Soul of Ice

Chapter Eleven

Stagnation. Astra was starting to understand what Riviera had meant. By the start of her second week in the army, Astra was falling into a rhythm—one she wasn't sure she liked.

Wake up, shower and change, breakfast, where she tried not to antagonize Anya, who in turn ignored her, albeit with the occasional side-eye. Following breakfast was stretches and morning drills. A short break, lunch, afternoon combat and weapons training, then social period, technical skills, and finally dinner. After dinner was free time until eleven o'clock.

The enormous sitting room that she had burst into her first night in the army was where most of the wraiths spent their free time after dinner. It was also the perfect time and place for her to socialize with other wraiths, and that was exactly what she'd done the past few days.

"Do you mind if I join in?" She asked a group of five wraiths that were playing cards and that she had yet to meet. They laughed and beckoned her to an empty bar stool. One of the males dealt her in.

"You're that girl who stood up for Luria the other day," he noted, a slight sour note of distaste in his tone. Astra smiled back at the frowning dealer as she slid onto the stool, next to the sole female in the group—a middle-aged, blonde-haired wraith who seemed to be extremely pregnant. The female smiled back, though her lips were stretched awkwardly, almost like a wince.

Astra turned back to the group to answer the dealer's question. "Who else would it be?" The others hooted and laughed, amused by her arrogance despite the slight unease in their expressions. Were these people all so averse to her standing up for a girl that didn't deserve a brutal whipping? Astra smiled and laughed along, pretending she wasn't concerned by the suspicion in the wraith's eyes. She took her cards, the backs of which were decorated with leering ghost faces, and asked, "How are all of you?" A chorus of 'fine' and 'better now that you're here' greeted her.

"How do you like the army?" One of the males asked her as they began the game. Astra considered the possible answers carefully before she spoke.

"It's different," she answered vaguely. Then, seeing the expecting expressions, she continued, "But it's a good different—especially the food." The others' facial expressions morphed into general smiles and laughter around.

And then the game began. She teased and complimented and flirted. A smirk here, a "don't think you'll win so easily" there, and small smiles everywhere else. It was almost as if she had never escaped Varaly in the first place, but then again, she'd been stuck in a cycle of secrets and lies for years. So she continued to play, with both cards and emotions.

By the end of the night, she had won two games and tossed seven others and learned an exorbitant amount of information, most of which she expected to be useless, though experience had taught her to remember all the intel she gained, no matter how trivial. There had been useful tidbits—Pascal's favorite wraiths to take to bed, the day of the week that food shipments arrive, the estimated total number of wraiths that had been released out of the army's service.

She was placing down two Aces when she shifted her foot—straight into a small puddle of liquid. She rolled her eyes at the general group, still playing the amicable, arrogant female.

"Who spilled their wine now?" The four males glanced at their glasses—all right-side up—before looking back at her, confused. Realization quickly dawned upon her as she looked to her right. The pregnant female had an expression akin to something like horror.

"Shit," Astra cursed. "Shit. Shit." She tossed the cards in her hand—good cards, too, good enough to win the round—to the center of the table and swept an arm across toward the others. "Quit gaping. One of you has to know who checks up on her, right? Go find whoever that is." When none of them moved, she plucked an ice cube out of her water and threw it at the forehead of the blonde-haired male across from her, who immediately blinked and cursed.

Nevermind the fact that there were no weapons nearby, she snarled, "Don't make me throw a dagger at you next. Wake up and get some damn help!" That comment jolted the males out of their revelry, and surprise reflected across all of their faces as they saw the true side of her personality—no longer the bubbly and happy girl she'd been. Two of the males ran off, hopefully to find help and not in the process of fleeing to hide in their bedsheets. Meanwhile, the other two stood up from their seats, awkwardly floundering as their arms and hands shifted around, unsure what to do. Astra ignored them as she took in the scene. The other wraiths at other tables near them hadn't yet noticed the commotion. Understandable, considering the noise volume in the room. Next to her, the pregnant female was shuddering, and her pallor had paled to an ashy yellow. She reached for her hand.

"Breathe with me," she said, giving her a long moment to match her pace. "What's your name?" She hadn't bothered to ask it earlier.

"Rianne."

"Alright, Rianne. I want you to stay with me, okay? Do you need anything?" The female winced suddenly, pain flickering over her features, before she answered.

"My—my son. My husband." Astra cut a quick glare to the two remaining males, wordlessly telling them to find the female's family. They scrambled. Astra held tightly to the female's shaking hand until the first two wraiths returned again, this time, surprisingly, with Aaro in tow. Astra eyed the ice wraith critically.

"What are you two doing here?" she asked critically. Aaro regarded her coolly.

"Seeing as I am the only physician around here, I will ask you to kindly move aside so that I can attend to my patient." By the Seam—of all coincidences! Astra gave him another overt once-over before she moved to the side, dismissing him. Aaro's lips parted, revealing his clenched teeth. She ignored him and looked away, choosing instead to focus on the crowds of wraiths in the room that had begun to notice the commotion at their table.

"Excuse me?" Astra turned. A male stood before her, a boy no older than the age of ten at his side. "Hi. My name is Myric, I'm Rianne's husband. Two of my wife's friends just informed me to come as quickly as possible?" Astra smiled awkwardly at the brunette.

"Hi Myric. My name's Calayne." There was a noticeable change in Myric's demeanor the moment her false name passed through her lips. Evident displeasure, though he covered it up with another smile. Astra pushed on and gestured behind her. "I'm pretty sure Rianne's getting ready to give birth. The physician just arrived. I think he's just doing a precursory check right now."

"Oh, good gods," he said, distracted, as he struggled to look over Astra's shoulder. She took a step away, uncomfortable by the male breathing on her.

"Alright, everyone. We're moving Rianna to one of the private bedrooms," Aaro announced. "For the sake of discretion and privacy, I ask that only my assistant and Rianne's husband accompany us inside. Everyone else can stay outside the room." A procession followed as Myric helped Rianne walk. Aaro led them down a hallway and into a room with a single large bed in the center. Several chairs were near the wall. A closed door lead to what Astra would guess would be the bathing room.

Myric held tightly to his son's hand. "Alright, I want you to stay with me—"

Aaro cut him off. "I'm afraid not. Your son is on the young side, and the last thing I need is two of your children crying and bawling." He gave a nod to Rianne, who was now on the bed, referring to the child inside her. "I'm sure Calayne or one of the males can watch him."

The males who had fetched Myric quickly backed up. "I have a bad record with kids," one of them pleaded. "I'm sure Calayne wouldn't mind."

"Actually—" Astra interjected. The last thing she wanted to be put on was babysitting duty. Instead, Aaro ignored her and walked away to mess with the bedsheets, as if that was of any importance.

"Calayne," Rianne called. She turned. "Please. Watch our son. I don't want him running off or irritating the guards." Looking at the small, thin boy, Astra didn't think he was capable of riling up the guards.

Next to her, Myric frowned. "But—" His wife held up a hand, and he stopped.

"Please." Peeking out from behind his father's leg, their son stared at her. As a child, she would have wanted to someone to look out for her instead of being forced to survive on her own. The boy didn't need to rely on himself to survive—he had loving parents after all, but she sitll remembered a kind girl from the battlegrounds of Pelosia.

She breathed in. Breathed out. "Fine."