Heir Apparent

Chapter 6

Jade

Blissfully, I had drifted into a sea of dreamless sleep when they came to move me the first night. Even with several strong men, a stretcher and great care, it still hurt more than I could have imagined. Or at least, I let them believe it hurt as much. In truth, while I was in pain, it wasn't the worst I had experienced in my short life. Should the injury to my arm might prove to be permanent, perhaps, I would have to concede it to be the worst at that point, but stubbornness made me believe I would eventually regain its use. Regardless, none of them knew my personal injury or pain threshold, and so I made it a point to cry out now and again.

Time was fluid while they moved me, and I was forced a concoction of herbs, for the pain and for infection. My mother had done the same for me on several occasions, even against my will so recognized the taste. While I was keen to slow their progress, I had no death wish. I let them hold the cup to my lips for me to drink, my requests to release a hand to use going unanswered. They had sweetened it with honey, but it did little to mask the flavor.

I found that while Melena, the Archer and Horus, the man Hera had so triumphantly injured, were talkative, no one else was willing to pass even a few words with me. They came to give me my drink, a few bits of food and to make sure I hadn't died. One young woman gave me a glare that said she'd gladly let me die horribly, so I made an assumption that one of the men I had cut down had been her lover or relative. Or more. I didn't relish the kill, but I wasn't going to let the guilt take me under for trying to protect Hera.

The next day, while I laid on the cot, earnestly listening for any signs of search, I plotted a way to leave some mark, a clue, anything. I had settled on picking at the wrappings on my injured wrist, pulling at the strings. It was painful, slow work, but I managed to get a few small pieces torn and balled into the hand. The fact that I could curl my fingers enough to hold onto the tiny scraps was encouraging.

When they came to move me that evening, I let the little pieces fall, a tiny trail of breadcrumbs. Gil was a good tracker, and several of the 51st even better. One of them would find it, I was certain. All I had to do was make sure they knew their general still lived, and they would find me, and lay waste to the assassins holding me.

The second day, I knew we were out of the Capital. Even covered, I could smell the clear air, tinged with hay and manure. When they pulled the coverings off me, I was left in a small room of a farmhouse, laying on a rope bed against a far wall. I recognized the type of structure, so similar to the one I had spent my early years growing up in, and a bit of it pulled at my heart. Before my father had set out on his quest to regain our place in the Empire, we had spent many happy nights laughing, my mother singing, with wooden sword play and shadow puppet stories. What sort of woman would I have been had I not be forced onto a battlefield? Would I be married now with a child? Would I be longingly looking up at the distant Capital city and wondering? I shuddered to think. They were full, beautiful lives, but I could not imagine myself truly content in such a one.

The Archer came in to untie my wrists and ankles, apparently confident in their ability to prevent my escape. Or that I was far enough away they would be able to track me before I reached help. I gratefully pushed myself into a sitting position, rolling my ankles and working out the knots that had formed. My side burned and throbbed, forcing my eyes closed, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Carefully I set my wrapped arm in my lap.

"I'm sorry to have so gravely injured you, little Empress."

"Don't call me that."

His face was the picture of innocence. "What should I call you then?"

"General."

He smiled. He might even have been considered handsome by some. Thea perhaps. "General, then. I am still sorry. You are a valiant fighter, and one of our own now."