In Her Shadow(32)

***

There were too many rioters, too many clubs, too many knives. Too many bottles arched over the cohort's shields and smashed into too many faces. Dux Lucius needed reinforcements, but there were no more. The men holding the line were disciplined, but the human body could only handle so much. At some point, the line would buckle under the great mass of people pressed against it. Even rotating the men off the line wasn't enough. He simply lacked the numbers to push back. His last option was a fighting retreat, setting up lines behind him and falling behind them, staggering his defense backwards to the garrison. But then – then he would have to abandon his position; leave Britta alone to face thugs already proven willing to attack her. What was his other option, though? Let his men die in her stead? And even then, the looters would swarm through the city and Britta would be in just as much danger.

A bottle hit one of the shields in front of him. It burst into a hundred jagged pieces. A bit of it caught his lip, slicing it open. Dux Lucius wiped away blood. The wound stung, as did his muscles, and his throat from shouting orders. In an act a filial impiety – unthinkable mere days ago – Lucius cursed his father's name. The damn fool wasn't just sneaky, he hadn't even thought to make sure Lucius's troops were up to the task of holding the city. That's assuming the Governor was guilty. Part of Lucius didn't want to believe it, but another part of him knew it to be true. The only way to settle is was to find Weboshi. And if she were anywhere, it was on the other side of this crowd, stowed away on some boat anchored in the harbor.

"The other detachment," he said.

"What, sir?" screamed one of the soldiers.

"Captain Marcus's men! The men I sent to inspect the ships! The ones we were coming to check on!"

The soldier shook his head, not understanding. It didn't matter. The soldier didn't need to, but Valex did. He wasn't back yet, sent with a letter encouraging his father to release some of his household guard to assist in the fighting. Where was he? Dux Lucius glanced over his shoulder to see if the boy was coming down the street. What he saw was Britta, draped in her cloak, holding a teen girl's hand. They didn't even look at him as they went up the street, away from him. Was the girl leading Britta? What was happening? There was no time to ponder it. All that mattered was holding the line a little longer.

"May She hide you in Her shadow," he said, and turned his attention back to the fight.

***

Was her sweat from exertion, fever, or nerves? With the heavy cloak entombing her in the muggy air, it was hard to say. A little of each. But she couldn't get rid of it, no matter how much it weighed her down. It might be their ticket to safety should they run into trouble. So far, however, she and the girl hadn't encountered any. In fact, the rest of the city was quiet and still.

"Ma'am," said the girl, and tugged at her hand.

"I need to rest." But she knew better. She couldn't. So she pushed forward despite what her body demanded. Maybe too hard. After all, what was she going to do once she made it to the abbey? What could her and her sisters do to end this? Talk the crowd down?

The world swirled around her. She stumbled to her knees. The palms of her hands bloodied and knees scrapped, she wasn't sure whether to lie down and die or get up and keep moving.

"Please," said the girl. Was she underwater? Were they sinking? "You must get up! Please, you can't give up!"

"I'm so tired, momma."

"I know," said the girl. "We're almost there."

Britta forced down the pain. Forced down the dizziness. Quelled the urge to die inside her, and shoved herself to her feet. She didn't know what she was going to do, didn't know how she was going to help save the city, but she wasn't going to give up – not with her future husband down there risking his life.

"Help hold me up," she said. "Quickly, quickly girl."





Chapter 15


When Valex Etrarian signed up for the army to avoid spending his youth in an orphanage, it hadn't occurred to him he might actually have to face combat. Boys his age rarely did. They were messengers, by and large, with the occasional drummer thrown in. Most survived into adulthood, groomed by their cohorts to rise up as officers one day – men who made their way in the world through sweat and duty. But death? They rarely faced death head-on like this. Even caught delivering messages behind enemy lines, few enemies could bring themselves to hang young boys as spies. This mission was different. The crowd might kill him entirely by accident, trampling him beneath their feet or crushing him between their bodies long before he made it safely to the other side.

That being said, he was small enough to slip through. A larger boy couldn't do it, definitely not a man. Dux Lucius could have sent one too, instead of him. If a soldier had doffed his uniform, he might have sneaked into the crowd. But would he have made it so deep toward his goal?

Valex didn't have to go. Dux Lucius had given him the choice, saying there was no shame in refusing. And Valex believed him to a point. Yes, he knew the Dux and the other soldiers wouldn't look down on him but he would look down on himself. That was the example the cohort had set for him, and Valex wasn't about to disappoint them, or himself. So he'd taken the Dux's written orders, folded them up, and stuffed them into a tight belt below his tunic. With that, he slipped beneath the soldiers' shields and into the angry crowd with no one the wiser.