The Commander's Cat

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your encouraging comments on this story so far. I have only worked on it in my free time but if you are interested in proofreading or giving feedback on future chapters you can message me through this site. - Ava

FOUR - Luvon

The guard wouldn't have to wake me, it turned out, as Hanna's keening wails throughout the night did the job just fine. Sometimes she was lucid, other times not. The night wore on and despite the hours that I had managed to sleep I felt more and more depleted and weary as dawn approached. At first light I ordered the guard to find me a skilled rider for the trip to Jiyya.

"None more skilled than meself, sir," he replied in a thick accent I'd come to associate with the folks from the countryside around Damaqas. "I can be to Jiyya and back before dark, no question."

"Do you know the way?" I asked, uncertain of his confidence in himself.

"Been there twice for supplies," he told me, "once with my unit, once with an officer. I know the way."

I weighed my options. I didn't know him, so I would just have to take his word for it.

"I need you to get another rider, a Sergeant named Zinvaris, do you know the one?"

He nodded smartly.

Good.

"It will be faster with two riders than with a pack horse," I explained. "There is a merchant there that I'm told sells vellum, parchment, inks, those kinds of things."

He nodded again before explaining, "I know the one. Lieutenant Reystra commissioned stationery from him when I accompanied him there."

"Thank the gods," I breathed. I wasn't sending him on a wild goose chase after all.

Zinvaris will have money, but if you think you will need more, I will send word to get it."

"What are we buying?" he asked suspiciously.

"Everything he has. Parchment, vellum, inks, quills, paint, glue, tanned leather for book binding, and anything else a cartographer might need. The merchant should know."

"Oh, we're going to need a lot of money, then," the guard replied, appearing to count on his fingers as he did.

"How much did the stationery cost?" I asked, furrowing my brow in concern. It was all just paper, wasn't it?

"Reystra paid him three coppers a sheet, sir, plus thirty silvers for a stamp with our insignia on it, and ten gold for the design."

I couldn't stop my jaw from dropping. "Are you shitting me? How much does a map cost?"

The guard shrugged. "Search me."

"What's your name," I looked at his uniform now and frowned, "private?" He spoke like he had so much experience, but how long could he have been around as a private?

"Fentris, sir," he answered, "Nasir Fentris."

Internally, I groaned. Fentris was a legendary soft-headed fuck-up that had somehow managed to gain a reputation without ever gaining a promotion. A half-fae conscripted pain-in-the-ass that we'd never quite found reason to dismiss from service entirely, but had come close on more than one occasion.

We have to get name tags for these mouth-breathers,

I noted,

so we don't accidentally recruit them for important tasks like this one.

"Okay, Private Fentris," I said, not allowing my inner turmoil to show, "get Zinvaris and bring him here. Get two of the fastest horses in the stable, and all the saddle bags you can. And I'll send the order for money. How much do you think you will need?" I wondered if Fentris could even do basic arithmetic. I watched him move his fingers around for a while before he replied, "probably at least 5,000 gold for all that stuff."

I winced. I hadn't considered the cost of supplies as a factor in the cartographer's salary, but if Fentris was right, Hanna wasn't getting paid enough for all the money she saved making her own glue and paint. "Right," I said before ducking in the door and writing my orders on a little sheet of scrap parchment from the old master's desk. "Give this to Zinvaris, he can get the gold, and then you bring him here."

To my surprise Fentris saluted perfectly and quickly disappeared out of sight.

I hope I didn't put my faith in the wrong person,

I thought, hoping Zinvaris could keep Fentris on track for the day.

The rest of the day passed slowly. I occasionally sent a guard away to retrieve something, and once in a while they brought me a report, but my main task was soaking biscuits in the green water solution and feeding them to Hanna. Occasionally she bit my hand or tried my patience in other ways, once in a while she threatened me with a bear attack, but worst of all, she cried. I could deal with an unruly soldier, but soldiers only ever cried in my presence when they were dying. I couldn't stand it, and found myself holding her each time she cried and begging her to stop, although I suspected she couldn't help it. Her brown skin burned like a firebrand against my own alabaster skin and I wondered if she would be able to outlast the infection. My thoughts returned over and over to the cursed bathhouse where I had always stood in the shadows ready to spring into action if she needed me. But I had been too slow, the sight of her blood smeared across the white tiles coming to me over and over, the sound of her scream as it turned into a wet burble and slipped beneath the water a haunting accompaniment. Now the tile was still there, cracked from her brutal impact with it, and for several mornings already and many more to come I would overhear a soldier making a joke about it being the spot where I had tried to drown my disobedient woman. I hated all of it, but I didn't know who would protect her if I quit. So I endured.

Just as I thought I could take no more, she woke as I smeared her afternoon dose of blue stuff on her chest and smiled at me. Something about her still seemed fuzzy and I hesitated to smear the medicine beneath her breasts. She followed my gaze and obediently lifted them out of the way, grinning as I sucked in a breath. I fought to keep my composure, but she arched her back and mewled as my hand moved over her sensitive skin, completely undoing my self-control. In an instant I was on top of her, her legs wrapping around me and pulling me down. I kissed her deeply, despite the sticky blue stuff that now covered both of our chests, and had nearly freed myself from my breeches before I realized she wasn't lucid. With a shuddering breath I managed to pull myself away from her, then harnessed the last scraps of my self-control to sit with her and listen to her disappointed babbling until she slipped back into the realm of fever dreams. Unlike the other nights where I'd nearly lost control there was no possibility to retreat to my tent and work it out alone. I simply had to sit with my frustration and focus on the two men who I'd sent to retrieve her supplies.

Just before sundown Fentris and Zinvaris appeared, each still in one piece and carrying several saddlebags of supplies a piece. Zinvaris looked exhausted, but Fentris looked like he had enough energy to fight a bull. Remarkable, since he had been up the whole night before standing guard at Hanna's door, retrieving ice and anything else I asked of him.

"I can't believe you sent me with

him,

" Zinvaris groused while Fentris groomed the horses out of earshot. "That man rides like a fucking demon," he turned weary eyes on me and I found I had little sympathy for him after wrestling with Hanna all day.

"What does that mean?"

"Fast," he huffed, "faster than anyone I've ever seen, even through the woods and the city streets. He didn't stop for anything, not even to piss. I don't know how he does it." Zinvaris deflated onto an overturned bucket. "My ass probably has blisters on it now," he continued complaining, "I haven't had a sip of water all day. He wouldn't even take lunch nor ale when we got to Jiyya," now Zinvaris was just whining. "I told him they have fine alehouse wenches in Jiyya, but he didn't care about that, said he just wanted to get back out in the open and let the horses run."

"What do you know about the alehouse wenches in Jiyya?" I snapped at Zinvaris, who suddenly had nothing more to say.

I watched Fentris groom the horses, clean the saddles, and run an oiled cloth over the harnesses and reins as he hung them up as if he had done this a thousand times before. I called him over to me and he obediently ran over and saluted.

"Where did you learn to ride like that?" I asked him. He grinned, and I already wished I hadn't asked.

"My dad was a horse breeder, sir," he started, "and when I was probably too young to do it I would race the other lads for a pint of ale, or a smoke," he grinned again. "I won every time, sir."

I nodded. "Why are you on guard duty then and not running messages between camps?"

The grin slid from his face. "Well, sir, you have to be a corporal or better to be a messenger, 's what General Krana said."

"Oh, is that all?" I asked, nonchalantly. I knew that was bullshit that someone had invented to keep him from getting anywhere. There was no reason a private couldn't be a messenger, but just to spite someone I'd fix it. He nodded as I absentmindedly pulled some more scrap parchment and a pencil from my pocket. "Oh, by the way," I began again, "how much money did you have left over today?"

"Oh, right, only five silvers, sir. Sergeant has the money."

That close and he counted on his fingers,

I thought.

"You don't have any of those white ribbons, do you, Fentris?" I asked, intentionally letting danger slip into my tone.

He shook his head vigorously. "My dad said to be nice to girls."

Satisfied, I scribbled something on the parchment and handed it to him, and he squinted at it.

"What-" he started to say, but I didn't want him to embarrass himself in front of Zinvaris, so I cut him off.

"That's your promotion, corporal, and your new assignment."

He beamed at me as if I'd just given him a winning lottery ticket. "You won't regret it, sir," he said, turning and running off into the depths of the Military Quarter. I turned to soak in Zinvaris' expression, a mix of disgust and disbelief that satisfied me immensely.

"What did you do that for?" he began, "a messenger that can't even read-"

"Is perfect for sending things you don't want read, sergeant. The enemy can't torture it out of him if he genuinely doesn't know a gods-damned thing. Now go tend to your ass-blisters before I make you a corporal, too. And leave the alehouse wenches alone, while you're at it, or you'll be our new Private Fentris."

With Fentris and the horses sorted out, I turned my attention back to the cartographer. The office and everything in it, including Hanna and myself, reeked of sick and that pungent blue ointment our lives now revolved around. I needed a bath, my back still sticky where the glue had soaked through my uniform. Blood and dirt still streaked my face and Hanna's soiled bed, but there she was in the middle of it, totally nude on top of the blankets, sweating and shivering and generally looking no better for all my efforts.

I tried not to look while I smeared more of the blue stuff on her chest, head, and the soft soles of her little feet. She didn't stir this time, and I didn't make her eat any biscuits. The more time I spent caring for her body the worse I felt for having harassed her. It wasn't just that she was so much shorter than me; she was so small and finely made that I began to understand her fearful protests that I would harm her by laying with her. I wished that I had a friend that I could trust who could fill me in on some of the finer details where it came to women. I resolved not to bother her anymore until I knew more, unwilling as I was to ask her and give away how little I knew. I would later learn that she knew even less than I did.

On the third day of Hanna's renewed fever I decided the maps couldn't wait any longer. I unloaded the saddlebags and did my best to put things where they seemed to belong. I studied the tools on her desk and the map she'd been working from. How hard could it be to copy a map without having to make the original? Very hard, it turned out, and by the evening hours I had only managed to make one passable copy.

The next day I felt a little more confident and managed to make maps that were both legible and properly to scale. I handed them off to a guard and told him to get them to Fentris, an order which clearly alarmed and puzzled the young soldier.

Thankfully on the evening of the fourth day Hanna finally came around, and not a moment too soon. Fentris returned late from delivering the maps and told a wild story about stumbling across an encampment of Seelie warriors. They went after him, chasing him through the sand dunes and into a copse of pine trees before he finally lost them, then took a meandering route back to Damaqas.

"Do you remember where the encampment was?" I asked him urgently, and he nodded.

"Twenty squares across, and fourteen down on the map," he said, gesturing with his fingers.

Reluctantly I left Hanna with a fresh supply of pitas and the green water her physician had ordered and rode out with Fentris at my side. Whatever he lacked in book smarts he made up for with an uncanny ability for math and an incredible memory. I had to ask him several times to slow down so the rest of the group could keep up, and shortly after nightfall we razed the Seelie encampment, capturing a few officers and their own set of shakily-drawn maps. Fentris was also, it turned out, especially good at fighting, and I realized his bad reputation had come from others using the soldier that couldn't read as a scapegoat.

I promoted Fentris again, and by sun-up I was back at my desk trying not to look in the direction of the nude cartographer still sprawled across the filthy bed. I went to the office's small washroom to wash the grime of battle from my face and hands and studied my reflection in the mirror. I looked older after the events of the last week. I felt old. Too old for Hanna.

What am I doing with my life,

I wondered, then curled up on the floor beside her pallet and slept. I had no idea it would be the last morning we would spend in the office together.

Hanna

Vague memories of the last several days filtered through as I struggled to wake myself. I remembered the doctor, garbled bits of his confession about my birth, Von smearing poultices on my head, chest, and feet, feeding me soggy biscuits and patiently trying to call me back to myself. Other things didn't make sense at all. I remembered a fire, and a man attacking me, and me yelling at him that my husband...

Ice ran through my veins.

I sat bolt upright in the bed, my head swimming and pounding as I did so. The sheets were gritty with potting soil and streaked with blood, blue stuff, chlorophyl, dirt, and other things I couldn't readily identify. The whole office smelled faintly of glue and was a colossal mess. Piles of rags, bowls of water, and waxen wrappers from food littered the surfaces and floor of the office. But I was alone, which didn't happen very often.

I caught a whiff of my own smell and realized just how many layers of poultice were dried and caked to my skin. How many days had I slept? I was certain that Von would not have dared to wash me himself, allowing the poultice to build up to a cracked blue crust on my skin.

On shaking legs I made my way to the courtyard fountain, certain that even the tallest soldier couldn't see me over the high walls of the courtyard, and uncaring if they did. I rinsed and scrubbed until my skin was red from irritation and the cold of the water. Spring was late to arrive that year and the water from the fountain barely rose above the temperature of the melting glacier that provided it.

Satisfied that I was as clean as I would get I went back into the office and found a clean uniform. It no longer fit me. While I had grown over the last three years and filled out beyond the bounds of my brother's old coat, during my short illnesses I had lost most of what I had gained. My uniform hung loosely over my chest, my skirt baggy around my hips. My reflection in the washroom mirror was skeletal and pale, and I felt repulsed by myself.

Everything took an immense effort and by the time I was fully dressed I was also fully out of breath. I sank into the master's chair and tried to sort through the orders on the desk, but everything was a mess. I opened the drawers looking for anything to lend order to the pile of notes and messages on the desk's surface and noticed a drawer hidden inside one of the larger drawers.

Curiously I opened it, not thinking it was something I wasn't meant to find. This was my office, after all. Inside was a tidy stack of parchment which I lifted out of the drawer and set on the desk in front of me. Some if it was in the fae's language, but enough of it was in my own that I could understand what the rest was about.

The word "Zeidani" caught my eye, and I realized the first page was about my master. As I read along the page revealed that Shadeem had been caught making maps for the Seelie Court. The next few pages were reports from people spying on him and speculation about how he got the maps out of the city without anyone noticing. My ears and chest burned as I read the reports, the feeling of betrayal twisting my guts into knots. My pulse pounded in my ears.

I shouldn't be reading this

, I thought over and over, but once I started I couldn't stop.

The next report was about me, an apprentice, Hanna Bahira.

"Skilled in clandestine maneuvers," the report read. "Followed apprentice for several blocks, but lost her somewhere in a tunnel," it went on. It was signed by Luvon. The next dozen or so pages were more reports about me, written from the perspective of someone who had followed me for months, signed by Luvon.

My heart dropped.

There were reports about surveillance on my family's home, a message about my mother dying, which Luvon had never bothered to share with me, and that Shadeem had died of apoplexy - because they had tortured him.

By the time Luvon returned I had read it all, and when he saw me sitting at the master's desk with the stack of parchment in front of me I didn't bother trying to hide what I knew.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said cooly.

"Why?" I asked, "so I wouldn't know you were a liar?"

He snorted impatiently. "It's not lying, we're in a war, in case you hadn't noticed. You're not well, you should go back to bed-"

"Why, so you can kill me in my sleep?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "I had so many opportunities to kill you before you even knew I existed. I could have let you drown yourself in the bathhouse, just one example. Don't start with me."

"How long were you following me?" I shrieked at him, causing a muscle in his jaw to start twitching.

"You don't want me to answer that," he said dismissively and began unloading the parcels he carried as if this conversation were boring to him.

"Yes, I do. Answer me!" I yelled at him, knowing the guard beside the door could hear everything. Luvon shot an angry glance toward the door and checked the lock, then crossed the distance between us and pulled me out of the chair. He leaned down to my eye-level and laughed in my face.

"Did you really think you managed to avoid soldiers for so long all by yourself?"

Angry tears bounced off my lashes and splashed onto the hands that gripped the collar of my uniform.

"You're good, but you're not quite that good, Hanna. I knew what the soldiers were doing with the white ribbons out there, but I wanted you for myself," he hissed. "As soon as I was assigned to follow you, I knew what I wanted. I didn't know you were a Changeling, though, or a foolish, nosy bitch."

I slapped him reflexively and winced, both because I expected him to hit me back and because I had used my injured hand to do it. Instead he grinned. That was worse. Thunder rumbled in the distance, filling the silence that followed. He released me and I sank back into the chair, shaking with rage and exhaustion.