Chereads / Gods' Gaze / Chapter 26 - 25. Julius' Promise

Chapter 26 - 25. Julius' Promise

It rained on and off into the night.

The camp had quieted. Only the caterwaul of the valley howled in protest against the men's silence, interrupted by a dwindling clangor of armor and utensils. 

Ariadne Laviana put a forefinger to her mouth, gesturing to the guards at the back of the main yurt not to make a sound. Don't mind me. She mouthed the words and clamped her back to the exterior of yak skin, her hair billowing about before her eyes. She frowned, pulling it all up to a loose chignon. Through the closed curtains hanging from a window peered the yellow light swaying atop a thistle-shaped brazier. She looked inside. 

Her man was sitting behind his large mahogany desk, stroking his scruff. It had only been two days since she helped him shave. How fast does the thing grow? She puffed her cheeks for a sigh.

Two days ago, they were alone in their yurt. 

"You can't tell anyone the whole plan, not the last part," she said, sitting on his lap while scraping up his chin with a razor. 

He looked down. 

"Don't move!" She scolded, frowning. 

He didn't protest, his eyes warm with a smile. 

She didn't have to look to feel it. "I know you're worried," she hummed, keeping her eyes on the side of his face. A shade of an obtuse triangle his cheekbone cast above the jawline made her feel safe for reasons she could never explain. "But you need Fronius to have a genuine response when you sentence him to a duel."

"Wouldn't it be too far?"

"Fronius is a straightforward man. You can't expect him to rehearse apprehension or anger. If you told him now, he'd have to act, and his acting would be awkward and telltale." The thin blade rustled as she carefully traced down his chin. "As for Quirinus," leaning to a basin next to her, she wetted the razor. "He's flexible and trustworthy enough. But he isn't directly involved in the duel. An exchange of a look, a gesture, a smile, any little thing could give it away. And if Fronius notices …"

"We risk compromising the mission," he finished off her sentence.

"I told you not to move!" she scowled, cocking a brow, her lips a pout. 

He kissed her, putting away the razor in her hand, and lifted her to their bed.

Ariadne bit her lip, her hand on her belly. A swish of footsteps drew close to the front of the yurt. She peeped through the yak skin. An eddy of wind ruffled the air inside the yurt, and the fire crackled. Julius' adjutant craned in his head through the wall flaps. 

"Sir!" Having saluted Julius, the sturdy young man ushered in the Exonians. 

Julius sat upright, arms stretching apart to either side of the mahogany desk. 

Before which, the two Exonian hoplites stood at attention by the thistle-shaped brazier. 

"Lord Julius of House Gaius, General of Northern Legion," said the taller one with deep blue eyes and auburn whisker. "Regent Octavia Metelus sent you his good wishes." 

"Sir Caeso Cassia, Commander of the eighth platoon of the Exonian guards. Father has spoken highly of you. And you, Sir Rufus Severan," Julius greeted each man in turn. "You're both friends here. Please be seated." 

Both men obliged, clanking in their armor as they sat, their shadows projected on hangings of maps. 

"Apologies to Regent Octavia Metelus," Julius continued. "I suggested to him the alliance with Lord Domitian. But as you've all witnessed, it was by the Gods' will, my brother's time among us came to an unfortunate end. Do we have an agreement?"

Having regarded each other, the Exonians bobbed their heads. 

"Good." Julius smiled. "When you return, please inform Lord Regent of exactly what happened today. Tell him that until then, the Northern Legion will be on standby. That said, on the off chance that the day would come, who would the Exonians stand with? Does Regent Octavia wish to be us? I'd also appreciate it if he may confirm his answer at his earliest convenience." 

The Exonians exchanged another look and rose to their feet. Caeso Cassia edged forward a step. "Regent Octavia has always sought partnership with you, General. But it's hard to broach the subject given how you have always been so …" he paused, sneaking a glance at Julius. "Loyal." He chose his word. 

"I am loyal," Julius uttered his reply syllable by syllable. "And so is my legion. It was Lord Domitian who sought your military support and led you here in the foolish hope of revolt."

"Of course," Cassia chuckled, bowing his head. "We'll travel home at the break of dawn and deliver your message to Lord Regent."

"Good," Julius intoned. "My adjutant will show you back to your yurt. Rest well, my friends. We've all had a long day." 

The shadows of the two stretched long on the floor before shattering into the wuthering dark. Julius blew a long sigh. Stretching his legs as he slumped in his seat, he gazed up at the nib of the yurt. Over the roof wheel, from where Ariadne could see, clouds gathered and thinned, revealing sporadic stars. She returned her eyes to him. His eyes were closed, and he looked exhausted. 

The lattice wall creaked to the wind. Ariadne slunk to the front and lifted the wall flap. "A long day you had indeed," she said, grinning. He told her she had an arch grin, like suds in a bath, mercurial. 

Julius popped open his eyes. Upon seeing her, a smile came to those cerulean eyes. He got to his feet. "What are you doing here? It's cold out. Are you cold?" he asked, swaddling her in his sinewy arms. 

She shook her head next to his chest. 

"It's all done," he added, his voice a drone. 

"I know."

He tilted his head, squeezing the loose chignon that must look like a knot. A flash of amusement rose to his face. "It's cute."

"Don't patronize me." 

"No, I mean for a bird nest," he deadpanned, then burst into a chuckle. 

She scowled, puffing her cheeks as she tried to wrench free from him but to no use.

"I'm sorry!" His apologies came between his laugh while he kept pecking her on the cheeks until she stopped fighting him. From the mahogany desk, she saw a brass ink pot next to a wooden dowel coiled by a metal strip, one end sharpened to a needle-thin nib. 

"A stylus?" she asked. 

"Need to write to Father." 

She nodded. "Do you need help? I know how you dread the needlework." She raised her head and found in his cerulean eyes a wonted smile, soft and gentle and exclusive for her to behold. 

He shook his head. "Writing in a stylus takes time, and I need the time to clear my mind."

"Stop worrying." She held his face, feeling his scruff in both hands. "You were brilliant today." 

"It isn't today that worries me," he gulped, his brows clasping. 

"Like you told the Exonians, Domitian meant to rise against Pethens, so the Gods punished him for it. And even if old Marcus still wouldn't let you off the hook, we now have the Exonians as our ally." 

He smacked his lips. "Nothing good comes easily, and the Exonians have been too easy. They granted Domitian sanctuary for the gold he paid, then betrayed him for my promise of cuts and sharing the waterways if they helped me gain autonomy. What if there is a higher bidder? And even if there isn't, an army as corruptible as the Exonians can't fare too well in wars. Their allegiance is as good as nothing." 

"True," she concurred with a shrug. "But just as you've said, the Exonian military can't fare too well. We don't need them to fight. We only need to have them involved."

He raised a brow. 

"If the day shall come that Marcus shall declare a civil war upon us, we only need the Exonians to send their troops. Let Marcus' men weaken them. Then, as they're at their weakest, we can move into Exonia in the name of lending them military support and protection. That way, not only can we wrangle autonomy from Marcus but reclaim Exonia without invasions."

"That'll have to depend on whether we win the war."

"No," She looked into his eyes. "That'll have to depend on whether Marcus is foolish enough to start another civil war. If he does, he chooses the worst, and we will make the best of his worst choice. We initiated nothing."

Drawing in his chin, he took a step back, his eyes wide, lips parted. "You're …"

"What?"

He shook his head and laughed.

"What?" She knocked on his chest. 

"You're my empress, that's all."

She grinned archly, baring her every tooth. "By the way," she crooned, rubbing her nose on the tip of his chin. "You can also tell Lord Augustus to consider keeping his temper. He's going to be a grandpa soon." 

"Wait," he held her cheeks and hung his head. "Are you?"

She shrugged more, her lips pinched to a tilt. 

"Oh no!"

"What?"

"I'd keep your brother alive if I knew it sooner! This is bad timing! What if he comes back and haunts us now? What if the child looks exactly as ugly as him? Oh, the horror!" He gasped comically. "What if it's a girl?" 

"Shut up!" She gave him another punch in the chest while he laughed and wished he would keep on laughing. But the cloud over their head returned, and his cackle tapered into a wry smile. 

"I promise I'll take you home one day," he whispered by her ear. "And I always keep my promise." 

In his arms, she glanced up at him like the first time they met. To everyone else, what they had was a political marriage. But she knew that he had found her in the darkest. 

"I know."