Chapter 81
Chapter 81: Ch. 81: Bombs Away
“Yes, your highness,” Emma parrots, her voice coming just a few steps behind me.
“Oh, you!” I gush, turning around to face my sister from another mister. “Bring it in!”
Being around me almost every day for the past 2 years has had many benefits, such as Emma finally being able to understand my more modern phrases. The stony-faced girl looks like she walked through a tornado, her hair in a bee’s hive and her dress covered in filth. But my naked self tugs her in for a huge hug as she reluctantly holds her arms out. Emma stinks of freshly cut grass and corn.
“Your highness?”
“Yes?”
“That’s going to cost 1000 gold coins.” My brokeness shatters the moment. I bead of sweat drips down my head, mixing with the water droplets still falling from me. At the moment, I already owe some kids a house and now I owe more money. Who’d have thought that such young children would drive a hard bargain?
“Yes, yes of course,” I assure her, patting her shoulder over the cries of my empty wallet. They did risk their life for me though, so I’m quite lucky in actuality that this is all they’ve asked for. Perhaps an adult would be far more daring and ask for favors I can’t dream of providing, things like a title or a castle or a month with the loveliest women in the finest Red House in Radovalsk.
.....
“You stink,” I say, dramatically pinching my nose even though she truly doesn’t smell bad at all. “Get in and bathe with me.”
“Your highness, that is against the ru-“.
“For god’s sakes, we just fled the imperial castle, got chased by assassins, and snuck into a military camp! Rules don’t matter anymore!” I throw my arms up in the air, water flying everywhere along with my frustration. “Besides, what has playing by the rules ever done for us? If rules really mattered, we wouldn’t have had to make a run for it to begin with.”
I’m quick to enlighten Emma on my new philosophy as she slowly undresses and slips in. As any kid can agree, baths are much more fun when you can do it with someone else. I truly feel like a child for the first time in a while as we playfully splash water upon one another and Emma rebraids my soaking wet locks in one of the few simple styles Marie has taught her. But I’m not a real kid, in spirit nor in the way I’m treated. My cheerful smile fades as we climb out of the tall tub and take turns drying off as we use our underclothes as pajamas.
“So, what happened to Jack and his crew?” I ask quietly as I slip on my breathable cotton underdress I’ve worn for the entirety of our escape. It’s far cleaner than my outer dress, but still reeks of sweat, blood, and grass. Ever since I’ve come to camp, I’ve been drowning in the smell of grass.
The hum of crickets from outside the tent, punctuating the silence between us as Emma looks away. Even in the tub and her usual stoicism, Emma has been quieter than usual and my attempts to paper over the mood have been for naught. My heart seizes as I fear the worst, only for Emma to open her mouth.
“He said he might as well find out if Belhelm was going to be easier to steal in than the capital with its round-the-clock protection from royal guards. He told me to tell you, ‘Thanks for the fun, passenger. Don’t forget the house.’.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” I roll my eyes at the brat’s stupid nickname, but I can breathe easier hearing that Clever Jack doesn’t seem too traumatized by our ordeals.
“And what about you? How are you feeling?”
“Fine, your highness,” she answers. But I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness in her tone.
I realize that I’ve been treating Emma like a mule, her talents being extended from delivering secret letters to being my secret bodyguard. I hate the feeling of ‘using’ her, just because she doesn’t complain and is happy to do anything if it earns her some coin. And it has been disturbingly easy for me to blame my dire need for resources and aid on her heavy workload and look the other way on the ethics of using a kid who hasn’t even turned 10 years old to do my dirty work.
Emma makes it easy because she is as diligent and clever as ever. As I stare guiltily at her, she peruses every corner of the tent from our used tub, to the thin cot they carried in last before the sun fell, from the small mirror that sits atop a single crude wood desk, and to the weighted edge of the round tent.
“It’s safe enough,” I say when I can’t stand it anymore. Emma doesn’t turn away, her black bob rhythmically bouncing as she tugs at the edge of the tent in small 2 inch increments.
“It is not, your highness. See, this is the section that I crawled under to get in. The weight was broken,” she points out in monotone.
“It would be too strange for me to die on my first night in camp, at least tonight I should be safe,” I quickly explain. “But enough about me. I... you...”
The words to properly explain myself escape me, buried under the exhaustion that has settled in from the past few days and enough anxiety to power a lightbulb. My thoughts are more tangled than a spider’s web, but finally I dredge up the words I mean to say.
My voice barely comes out above a whisper. “Why are you so good to me, Emma? I’m not worth all your efforts. I’m a worthless princess and cash poor! You are probably much better of following someone that won’t risk your life and wellbeing as much as I do,” Guilt lies heavy in my tone, the blame for my actions sitting heavy on my shoulders. I know I’m not mistaken, Emma has been upset ever since she entered the tent, most likely by my beyond reckless conduct since we fled the palace.
“Is that what you think, your highness?” Emma cuts in, a strange emotion discernable in her quiet voice.
I look up and miraculously, Emma appears far more upset than she was before. I’ve seen minuscule expressions of emotions from her. Irritation with Jack, her little mouth permanently curved downwards in that brat’s presence. But this, sadness and displeasure, have carved the stoniness out of her face. Emma looks young and vulnerable, like a true kid.
I shake my head. “Wait, you’re not mad about that?”
The once closed book is fully open and I can see disappointment in Emma’s dark eyes before she turns away and lays on the ground. “Let us sleep, your highness.” There is a finality to her tone and I lay down, my brow furrowed as I try to make sense of our friendship riff. She isn’t mad about how I’ve shamelessly used her over the years, but she’s upset I asked. The contradiction between the two ideas keeps me up well into the night. But one thing is for certain when I wake up to faint light slipping between the curtain opening of the tent.
A yawning divide has opened up between us.
Emma still helps me button up my outer dress and redo my braids in the mornings but she has turned into a block of ice during our first few days at the military front.
“Emma, how did you sleep?”
“Well, your highness.”
“Gosh, it is bloody hot today! We should totally try to find out where my father’s private ice is stored and steal a few pieces for ourselves.”
“Bad idea, your highness.”
Short, curt one word answers without any elaboration or detail. Disconcertingly, I realize she speaks to me the everyone else does here. And I truly mean everyone.
Days as a jobless princessat a military warzone are both jampacked and dull. I have no official tasks or duties, aside from simply flitting from one end to the other of the camp and staying out of everyone’s way. Save for the exclusive wooded area where the royal guard have set camp, every day, day in day out, I am subject to the same:
“Greeting, your highness.”
“This is called flan, your highness. It is used to make the paan.”
There is respect in their voices when they speak, courtesy of Augustus announcing my presence from his tent and those at the battlefield not knowing of my typical treatment in the palace. Someone will push a wheelbarrow full of potatoes, pause to bow, and carry on. Then a battalion of soldiers ready to head into the field will take notice of me, bow in greeting, and march forth, their gold and silver Erudian Empire armor glistening under the sun magnificently. They battle deep within the Dredgen Woods separating the Erudian Empire and Sarsaval and a few kilometers away from the camp so it is easy to that a war is being waged.
An alienated feeling has taken root in my chest, even more than when I was in the palace. I’d usually giggle with Emma and tease her to pass my days, but now she stands at my side like a breathing cinder block unwilling to share her grievances and treating me just like everyone else.
The novelty of being safe has long worn off, replaced by the monotony of watching the mundane affairs of the soldiers and workers. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all consist of paan, which has long lost its freshness from the first night I tried it hidden inside the military rations wagon. Watching people run around like busy worker bees and men valiantly spar with great confidence it’s quite easy to forget the ugliness that comes with war until it came right to my doorstep quite literally.
There is a low underlying hum of noise constantly within the Belhelm military camp, much like living near a busy street within a lively city. Just from within my tent, I can always hear the crunch of grass underfoot, idle conversation about the weather, and of course, the thrum of arrows being shot and dull swords clanging against another.
But tonight it’s different. The hum is louder and more restless, enough for Emma and I to look from where we lay in curiosity. I can hear distant shouts and a creeping feeling crawls over my flesh.
“I shall go check, your highness,” Emma says as she rolls from the ground, speaking the most words she’s said to me in the past two weeks.
I sit up in my cot, drawing the sheets under my chin as Emma steps out for what feels like a minute before she comes rushing back in.
“The first battle. It has been lost.”
The words take a minute to register, but my eyes widen immediately afterwards.
“We lost?!” I remember the proud phoenix flag I saw at the front of the march to the field, the impressive maneuvering I’d witnessed on the training grounds, and struggle to reconcile what I’ve seen with what I just heard. To lose a battle, that means that people died. Enough to force the proud Empire into retreat.
I fling off the covers, wrapping a simple shawl around my shoulders as I pick up the small candle holder on the desk and go to peek outside the curtain of my tent.
Two, tall shadowy figures stand guard outside as usual, but in the dark night I nearly jump at the sight.
“Your highness, it isn’t safe,” one of them says in a deep voice, his eyes tracking fast movements before us. There is a frenzy in the camp that wasn’t present before. The nurse unit, who had previously mostly worked on stocking bandages, sutures, and medicinal alcohol are now in action as the run around with blood splashed on the apron of their dresses. Torch light flickers in the distance and I can hear a long, soul crushing wolf-like howl that I eventually identify as human. Whoever that person is, they are severely wounded.
Just before my tent, I can see two nurses help a limping man to the outdoor infirmary as the stench of blood that follows them nearly overpowers the constant manure I can smell. He shakes him head furiously as if the simple action could rid him of the things he’s seen. His pant leg is knotted just below the knee and my heart stops as I realize that he is missing his entire foot. Dark liquid splashes from the sopping wet knot onto the grass below.
He’s mumbling and muttering, the summer evening wind carrying his words to our ears. “I can’t believe it. It was... It was ungodly,” he wheezes out each word and speaks with a slight slur as if he were drunk.
“There, there good sir. We will get you proper help so try not to talk alright?” a nurse calmly says, her red armband flashing under the light of a nearby passing torch. She sounds like a saint.
“The earth... it rose suddenly to heights taller than a man and with such... deafening noise. It took... my leg... and my brother- my brother he...” His last, trembling words serve as a trigger as lucidity claws its way back to his eyes and sends newfound energy into his wiry limbs. He begins to writhe against the smaller nurse’s grip.
The situation for the nurses goes from 0 to 100 without a moment’s notice. But I’m frozen, not from the man’s mad flailing but from his words which sent alarm bells running through me.
“Where is my brother?! Where?! WHERE?! Oh Helio, help! Akira has come for us all! My brother!” It is one frenzied man against two smaller woman so the nurses are quickly overpowered and tumble to the side. The man cannot walk on his own and soon falls down after. But he claws desperately at the grass and shoves away their helpful hands that seek to help him up.
“Sir, please stay calm! We are here to help you!” The nurses yell. If I wasn’t already up, this dispute would have certainly awoken me. The man’s eyes are wide as if he’s seen something terrible and the war, which has always felt so far away, has never felt closer to me.
“My brother! You killed him! Oh Helio, he is dead! My good brother is dead!” The man wails loud enough to wake the dead. He doesn’t look much older than I was when I died in my world and my heart thrums in pity. I was barely in my early twenties and technically an adult but that is far too young to start fighting for your country in my opinion.
“Are you just going to stand and watch? Go help them!” I sharply order the guards who stand like tall pillars at the entrance of my tent. It must’ve been within their intentions too, for they surprisingly don’t waste a second and rush forward to help the struggling nurses.
Meanwhile, I don’t wait around to watch and start hastily walking in a direction of camp that I haven’t bothered to visit since I arrived.
“Your highness?” Emma inquires, rushing beside me as we speedwalk away before the guards notice.
“Who needs sleep?” I joke lightly to disguise the terrible hunch burning inside of me, a hunch about the most terrible ‘what-if’ situation possible regarding transmigrators and the future ideas they can bring.
“Let’s go get some answers.”
“Yes, your highness,” Emma parrots, her voice coming just a few steps behind me.
“Oh, you!” I gush, turning around to face my sister from another mister. “Bring it in!”
Being around me almost every day for the past 2 years has had many benefits, such as Emma finally being able to understand my more modern phrases. The stony-faced girl looks like she walked through a tornado, her hair in a bee’s hive and her dress covered in filth. But my naked self tugs her in for a huge hug as she reluctantly holds her arms out. Emma stinks of freshly cut grass and corn.
“Your highness?”
“Yes?”
“That’s going to cost 1000 gold coins.” My brokeness shatters the moment. I bead of sweat drips down my head, mixing with the water droplets still falling from me. At the moment, I already owe some kids a house and now I owe more money. Who’d have thought that such young children would drive a hard bargain?
“Yes, yes of course,” I assure her, patting her shoulder over the cries of my empty wallet. They did risk their life for me though, so I’m quite lucky in actuality that this is all they’ve asked for. Perhaps an adult would be far more daring and ask for favors I can’t dream of providing, things like a title or a castle or a month with the loveliest women in the finest Red House in Radovalsk.
.....
“You stink,” I say, dramatically pinching my nose even though she truly doesn’t smell bad at all. “Get in and bathe with me.”
“Your highness, that is against the ru-“.
“For god’s sakes, we just fled the imperial castle, got chased by assassins, and snuck into a military camp! Rules don’t matter anymore!” I throw my arms up in the air, water flying everywhere along with my frustration. “Besides, what has playing by the rules ever done for us? If rules really mattered, we wouldn’t have had to make a run for it to begin with.”
I’m quick to enlighten Emma on my new philosophy as she slowly undresses and slips in. As any kid can agree, baths are much more fun when you can do it with someone else. I truly feel like a child for the first time in a while as we playfully splash water upon one another and Emma rebraids my soaking wet locks in one of the few simple styles Marie has taught her. But I’m not a real kid, in spirit nor in the way I’m treated. My cheerful smile fades as we climb out of the tall tub and take turns drying off as we use our underclothes as pajamas.
“So, what happened to Jack and his crew?” I ask quietly as I slip on my breathable cotton underdress I’ve worn for the entirety of our escape. It’s far cleaner than my outer dress, but still reeks of sweat, blood, and grass. Ever since I’ve come to camp, I’ve been drowning in the smell of grass.
The hum of crickets from outside the tent, punctuating the silence between us as Emma looks away. Even in the tub and her usual stoicism, Emma has been quieter than usual and my attempts to paper over the mood have been for naught. My heart seizes as I fear the worst, only for Emma to open her mouth.
“He said he might as well find out if Belhelm was going to be easier to steal in than the capital with its round-the-clock protection from royal guards. He told me to tell you, ‘Thanks for the fun, passenger. Don’t forget the house.’.”
“That’s good, I suppose.” I roll my eyes at the brat’s stupid nickname, but I can breathe easier hearing that Clever Jack doesn’t seem too traumatized by our ordeals.
“And what about you? How are you feeling?”
“Fine, your highness,” she answers. But I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness in her tone.
I realize that I’ve been treating Emma like a mule, her talents being extended from delivering secret letters to being my secret bodyguard. I hate the feeling of ‘using’ her, just because she doesn’t complain and is happy to do anything if it earns her some coin. And it has been disturbingly easy for me to blame my dire need for resources and aid on her heavy workload and look the other way on the ethics of using a kid who hasn’t even turned 10 years old to do my dirty work.
Emma makes it easy because she is as diligent and clever as ever. As I stare guiltily at her, she peruses every corner of the tent from our used tub, to the thin cot they carried in last before the sun fell, from the small mirror that sits atop a single crude wood desk, and to the weighted edge of the round tent.
“It’s safe enough,” I say when I can’t stand it anymore. Emma doesn’t turn away, her black bob rhythmically bouncing as she tugs at the edge of the tent in small 2 inch increments.
“It is not, your highness. See, this is the section that I crawled under to get in. The weight was broken,” she points out in monotone.
“It would be too strange for me to die on my first night in camp, at least tonight I should be safe,” I quickly explain. “But enough about me. I... you...”
The words to properly explain myself escape me, buried under the exhaustion that has settled in from the past few days and enough anxiety to power a lightbulb. My thoughts are more tangled than a spider’s web, but finally I dredge up the words I mean to say.
My voice barely comes out above a whisper. “Why are you so good to me, Emma? I’m not worth all your efforts. I’m a worthless princess and cash poor! You are probably much better of following someone that won’t risk your life and wellbeing as much as I do,” Guilt lies heavy in my tone, the blame for my actions sitting heavy on my shoulders. I know I’m not mistaken, Emma has been upset ever since she entered the tent, most likely by my beyond reckless conduct since we fled the palace.
“Is that what you think, your highness?” Emma cuts in, a strange emotion discernable in her quiet voice.
I look up and miraculously, Emma appears far more upset than she was before. I’ve seen minuscule expressions of emotions from her. Irritation with Jack, her little mouth permanently curved downwards in that brat’s presence. But this, sadness and displeasure, have carved the stoniness out of her face. Emma looks young and vulnerable, like a true kid.
I shake my head. “Wait, you’re not mad about that?”
The once closed book is fully open and I can see disappointment in Emma’s dark eyes before she turns away and lays on the ground. “Let us sleep, your highness.” There is a finality to her tone and I lay down, my brow furrowed as I try to make sense of our friendship riff. She isn’t mad about how I’ve shamelessly used her over the years, but she’s upset I asked. The contradiction between the two ideas keeps me up well into the night. But one thing is for certain when I wake up to faint light slipping between the curtain opening of the tent.
A yawning divide has opened up between us.
Emma still helps me button up my outer dress and redo my braids in the mornings but she has turned into a block of ice during our first few days at the military front.
“Emma, how did you sleep?”
“Well, your highness.”
“Gosh, it is bloody hot today! We should totally try to find out where my father’s private ice is stored and steal a few pieces for ourselves.”
“Bad idea, your highness.”
Short, curt one word answers without any elaboration or detail. Disconcertingly, I realize she speaks to me the everyone else does here. And I truly mean everyone.
Days as a jobless princessat a military warzone are both jampacked and dull. I have no official tasks or duties, aside from simply flitting from one end to the other of the camp and staying out of everyone’s way. Save for the exclusive wooded area where the royal guard have set camp, every day, day in day out, I am subject to the same:
“Greeting, your highness.”
“This is called flan, your highness. It is used to make the paan.”
There is respect in their voices when they speak, courtesy of Augustus announcing my presence from his tent and those at the battlefield not knowing of my typical treatment in the palace. Someone will push a wheelbarrow full of potatoes, pause to bow, and carry on. Then a battalion of soldiers ready to head into the field will take notice of me, bow in greeting, and march forth, their gold and silver Erudian Empire armor glistening under the sun magnificently. They battle deep within the Dredgen Woods separating the Erudian Empire and Sarsaval and a few kilometers away from the camp so it is easy to that a war is being waged.
An alienated feeling has taken root in my chest, even more than when I was in the palace. I’d usually giggle with Emma and tease her to pass my days, but now she stands at my side like a breathing cinder block unwilling to share her grievances and treating me just like everyone else.
The novelty of being safe has long worn off, replaced by the monotony of watching the mundane affairs of the soldiers and workers. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all consist of paan, which has long lost its freshness from the first night I tried it hidden inside the military rations wagon. Watching people run around like busy worker bees and men valiantly spar with great confidence it’s quite easy to forget the ugliness that comes with war until it came right to my doorstep quite literally.
There is a low underlying hum of noise constantly within the Belhelm military camp, much like living near a busy street within a lively city. Just from within my tent, I can always hear the crunch of grass underfoot, idle conversation about the weather, and of course, the thrum of arrows being shot and dull swords clanging against another.
But tonight it’s different. The hum is louder and more restless, enough for Emma and I to look from where we lay in curiosity. I can hear distant shouts and a creeping feeling crawls over my flesh.
“I shall go check, your highness,” Emma says as she rolls from the ground, speaking the most words she’s said to me in the past two weeks.
I sit up in my cot, drawing the sheets under my chin as Emma steps out for what feels like a minute before she comes rushing back in.
“The first battle. It has been lost.”
The words take a minute to register, but my eyes widen immediately afterwards.
“We lost?!” I remember the proud phoenix flag I saw at the front of the march to the field, the impressive maneuvering I’d witnessed on the training grounds, and struggle to reconcile what I’ve seen with what I just heard. To lose a battle, that means that people died. Enough to force the proud Empire into retreat.
I fling off the covers, wrapping a simple shawl around my shoulders as I pick up the small candle holder on the desk and go to peek outside the curtain of my tent.
Two, tall shadowy figures stand guard outside as usual, but in the dark night I nearly jump at the sight.
“Your highness, it isn’t safe,” one of them says in a deep voice, his eyes tracking fast movements before us. There is a frenzy in the camp that wasn’t present before. The nurse unit, who had previously mostly worked on stocking bandages, sutures, and medicinal alcohol are now in action as the run around with blood splashed on the apron of their dresses. Torch light flickers in the distance and I can hear a long, soul crushing wolf-like howl that I eventually identify as human. Whoever that person is, they are severely wounded.
Just before my tent, I can see two nurses help a limping man to the outdoor infirmary as the stench of blood that follows them nearly overpowers the constant manure I can smell. He shakes him head furiously as if the simple action could rid him of the things he’s seen. His pant leg is knotted just below the knee and my heart stops as I realize that he is missing his entire foot. Dark liquid splashes from the sopping wet knot onto the grass below.
He’s mumbling and muttering, the summer evening wind carrying his words to our ears. “I can’t believe it. It was... It was ungodly,” he wheezes out each word and speaks with a slight slur as if he were drunk.
“There, there good sir. We will get you proper help so try not to talk alright?” a nurse calmly says, her red armband flashing under the light of a nearby passing torch. She sounds like a saint.
“The earth... it rose suddenly to heights taller than a man and with such... deafening noise. It took... my leg... and my brother- my brother he...” His last, trembling words serve as a trigger as lucidity claws its way back to his eyes and sends newfound energy into his wiry limbs. He begins to writhe against the smaller nurse’s grip.
The situation for the nurses goes from 0 to 100 without a moment’s notice. But I’m frozen, not from the man’s mad flailing but from his words which sent alarm bells running through me.
“Where is my brother?! Where?! WHERE?! Oh Helio, help! Akira has come for us all! My brother!” It is one frenzied man against two smaller woman so the nurses are quickly overpowered and tumble to the side. The man cannot walk on his own and soon falls down after. But he claws desperately at the grass and shoves away their helpful hands that seek to help him up.
“Sir, please stay calm! We are here to help you!” The nurses yell. If I wasn’t already up, this dispute would have certainly awoken me. The man’s eyes are wide as if he’s seen something terrible and the war, which has always felt so far away, has never felt closer to me.
“My brother! You killed him! Oh Helio, he is dead! My good brother is dead!” The man wails loud enough to wake the dead. He doesn’t look much older than I was when I died in my world and my heart thrums in pity. I was barely in my early twenties and technically an adult but that is far too young to start fighting for your country in my opinion.
“Are you just going to stand and watch? Go help them!” I sharply order the guards who stand like tall pillars at the entrance of my tent. It must’ve been within their intentions too, for they surprisingly don’t waste a second and rush forward to help the struggling nurses.
Meanwhile, I don’t wait around to watch and start hastily walking in a direction of camp that I haven’t bothered to visit since I arrived.
“Your highness?” Emma inquires, rushing beside me as we speedwalk away before the guards notice.
“Who needs sleep?” I joke lightly to disguise the terrible hunch burning inside of me, a hunch about the most terrible ‘what-if’ situation possible regarding transmigrators and the future ideas they can bring.
“Let’s go get some answers.”
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