Rosalyn longed for the simple comfort of facing down a hundred screaming barbarians charging at her with swords drawn. Or marching through the Direwood Forest, black as night even at the highest noon, a brigand behind every tree. Anything to avoid spending another minute listening to these selfish old windbags and their small, petty desires.
"No, absolutely not," was her response to the latest scheme. Once again Lord William, Duke of Ambrose, badgered her for more men and resources. A full detachment, this time.
"Come now lass," he said, "even you must realize that the mills need to be protected."
This had been Rosalyn Emory's dream. Ever since she was a little girl. Ah, to sit on the Council of Arms. The greatest warriors in all the realm, nobly fighting for the safety of all the realm. What a joke. This 'noble gathering' was nothing more than doddering idiots and the self centered fools that thought to prey on them.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" Rose snarled. She instantly regretted it. Already the frowns began appearing. Scowls of disapproval from her fellow councilors. That hadn't come out the way she'd meant. The mills and granaries were important, no question about it. Yet not six months had passed since the Duke forced her to pull troops away from the estates of Count Layland. Sure enough, they'd been burnt to the ground while she was out on patrol, too even for retaliation before they escaped.
"Don't be silly. Of course they're important," he chose to take her words the wrong way. Intentionally, she could see it in his eyes, but the others were swayed.
"After all, what will our people eat if raiders carry off all our grain. Again."
"That wasn't our fault. I mean, you shouldn't blame us for it. I mean-"
"Are the Border Guards no longer responsible for guarding the borders? Oh dear me. I must have missed that meeting." Rose flushed at the chuckles. She'd meant to point out that it was his machinations that had lost them those resources. The blame lay at his feet, not hers. The words just refused to come out right. She had them all mapped out in her head, arguments lined up perfectly. Yet when it came time to speak, her composure slipped and all that escaped were shallow retorts.
"Now, now, Will," said the king, "the Lady Emory has been a fine marshal so far."
Duke Ambrose's expression slipped for a moment, but he composed himself so quickly that Rose doubted anyone else noticed.
"Of course, your majesty. I have nothing against the good marshal. Indeed, her talent on the battlefield is miracle enough. It was... most unkind of me to hope that she also grasp the finer points of strategy."
There were murmurs of agreement, and the king looked pleased by the backhanded apology. Had any man dared speak that way to her father, all would have felt a duel justified. Yet even her supporters would condemn the slightest challenge as "emotional overreaction".
Though she'd earned her position by right of inheritance and proven her fitness on the battlefield, many still cried out against a woman marshal. The king's support had only moved that criticism behind closed doors. Even the king had misgivings. His support had come as much in memory of her father as for her own sake. Some of her critics had his ear, and none more Duke Ambrose.
"See. Isn't that better," said the king. "You are right, though. It's hard enough keeping the army supplied. We can't afford to lose those mills."
Rosalyn seethed. Those mills were almost thirty miles from the border. What of the towns and estates that lie closer? Were they any less vulnerable? Better to meet the threat at the border and be done with it. Were she free from the meddling interference of this very council, she could defend them easily.
Yet she was not free of that meddling, and apparently never would be. The king had spoken. No matter how ill conceived this notion was, the king's word was law. She had failed.
"Thank you, your majesty. A wise decision, as always." Duke Ambrose said, delivering a bow towards the king. His head, however, turned just slightly towards Rose, making sure she saw his smirk.
"Good, good. I'm glad we got all that nonsense taken care of. Off with you now. Meeting adjourned. Wouldn't want to be late to my hunt, after all."
The councilors started to disperse. Some stayed to mingle, but most left for other business. Or pleasure. A good number of them were invited to the king's hunt. Rosalyn started to leave as well, but a hand caught her by the elbow.
"A word, marshal," said Duke Ambrose. The last person she wanted to speak with.
"What do you want," she said, doing little to hide her distaste.
He towered over her, his hand seemed massive as it gripped her elbow. Huge next to her own.
She twisted from his grip. Large or not, her hands were enough to hold a sword. Enough to skewer the raiders he was practically inviting. Still, it rankled her that she had to look up in order to meet his eye.
"I thought we could meet over dinner tonight, to discuss how we might fulfill his majesty's order." Rosalyn felt like murder. The nerve of that man, to come gloating so soon. She was about to tell him exactly what he could do with his invitation, but he spoke first.
"Of course, if the task is too difficult for you, I would understand completely. It is rather complicated, after all. I would be more than happy to take care of all the-"
"No," she said. There was no way she would give him any excuse to go an inch beyond the king's order.
"No, dinner will be fine."
He smiled, reaching out to take her hand. He started to lift it, as though to deliver a kiss to its back. None of that now, she thought as she pulled it down. He didn't let go.
"Excellent my dear," he said, "I'm sure it will be a most... productive discussion."
The room spun for a minute. Rose looked into the Duke's eyes, which almost seemed to grow. They snapped into focus, almost as though she were looking through her spyglass.
Rosalyn blinked, snapping back to the present. The Duke still held her hand, his thumb gently tracing circles along the back. What had she been about to say? Oh right, dinner.
"Of course, my lord," she said, "I'm sure it will be. But if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to."
