoth actually wins. Have you considered what might happen to you if we win?” Ginger asked dryly.
“Excuse me?”
“I will be Erisdale’s next queen, my husband will be Erisdale’s next king. You help us, we will reward you. We will continue to advocate for your continued rule over your domains. We will count you as an ally. If you refuse to aid us, and we win…well, I’m a vindictive person.” Ginger smiled sadly, glancing at her scarred hand. “But Martin will likely restrain me. He’s the better person of the two of us and I am hopelessly in love with him.” She leaned forward and quietly asked, “But would the rest of your peers be so happy to see that you gave nothing for the final victory?”
Strangely enough, Tarquin’s blank stare gave Ginger only a mote of pleasure. There was a certain smugness she felt. Yet the contrast between the bravado Tarquin had shown earlier and shock he now was in actually made her turn away. She’d brought the weight of the world onto the lord and he was sagging.
“I’m sorry for being so blunt.” Ginger slid off the table, smoothing out her shirt with a hand. She swallowed, trying to quiet the emotion in her voice. “I’ll let you think about it a little more and do some research. Talk to a friend, or some of your fellows, but please…for yourself, and for all of us, just make the right decision. As I’ve explained to you, we all have far too much to lose.”
With that, she turned and walked to the tent flap. Pulling side the canvas, she stepped through.
Just before her head ducked into open air, she heard what almost sounded like a half-groan, half-chuckle. She glanced over her shoulder, to see Tarquin shaking his head. Pounding his chest with one fist, he stood straight and bowed.
“Your Highness, you will have my troops in a day. Forgive me for my impudence and treasonous thoughts.”
Ginger was about to dip her head, but something made her stop. “I forgive you, Lord Tarquin, but I will not forget.” Taking a breath, she turned a little more to face the lord. “Fulfil your oaths to the crown, though, and no matter the outcome of this battle, I will keep your children safe.”
Tarquin blinked and allowed himself a small smile. “You are ruthless as you are kind, Your Highness.”
Ginger smirked, and only now dipping her head, left the tent, doing her best to stop herself from skipping across the camp.