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Caesennia still couldn’t believe what laid before her eyes.
Admittedly, the sights, sounds, and sensations were nothing new for her—Ravenna did have palm trees, little oases, and sand-laden dunes. Its nights were cold despite the exhausting heat of the day, and gentle gusts of dry wind were a constant. Its rocks were tinted orange, with little patches of dry greenery fighting to remain within the cracks. And the smell of salt from the all-encompassing ocean, along with the eternal light of the stars and moon above, were just the same as well.
But she wasn’t in Ravenna.
For the first time in her twenty-eight years, Caesennia was somewhere besides the island of her birth. For Ravenna’s deserts were far from being this vast, it did not possess so many towering cliffs of sandstone, nor was the island itself so expensive.
The centurion gave a long exhale as she turned back to the sandstone walls of Masada, watching as the golden banners rustled in the desert wind—banners bearing Sameria’s white sun emblem. With Keraxe getting aggressive, Ravenna’s generals—those who remained alive and operational, that was—figured it would be better to stop the threat before it could get a foothold in the neighboring sea. The simple truth was, Ravenna, devastated and unstable following the events a mere two months ago, had no chance at all of fighting off the conquering Viking kingdom by itself. Better to ally under the common interest of not being razed by bloodthirsty berserkers than to pridefully remain alone in the coming war.
Walking through the streets and squares of the oasis town, Caesennia took the opportunity to look around. To soothe her riled nerves. Some of the ensigns had been excited to finally see some proper action not against pirate bands or common criminals.
But this is against Keraxe, Caesennia thought, clenching her fists. Which has five sea curses, along with the man who is the most powerful in the entire world, barring figures of myth like Authur Pendragon and The Great Protector.
She nearly threw herself down in the middle of the merchant square, her back pressing against a bench to look up at the night sky, heart pounding.
Gods… and to think this is what I’m given as my first off-shore assignment. She sighed, trying to relax her body and mind sufficiently to allow her aura to expand outwards. And, slowly, it did. Familiar as the sensation was to her, describing it to others always proved difficult. It was as if dozens of little things were poking into her skin all at once, a skin which no longer wrapped over her muscles and bones, but rather expanded outwards to cover the world itself. She felt every soul nearby, some wandering the streets, many in their homes, stilled in their sleep. Most of the ensigns of Ravenna were currently in their ships, some having moved to the local inns of Masada—probably to sleep in a proper bed, rather than the ships’ hammocks, even if doing so costed a few drachma.
Most auras nearby were on the subdued end, betraying no resolve indicative of a powerful mage or seasoned warrior. She did feel a few magically-tinged auras, though most were scarcely greater than the other civilians’. The people of the town were not fighters, they were nothing more then ordinary men and women.
For some reason, Caesennia had always found sensing to be… soothing. Like she were adrift in an ocean—an ocean of souls, somehow isolated even as she was aware of the presence of nearly a thousand others nearby. The occasional emotion emanated from the crowd, pulsating for a few moments, before fading—fleeing joys, nerves, tiredness…
Malice.
She sat upright, a frown forming on her lips. Someone none too far from her was quite angry. And it was one of the heftier auras, too, meaning it wasn’t some common merchant or tradesman angry with their job. Whoever it was, they had power to them. The capacity for harm.
Standing and allowing her sensing to fade, she began for the location where she had felt the rage, slipping by unoccupied stalls and crates to face a secluded alleyway. It stood between two dark-windowed storage buildings, the square’s lanterns barely sufficient to illuminate the cobblestones within. Yet she needed neither sight nor sensing to tell now that something was going all, for a low growl echoed from the darkness beyond, too faint to properly understand the words, but even so, the rage behind it was naked as the sun on a cloudless day.
She drew her bronze gladius, having left her poleaxe back on the ship, before slowly advancing, briefly expanding her sensing outwards just in case someone was trying to catch her from behind. No one was. And she felt another presence near the malice-filled individual. A terrified presence.
“I’ve told you, you have the wrong merchant,” a softer speaker said. “I- I never made any kind of deal with you, and I don’t know who did.” They were from Sameria, without a doubt. A woman, Caesennia guessed, her smooth voice cracking in audible fear.
“And I’m telling you that you’re a lying snake,” a man growled. His accent was more difficult to place. It reminded Caesennia of a sailor who claimed to hail from the Thorne Empire. “I’ve come here to this thrice-damned kingdom because your own crown pays me, and this is the treatment I get from the citizens I’m fighting for? Lies and theft?”
Caesennia crept closer, now making out the figure of a large man with hair a shade darker than hers, clad in cobalt-blue grab with numerous puffs and frills, along with a broad hat and a decorated cuirass. Barely visible from beyond him, pinned against a wall, was a woman, wearing a clasped overcoat which hung down to her knees, along with a vivid purple scarf and one of those cloth headcovers many of the locals wore.
“If you could just provide the receipts, or some kind of evidence of a transaction, I am certain I could-” the woman began, before Caesennia heard an impact and a gasp.
Several wheezing, choked coughs followed.
“Your damn employer or business partner or whoever in Tartarus you work with didn’t give me one, little lady,” the man whispered, yanking her head in close.
Caesennia bit her lip. Quarrels between merchants and clients weren’t new to her. Usually, affairs didn’t turn this ugly in Ravenna, though from the sounds of it, the man was a mercenary. And while Ravenna didn’t hire those, she’d heard that most were of short, foul tempers. There wasn’t enough information for her to judge whether or the merchant woman had performed any wrongdoing, but she had a sneaking suspicion the mercenary was a liar; decent, understanding men don’t press lone women into alleyways at the dead of night. And they sure as Hades don’t manhandle, assault, and torture them, regardless of circumstances.
“Hey, pal, let go of her,” Caesennia said evenly. “You’re not going to get your stuff beating up a woman in an alleyway.”
He turned to the centurion. “Who’re you?” he asked, his tone a growl. “You don’t sound like you’re from here—this ain’t your business.”
“I’m not,” Caesennia replied. “I’m a bit like you—away from home to protect Sameria. And I’m telling you now you’re not getting anything done. You’re just throwing around an innocent woman.”
He spat at her feet. “I’m just doing my business with this little lady here.” He shook her violently. “You piss off and stick to yours.”
Alright, he’s just looking for an excuse to throw his weight around, Caesennia decided. She raised her sword to catch the light of the street’s lanterns. “Allow me to rephrase that, ignavus.” Her voice lowered to match his. “We are leaving this alleyway. Whether or not your detached hands remain clasped onto her is up to you.”
Eying the bronze blade in her hand, he faced the centurion fully, dropping the woman onto the cobblestones, where she laid gasping for breath. He took a step forwards, trying to get up in her face. Caesennia was having none of that, stepping back and leveling the sword at his neck, the metal poking gently into cloth and flesh, his aura insufficient to deter its tip. The mercenary hesitated.
“I just want my stuff is all,” he said, suddenly quite wide-eyed and his voice much softer. “I just want my fair share from little lady here, is that so wrong?”
So you start playing at being decent as soon as someone puts up some force to you, eh? Caesennia thought. She pressed the blade just a little deeper. “I know that’s not what you were doing. This is your last warning: leave.”
He stepped back with a growl and narrowed eyes. “You’re a cheat!” he yelled at the woman behind him as he stepped away. “You’re a damn cheat is what you are! Both of you!”
Several further degrading comments passed his lips, all details of what he’d do to them both next time in graphic, crude terms. Caesennia stepped forwards, shoving the blade at his neck once again, using all of her power to pierce through his resistance and draw a trickle of blood.
His retreat became considerably hastier after that.
Caesennia gave a long exhale, lowering her weapon as the man swiftly made for the open market. She looked over at the merchant woman, who remained on her hands and knees, coughing and breathing heavily. The centurion knelt, offering her free hand to the woman. The merchant glanced up, before grasping her hand and standing as Caesennia pulled her up. She stumbled, falling onto Caesennia, who secured an arm around the woman, holding her steady as she recovered. “You’re unstable on your feet, my lady,” she said. “Let me help you.”
The woman nodded shakily. “You’re from Ravenna, are you not?”
They began to walk forwards, out into the market square. Caesennia momentarily sent out her sensing, tracking the mercenary as he moved down a main street and out of sight. “I am. I’m a centurion of the Bronze Legion’s second cohort.”
“You had no duty to save me, then,” the woman said. “But… thank you, nevertheless.”
Caesennia set her down on one of the benches beneath a lit oil lamp, remaining standing as she searched the marketplace with narrowed eyes for potential threats. The strewn boxes and still stands, once charming in the day’s light now felt sinister—concealing. “Not a problem,” she said automatically. Every one of her nerves stood on end. “Besides, preventing harm and maintaining order is my duty, and I don’t see much of a reason to limit that to Ravenna if I’m not there.”
The merchant’s whimpers and shutters slowly faded as her breathing lightened. Caesennia’s, if anything, did the opposite.
“I could take you to one of the legion’s medics,” she offered, looking over the area one final time. Her sensing told her the mercenary was now a block away from them, slowing but not turning back. They’d have to avoid that road.
“It’s- it’s bruised, nothing more,” the woman replied.
“Are you certain?” Caesennia asked. In truth, she suspected the merchant was right—the injury probably wasn’t much more than a bruise. She just disliked the idea of standing about in the town square.
“Quite,” the merchant affirmed breathily. “But I do thank you for the offer.”
They remained in silence for a moment after that.
A faint chuckle-hum echoed from behind Caesennia. “‘My lady’, did you call me?”
Caesennia winced, sparing a glance at the woman, though seeing little in the lackluster light of night. “Sorry, I uh- that was just the first thing to-”
She snickered, before breaking into a coughing fit. “Oh, I’m- I’m hardly insulted,” she said amid gasps. “B-But you can call me Nephthys.”
“Lucia,” the centurion said, before blinking. That was her given name. Not exactly professional to be giving it out to a woman she just met. “Or, ah, Caesennia. That’s… what you should call me. Not Lucia.”
“W-well, since you’re so indecisive…” Nephthys teased, gripping the bench seat and leaning towards Caesennia with the slightest smirk. “What if I just called you ‘my savior’, hm?”
Caesennia buried her forehead into a hand, feeling her cheeks flush. “Kindly do not.” She glanced around the empty streets. “I don’t think it safe for you to walk home alone, would you like me to escort you?”
“Once my internals cease to be flattened, yes,” Nephthys exhaled, sitting back upright. “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”
Caesennia nodded, monitoring the merchant across from her, listening as her breathing evened. While she no longer had doubts that the mercenary was a bad actor, she wanted to assess the situation as well as she could then and there, if for no other reason than to ensure she wasn’t about to be caught up in something much messier than intended. “Have you seen that man before today?”
Nephthys shook her head. “I have not, no. And nobody in my caravan made any mention of one like him.”
“You think he actually made a deal with anyone, or was just throwing his weight around?” Caesennia asked.
Nephthys hesitated. “I suspect he never made a deal with any merchant organization, and was simply looking to bully and intimidate me for my gems. Or, perhaps as you suspect, not even for that.”
Gems? If Caesennia’s suspicions were correct, that explained a lot of what had just transpired. “You’re a jewelcrafter?”
“Yes, I am,” Nephthys affirmed. “By trade. I carve the gems, smoothen them, engrave them, and apply their enchantments. I also polish the metal or file the wood myself, depending which we’re using for that particular item.”
“We don’t have many jewelcrafters in Ravenna,” Caesennia said. “Not quite sure why—might just be that our mountain mostly contains copper and tin ore. Our gems seem to be imported, though…” She shrugged. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea how geological stuff works.”
Nephthys tapped her fingers. “Hm, well, by my understanding, most of Ravenna’s rock is sandstone, not unlike ours here in Sameria, though…” she tilted her head. “Ah, nevermind. Besides, finding gemstone deposits isn’t really my job within the caravan,” she admitted. “I primarily just do the carving and enchanting.”
Caesennia gave a joking smile. “And what excellently enchanted gemstones they must be if that mercenary considered you to be the most worthwhile crafter to go after.”
Nephthys startled, before placing a hand over her mouth and laughing. “Oh I assure you, they’re not quite masterful. But I do appreciate the confidence.” She shook her head mirthfully. “Sands, Lady Caesennia, does all of Ravenna share your wit?”
“Nah, I just developed it from being on guard duty for a decade. Would’ve thrown myself into the harbor otherwise,” Caesennia replied easily. “This is actually my first time leaving the island of Ravenna.”
“Well, then I welcome you to Sameria,” Nephthys said. “Land of sand, sand, and—if you look for it—more sand.”
Caesennia chuckled. “So I noticed. Though this town doesn’t seem particularly sandy.”
“Hence why it’s my favorite,” Nephthys grunted, struggling as she stood from the bench, one hand clasping her stomach. “I- I think I can walk now. Were you offering to escort me?”
Caesennia nodded. “I was, and I shall.” She offered a hand, which Nephthys took—her tanned, bare fingers folding into Caesennia’s leather glove as they began to walk. The merchant guided them both past the stalls, glancing into the shadowed crevices between buildings every time they passed them. Caesennia hesitated upon realizing their direction, before offering resistance.
Nephthys glanced back. “Something amiss?”
“This is the direction he went,” Caesennia replied. “I can sense him about two blocks down. Think he’s still pissed, too.”
Nephthys sighed. “Figures. We should be able to move around him if we head left, then.”
Turning before continuing down the cobbled streets, they passed a few other civilians up late in the night, along with a Sameria soldier clad in brass-tinted mail. He regarded both of them, before continuing on his patrol.
“Did you say you could sense him, centurion?” Nephthys whispered as they walked.
“I’ve always had a bit of a talent for doing so, yes,” Caesennia admitted.
“You wouldn’t happen to be a mage, then, would you?” Nephthys asked.
“There’s not a magical bone in my body,” the centurion sighed. “That said, my family bloodline does contain mages. My aunt was one, so I am told—she died defending Cassia Bay from the Thorne Empire. You don’t need magic to use sensing, though I’m told that mages sense a bit differently than non-mages.”
Nephthys hummed in acknowledgement, though made no further comments.
After several minutes of walking and turns, the two stopped before an inn. It was two stories tall, of similar make to the rest of the sandstone constructs in Masada, though decorated with pillars and banners out in the front. Gentle light streamed from its windows, flickering in the night air.
“Here we are,” Nephthys said, breathing considerably harder than Caesennia despite her lack of heavy equipment.
Caesennia nodded, taking her hands from the merchant woman’s and folding them in front of her. “Please take care in the upcoming days—mercenaries are often hired in groups, so he may revisit you with friends if you afford him the opportunity.”
Nephthys glanced down at Caesennia’s retracted hands, before taking both and clasping them in hers. “I thank you for your concern, Lady Lucia Caesennia of Ravenna.”
A shiver ran up the centurion’s spine at the referral, along with the sight of her hands clasped between the merchant’s. “As I told you, it’s not a problem.”
“And, as I’m telling you, I appreciate it nonetheless,” Nephthys emphasized, looking straight into Caesennia’s eyes.
Caesennia swallowed, glancing away. “Just… please take care. Especially at night. Don’t go out alone.”
“I’m no fool, I’ll be sure to have an escort in the coming nights,” Nephthys stated. She gave Caesennia’s hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them, and the centurion could have sworn she had a slight smirk on her lips as she turned away and entered the inn.
Caesennia’s thoughts scarcely left the jewelcrafter woman as she directed Ravenna’s ensigns the following day, having them march and unload the ships to make for the Sameria capital, Caitara. But for as much time as she spent pondering the previous day’s events, she didn’t expect the merchant to reappear quite so soon. And certainly not right up in her face.
“Greetings, Lady Caesennia,” Nephthys chirped, nearly causing Caesennia to stumble off the docks and into the ocean.
“PROMETHUS’S-” Caesennia began, flailing for a moment before finding her feet. “Good gods, woman, I nearly cast myself into the sea.” But despite her racing heart, the Ravenna soldier couldn’t quite bring herself to be mad at the dame before her. Her copper eyes sparkled and gleamed like polished metal, and her red-painted lips came to form an easy grin.
Caesennia hadn’t gotten a proper look at her the prior night—it had been dark, the situation requiring too much awareness for her to focus on the woman she had just saved—now though, under the light of day, she could see a lot more of the merchant’s features. She was a bit short than Caesennia, for starters. Not by much, as the top of her cap rested at around Caesennia’s nose. Judging her build was difficult given her layers—she could have had the body of a box, a pole, or a god, and Caesennia would’ve been none the wiser. She suspected her to be on the leaner side, though, judging by what she could see of the merchant’s hands and wrists. Her hair was black as onyx, curled and luscious and allowed to hang loose along the sides of her face. A face which held long, soft features; a straight, gently-sloped nose, a shapely, though none-too-harsh jaw, and thicker, almost ellipse-like eyebrows. Looking closely, she wore makeup besides the obvious lipstick, too: purple-hued eye shadows and a pinch of brown-red blush too. Caesennia couldn’t help but wonder how much a touch of olive oil would improve her already-excellent complexion.
Nephthys lips moved, eyes staring expectantly at her.
They both stood still for a long, drawn out moment.
The merchant tilted her head, blinking.
Caesennia realized that she had said something—something which the centurion had managed to entirely miss. It was probably all the noise of the waves, shouted orders, and marching ensigns. At least, that’s what Caesennia told herself. “Pardon? I didn’t quite catch your words.”
“I wanted to thank you for your aid the other night,” Nephthys repeated easily. “Without you, I may’ve been beaten and robbed, if not worse.”
Caesennia scratched the back of her head. “It’s my job. Nothing more.”
The merchant shrugged. “Mayhap, mayhap not. Regardless, I’d like you to accept a token of my appreciation.” Then, giving Caesennia no time to object, Nephthys pulled aside the lip of her overcoat, placing a hand inside one of the interior pockets. She pulled out and held aloft a pendant made of bronze and translucent-grey crystal which danced with prismatic light under the sun’s radiance.
Almost immediately, Caesennia could tell the item wasn’t just pretty jewelry. Normal gemstones didn’t give off magical energy like that—energy evident enough to be felt even without her conscious sensing effort. Allowing herself to sense the item, Caesennia was immediately confronted by something… hard. Unyielding. Like the very air around the pendant had turned solid. She nearly expected her hands to run into a wall of sheer magic as Nephthys placed the pendant into them. But despite the sensations, it laid gently against her leather-covered palm, the chain dangling like silken thread from her fingertips.
Caesennia exhaled, her cobalt eyes wide.
She looked over the gemstone. Its form was perfectly carved—inlaid with intricate little crevices, forming geometric, square swirl patterns along the gemstone’s sides. Along the front face were further interweaving symbols and decorum. Some almost looked akin to feathers. Little, tiny feathers. All meticulously carved. All made with almost inhuman precision. All containing an odd amount of sand in their crevices. Stuff probably got everywhere in Sameria.
Caesennia only realized she had been staring at the gift for a minute straight when Nephthys waved her tanned hand in front of the dame’s eyes. “Hello? Lady Caesennia, is your soul still of this world?
She swallowed, shaking her head. “This is too great a gift for me to readily accept for a common deed, my la- Nephthys.”
Nephthys smirked. “Well, too bad. I stayed up all night and spent it and this morning finishing that for you.” She crossed her arms, leaning in. “But, if you are so insistent on making it up to me, then I do know this lovely establishment. Two blocks east from this dock, and look for the building with an open second floor and a blue sign. Meet me there at… mmm… just after sunset, shall we say?”
Caesennia frowned. As much as she wanted to, it wasn’t certain she’d be free in that timeframe. Chances were, she’d either be handling the logistics of their march the next day, or she’d be making certain the ensigns weren’t getting too drunk for said march. After explaining such to the merchant, Nephthys sighed.
“Alright, fine, ah… when would work for you?”
Before Caesennia could respond, plopping boots indicated someone approaching the pair on the docks. She turned to see Centurion Victorias walking forwards in her polished bronze armor, her moss-green eyes darting between her fellow centurion and the merchant.
“Alright, what’s going on here?” she asked. “Caesennia, we have work to do.”
“Greetings centurion,” Nephthys said with a slight bow. “I was wondering if I could borrow Lady Caesennia here come dusk.”
Victorias looked Nephthys over, before looking back at Caesennia, looking as if she wanted to groan. “Caesennia,” she said slowly, pulling the other centurion close and hissing in her ear. “We’re here on very important business. Please for the love of the gods do not tell me you’re running off like a lupus in aestu because some pretty face is fawning for you.”
“I’m not!” Caesennia protested adamantly. “She just-”
“Oh, I suppose I probably should have told you, Miss Centurion,” Nephthys added smoothly. “I am a jewelcrafter, and Caesennia sought me out last night for the purposes of procuring some enchanted artifacts for the legion’s effectiveness. We simply wish to negotiate terms and payment for some of my product.” She grabbed Caesennia’s arm, pressing it and the amulet she held towards Victorias. “Here’s one she bought for herself, and I assure you, I can craft them most swiftly and more powerfully than most other crafters you’ll find.”
Caesennia swallowed at Nephthys’s lie, but was practiced enough in doing so herself to immediately force a neutral, calculating expression to go along with it. Oh good gods, what have I just gotten myself into?
Victorias looked the gemstone over, then back up at the two doubtfully. “Why did you not discuss this with the other centurions earlier, Caesennia?”
She shrugged, swiftly spinning her own falsehood. “I could handle it on my own. Besides, these are preliminary dealings. Should we begin to negotiate on a long-term contract, I assure you that you and the others will be involved.”
Immediately, Caesennia asked herself what would happen if Victorias, in the future, inquired where the dealings went. Just as quickly, she had a response for that hypothetical question: her caravan was conscripted by the Samerian Crown to produce gems directly for their army. Our negotiations had to be put down, as Sameria’s royal guards came first.
Caesennia was a practiced liar like that.
Victorias’s face scrunched in consideration. “… Very well. We’ll allow her to be there for this meeting of yours. But Caesennia, next time I want to hear about such negotiations, understood?”
Caesennia was tempted to point out that they were both the same rank, and thus she had no formal obligation to do so, but decided better of it. She was in enough trouble as-is. “Understood, Centurion Victorias.” She turned back to Nephthys, who was beaming. “I’ll meet you at night, then?”
“Most excellent indeed,” she said cheerfully. She turned, casting a wave at both Ravenna soldiers. “I shall be waiting. Oh and, both of you—please remember that Sameria’s heat and dryness can be quite deadly in armor, I highly advise you both to carry waterskins at all times. And for you soldiers to do so too, if they can.” And with that, she began back down the dock.
Victorias tugged at her collar, swallowing as a bead of sweat rolled down her neck. “Probably not wrong about that.” She looked at Caesennia. “So this interaction between you and her is strictly business, correct?”
“I assure you I did not meet her with any deviant intentions,” Caesennia said.
Strictly speaking, that wasn’t a lie.
Victorias sighed, pinching her forehead. “Well… good. I apologize for jumping to conclusions, Lucia. I just- well, I’ve seen ensigns do it plenty when we land at certain ports, chasing after pretty faces in doomed flings. Palo Town. Shell Island…” she shivered. “Sailor’s Lodge is the worst. I swear half my Hades-damned crew just vanishes whenever we so much as dock there. Even some legionnaires and, hell, even centurions do it too. And I know you’re the flighty type, Lucia—you’ve had several flings in Ravenna and- actually, what am I saying? It was completely reasonable to jump to conclusions about you. I take back my apologies; you absolutely would do that.”
Caesennia blinked rapidly. “… Sorry…?” she said, not entirely certain what she was apologizing for.
Victorias signed, shaking her head. “And yet you’re somehow still one of the least troublesome centurions… anyways, we have work to do. Keep organizing the offload. I’ll tell the others about this business venture of yours.” And with that, she walked away back to her station.
Caesennia paused, before holding back up the amulet, brushing off the fine grains of sand from its face. It had an odd amount of those. Maybe Nephthys had dropped it on her way there. She slipped the pendant’s chain around her neck, carefully ensuring it didn’t get caught in her sweat-streaked hair, before pulling the gemstone face down and pulling it under her scalemail. Almost immediately, the world felt just a touch safer; its stones less pointed, its swords less sharp, and its magics less volatile. She had sensed that the amulet was powerful, without a doubt, but this felt like an almost divine protection. Like a fallen god from Olympus had been revived solely to guard her.
I’m going to have to ask about this thing later, Caesennia thought as she went back to ordering ensigns around.
The harbor’s bustle had risen as the day wore on, and while it waned come dusk, it did not die down to its prior level. Caesennia suspected it wouldn’t do so for several days. By the time sunset rolled around, the harbor was still busy. Ravenna soldiers, Samerian civilians, and traders foreign to both nations walked along the lively docks. Not much an enjoyer of the noise, and desperately needing a drink, Caesennia cast a glance at the centurions gathering on the flagship—about a dozen, in all—before gesturing inwards towards the town. Victorias peered out from the group, before nodding and gesturing for her to leave. And with that, Caesennia was off, striding along the stone-brick docks and dodging burly sailors carrying boxes bigger than her torso. She made her way into town, following the directions Nephthys had given her.
Two blocks east, look for the building with the open second floor and the blue sign, she reminded herself.
And, after only a minute of walking, she found the place. It was on the larger side, perhaps three times the size of the local homes, and lit with oil lanterns. Like the other buildings in the town, it was mostly made of smooth tan rock. But as Caesennia glanced up, she saw a second story made almost entirely of wood; bearing no walls, only a slanted roof, support beams, and a waist-high fence. ‘Rustic’ didn’t quite seem like an apt descriptor of the place, nor ‘formal’. It stood somewhere between the two extremes, though was homely in a way. The crowd was less raucous than those she had seen in Ravenna’s alleyway taverns, seeming more relaxed and a touch less noisy. Maybe it was the open walls. In any case, she spotted Nephthys by the merchant’s vivid amethyst scarf as she leaned on the second floor’s railing, waving down.
Before Caesennia could proceed inside, however, a man dressed in a coat-robe not unlike that which Nephthys wore stopped her.
“Hello. Welcome to the Cactus Orchid,” he stated, his accent similar to the others in Masada but slightly rougher. He offered out a hand for Caesennia to shake. She did, and he nodded. “Do ask you to keep things civil in here. And that you leave the sword with me.”
Caesennia hesitated, before calling out to the roof. “This guy works here, right?” She’d rather not have her spare weapon stolen by a pretender.
“He does,” Nephthys called back. “Been here for several years now.”
With that, Caesennia handed the man her sword. He took it, nodding. “Sensible type. Downstairs is the bar, upstairs is the lounge. Have a good evening.”
With that, Caesennia proceeded inside. The place was rather dim, the windows covered by blue curtains with golden trims. The outside harbor had cooled down considerably from the onset of night, though remained on the warm end, and the tavern was warmer from its several-dozen patrons. Still, its slate floors were clean, its tables set, and its stools upright. About as nice of a place as one could get. Caesennia eyed the staircase leading upward, before glancing at the bar. It was oddly large, with stone blocks bearing metal handles lining the back wall. Ice chests, Caesennia presumed. After a moment of deliberation, she decided to quickly buy a drink before she met with Nephthys.
Unusually, there were few patrons around the bar, though that may’ve been due to the lack of seats. Caesennia leaned on the stone countertop as the bartender approached her. He was on the larger, broader side, and, unusually for those in Sameria, wore a sleeveless robe, along with a pale turban.
“A new face? From Ravenna I take? Joyous day—what may I get for you?” he asked, placing a menu before her.
Is it hotter back here, or is that just me? Caesennia wondered, feeling sweat line her neck. Maybe it was just from prior exertion. She looked over the menu, before realizing with a start that it was one of the Samerian smoothie bars she had heard about. Just about everything offered was fruity, whether alcoholic or otherwise. Apple, mango, banana, and even coconut, all made as smoothies, with images of the used fruit’s shape printed alongside each recipe. There were even some Caesennia had never seen before—what in Hades was a stormfruit? Despite her excitement, discretion told her to get something familiar, and to not test her stomach’s tolerance of foreign foods.
“Mango, please,” she ordered, handing the menu back. “Nonalcoholic.”
The bartender nodded, taking the parchment. “Of course, madam. Give me but a moment.”
Caesennia rolled her shoulders as she waited. Footsteps sounded from her side, and she turned to see Nephthys settling next to her. The jewelcrafter had changed, it seemed, doffing her tan overcoat in favor of a long, pale tunic sinched at the waist, the sleeves only partially covering her biceps. “Hope I didn’t get you in too much trouble with that little fib at the docks.”
Caesennia took the briefest moment to start thinking again. “It’s- I ah- I’ve sold them less believable ones before. I’ll… probably be fine.” She cleared her throat. “Didn’t tell me this would be a smoothie bar.”
Nephthys tilted her head. “Would you have preferred someplace else?”
“No, no,” Caesennia quickly clarified. “I just… I actually always wanted to try going to one.”
The merchant patted the centurion’s upper arm. “Well, I bid you welcome, and assure you this place’s drinks are quite excellent.”
Caesennia nodded. “What did you want to talk about?”
Nephthys shrugged. “You. Me. What we do. What we enjoy. I’ve rarely met anyone from the Bronze Sea, and not a soul from Ravenna. What’s it like there?”
“Hot,” Caesennia replied. “But I’d imagine you know what that’s like.”
Nephthys waved her off. “Cease the jests for now—really, what’s it like there?”
The centurion thought for a moment, comparing her home city of Rubica to what little she’d seen of Sameria. “Busy. And a bit louder, too. The streets are always bustling with people going every which way. I live in Rubica—that’s the main city, and where the Castello is. There’s two other settlements, those being Rasna and Tiberia, which are north and south of Rubica, respectively. Given that Rasna is where most of our imports come from, and Tiberia is a bit… rough… the north gate is usually the busiest.” It wasn’t exactly an exciting description, but there wasn’t much Caesennia could do to make the place she had inhabited for her entire life sound interesting.
Nephthys nodded along. “And you say you’ve never left Ravenna before?”
Caesennia sighed. “Never once.”
The jewelcrafter gave her a look of sympathy. “I can tell. You don’t sound terribly excited talking about the place. I find that most people have few positive things to say of their hometown until they’ve left it for a while.”
Caesennia flushed a bit. “I… apologize if I’m not the most… interesting individual.”
“I’ve scarcely met such a thing as a boring person,” Nephthys replied gently. “Only ones who happen to be talking about something they’re bored with.”
The bartender placed Caesennia’s smoothie on the countertop, the orange, liquid fruit swirling in a ceramic cup amid small cubes of ice. She tilted her head at the ice cubes. “You guys have a mage with ice magic?”
The man shook his head. “Not a one. I am a wind mage.” He held up a hand, a sigil of wind magic appearing in his palm. Caesennia felt hot air swirl around his fingertips, wavering the air.
The centurion frowned in confusion. “How does warm wind help with making ice?”
“Firstly, you should know that the ice itself is imported. Three days of sailing south will land you at our ice mine. We mix the cubes with Amphibious Blooms once mined, which helps reduce melting.” He raised a finger. “But they still do melt, however slowly. Now, I had never been involved in this ice-mining trade, but I did have friends who disliked the heat. For years I tried to make my magic produce a cold breeze, instead of a hot one.”
He gestured towards Caesennia, making her dried eyes flicker as warm air blustered her hair and heated her already-flushed skin.
“But no matter how I tried—and tried I did—I could never manage to make the wind cool through will alone,” he mused.
Caesennia glanced at the ice boxes in the back, then back at him. “Then… how?”
“Well, I found this odd, nifty thing about air,” he replied, summoning a magic circle in his hand once more. “It can be compressed, like packing down dirt. And when you do…” His fingers clinched, and Caesennia leaned away as the air seemed to boil, sweat immediately dotting her brow and rolling down her face. “It grows warm. Very warm. But when you release it…”
Caesennia instinctively began to flinch and cover her face with an arm as he again gestured at her, but it was too late. The magic wind passed right by her gauntlets and limb, slamming into the exposed skin of her face with force akin to a racing river.
And it was freezing.
She blinked rapidly, the cool sensation blissful compared to her former warmth. “… In Hades?” Her arm lowered.
“As you can tell, releasing compressed air cools it down immensely.” He gave a long chuckle, and Caesennia got the feeling he had done the same to many of the bar’s other patrons. “Anyways, when I bought this property, I figured it best to put my knowledge to use, and thus, here I am, running a bar which will retains every single cube of ice it brings in.”
Caesennia wasn’t quite sure what to say. Some of her own legionaries made use of their magics like so, though few were quite so innovative. And none had somehow managed to make a warm magic cold. She had seen feats of explosive power and displays of skill, but, if she was to be honest, none impressed her quite like this. “That’s- well, that’s amazing, sir.”
He nodded. “I appreciate the compliment.” His eyes moved to look at Nephthys. “Though Miss Faris is not unlike I. But I think it best if she tells you about that—she seemed quite eager to talk with you when she entered here a half hour ago.”
Caesennia glanced over at her merchant companion, who simply smiled. “Come, then, let’s talk upstairs, shall we?”
The upstairs couches were things of absolute luxury, Caesennia noted as she lounged back, feeling the salt-tinged breeze of the ocean blowing against her face. They were made of leather—someone evidently had considered the possibility of patrons spilling their staining drinks—and bore blue dye identical to that of the sign outside the establishment. Several other patrons were present; men and women, most seemingly local to the region, though a few looked like traveling sailors. Some lounged in their chairs, others stood, leaning against the pillars or the wooden railing as they sipped their fruity drinks, staring out into the fading light.
Nephthys settled down next to the centurion, picking up her own drink from the nearby table. She swirled it, glancing at Caesennia as if waiting for something.
The centurion tapped her fingers, gathering and considering her thoughts. “So you’re a mage, then?”
Nephthys nodded. “That I am. What do you think my magic is?”
“Sand,” Caesennia said without hesitation, having thought it over as they walked upstairs. “Your magic is sand, isn’t it?”
The jewelcrafter’s eyes widened. “Why, yes it is. How did you know? And so quickly?”
Caesennia fished the amulet the merchant had given her earlier, holding it aloft between them. “This thing is masterfully made, even I can tell that. The carvings are too fine for them to have been done easily with a hammer and chisel. And, skilled as I’m sure you are, you seem a bit too young to be quite that good with tools alone.”
Nephthys tilted her head. “And how old would you say I am?”
“Thirty-five or so?” Caesennia joked. “Or mayhap you’re looking youthful at forty?”
“Oh now that is an insult, Lucia,” Nephthys laughed. “I’ll have you know that I am twenty-six.”
It only occurred to Caesennia later that the merchant had used her first name. It just sounded so natural on her lips.
“Alright, alright,” Caesennia said with a chuckle of her own. She decided to continue with her explanation on how she knew the merchant’s magic. “The bartender hinted that you used your magic in your work, so I knew it had to be something capable of carving crystal—that ruled out the non-material magics like fire. Wood, glass, ice, ash, and earth are all too soft to reliably cut gems, so I figured they likely weren’t it. Besides, I know from training them that earth mages don’t tend to be very good at keeping their spells fine and small.” She lounged back, placing a finger to the side of her temple. “That left metal, acid, water, magma, crystal, and sand.”
Caesennia looked over the amulet. “I figured acid and magma would be too hazardous to be used to carve gems—they’d probably eat away at it. But I’ve seen water mages cut open solid rock with their magic, so I knew that remained a possibility. Same with the rest. Honestly, I couldn’t be certain, but then I remembered what you said about everything you did in jewelcrafting.” Her hand moved down to her scalemail armor, moving over the bronze she herself had rigorously polished prior to departing Ravenna. “In Ravenna, we usually have two ways of cleaning off our metal gear. First, on a yearly basis or before major expeditions like this one, we do so by hand to ensure every piece is clean as can be. However…” She flashed a grin. “Every few months or so, we load up our gear into barrels filled with sand and lime and have some ensigns roll them around. Sometimes make it a contest to see what poor shmuck can roll them to a finish line the fastest. So I figured that with sand magic, you could do the same, sans the rolling barrels.”
“Is that how you figured it out?” Nephthys asked in a chuckle.
“That and the fact that there were sand grains in the gem’s carvings,” Caesennia admitted.
Nephthys shrugged, before taking a sip of her drink. Apple, judging by its aroma. “Didn’t spend much time cleaning them out, I admit. At that point, I had been working on the thing for about eight straight hours to get it finished on time. Besides, anything summoned with magic fades, so I usually don’t even bother removing them myself, as by the time I’m selling the thing, enough time has passed for the sand to disappear on its own.” She gave a yawn as she settled next to Caesennia, who realized with a start that, despite her earlier perceptions of the merchant’s cosmetics, the shadows under her eyes were not makeup. Nephthys’s head laid against Caesennia’s shoulder, her eyes lidding and her voice growing tired. “It was initially intended for Captain Khalida… of the Samerian Army…” she whispered. “She had commissioned it when she speculated the war was starting about… a month ago?”
Caesennia flinched. “Is she…?”
“Dead? Yes,” Nephthys murmured. “We refunded the Drachma to her family, and the amulet was kept almost-finished for a while. It’s a masterwork. I’ve spent maybe… a hundred hours carving, refining, and enchanting it. Most amulets take me only about twenty, and I work nearly… twice… as quickly as other jewelcrafters.”
It was beginning to dawn on Caesennia that the amulet she held was, quite possibly, worth more than she herself was.
“Making a powerful amulet… it involves a lot of carving,” Nephthys continued, eyes fluttering briefly. “I think some are under the impression that the engravings and shape are purely artistic… they’re not—magic is receptive to certain patterns. I’m too tired to explain it properly, but by my understanding, iconography to do with the gods and civilizations of old attracts magic energy to the amulet, giving it more power than simple agate with minor enchantments.”
Caesennia looked over the amulet again in the lamplight, noticing for the first time what seemed to be the side profile of an owl carved into its surface, the bird’s head tilted to face directly at the amulet’s front. Each feather was finely, individually rendered, from the shafts to the tips of the plumes. She allowed herself to sense the jewelry once again, nearly recoiling from its sheer, resilient aura.
“Why?” Caesennia breathed. “Why for me? Why not keep it for yourself?”
Nephthys shrugged, before taking a long gulp of her apple smoothie. “Hades if I know. You seem to be too decent the sort to die in this war. Maybe I just thought it’d serve you better, Dame Lucia Caesennia of Ravenna.”
Caesennia swallowed, feeling blush work its way onto her cheeks again. “Lucia Novia Caesennia,” she said. “That’s ah- that’s my full name. Given, clan, and family.”
The merchant yawned, opening her eyes and siting upright. “Lucia Novia Caesennia…” she said, as if tasting the words. “A lovely name.” She stretched, remaining close to the centurion. “Enough of such somber matters, though. Tell me of something you do, something which brings you passion.”
Caesennia placed the amulet back into her armor. “Well…” She wasn’t really the type to have lofty ambitions in craft or career. Her life was lived by the day, lacking any grand plan or ambition. That said… “Used to do theatre, actually.”
“Theatre? Like… acting out a story on a stage, right?” Nephthys asked.
“Yeah,” Caesennia replied, before glancing at the merchant. “Do you not have those here in Sameria?”
Nephthys shook her head. “Not really. Closest thing I’ve seen are a handful of bards, and they’re not a collective. I only know about it because I’ve read a bit about the other major kingdoms, including Ravenna. But go on, tell me of what you’ve done.”
“First play I ever participated in was when I was… gods, I think I was twelve?” Caesennia guessed. “It was a yearly replay of Annus duorum Cæsarum—Year of the Two Caesars. The royal family rather likes the play, probably because it’s a sponsorship of their rule. Virtually anyone in Ravenna could tell you what happens in it: the previous Caesar dies to illness, but both his eldest son and his general and friend have a claim to the seat. Before they can settle their dispute, the Thorne Empire made an attempt on the kingdom. Big fight. Lots of death. Ravenna wins, but the general-Caesar dies. Boo hoo. I wasn’t terribly interested in acting in one of those major roles—no way I would’ve gotten one, anyways.” She held up a finger. “But, who I was interested in acting as was Salin Ivanov. She was a sailor, and acted as a spy for the younger Caesar. She wasn’t from Ravenna—really, her home was the sea itself.”
Caesennia found herself staring out into the purple-touched dusk sky. “Admittedly my acting at that time was atrocious, and her lines were filled with sailor vernacular, so it wasn’t exactly easy. But I just… I dunno, I think I liked the idea of being someone not from Ravenna. Someone free to explore the world. Someone compelled to just… go out. To leave her island behind.”
Nephthys stared at Caesennia unblinkingly.
“Ever since, I was involved in about every play I could manage to get into, up until I joined the Ravenna Army. Don’t think the directors liked me too much.” She gave a chuckle. “I was always asking questions about things from the islands and places the characters were from. Most of the time, they didn’t have much in the way of answers. Remember one time, in the play Emperess Lucille, I had tried to drill them for every detail about Sameria as I could. Honestly, most of what I know about it—besides what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen—was what the director said to me that day, about… a decade and a half ago. It’s how I knew what a smoothie bar was, among other things.”
“Truly?”
“Truly!” Caesennia said adamantly, leaning forwards. All exterior sensory, from the chatter of the other patrons to the chill of the night air to the scent of salt all void as she recalled her past, an unshakable grin on her lips. “Actually, I made a record of everything I’ve ever learned about Sameria. And all the other kingdoms, too. In my quarters back at Ravenna I have this corkboard—it has this big map of the entire War Seas and labels for all the kingdoms. And next to it I have these folders of parchment of all the rumors I hear about kingdoms, things you usually don’t find in history books. Think I have a coin from every kingdom, too—even some silvers from Skyhall, back from when it wasn’t closed off to everyone. I have lists, you see, of everything I want to see and do in each kingdom, to confirm rumors or try food, or meet people and-” she paused, before flushing heavily. “I uh- I mean, I doubt it’s… ever going to turn out that way. But-”
Nephthys chortled, placing a fist by her mouth. “Maybe it won’t, but my, do you seem passionate about it. And,” she added kindly. “I promise that when this war’s all over—assuming we’re not both being used as diced fish bait for Vikings—I’ll show you everything you ever wanted to know about Sameria.”
“Really?” Caesennia asked.
“Really.”
The centurion exhaled, leaning back into the couch.
Nephthys’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight as she also lounged, glancing down at Caesennia’s untouched mango smoothie. “You ever intend on drinking that?”
Caesennia sat back up, suddenly quite aware of her thirst. Her throat had already been bone-dry before entering the bar, but given all she had spoken, it had only become worse. “Good point.” Swiftly placing the glass to her lips, she took a mouthful, the savory mango rushing by her tongue. Then she swallowed a second. Then a third.
“Hecate’s shattered teats, slow down,” Nephthys chided in a laugh.
Caesennia gave a groan-gasp as she placed the glass back down, breathing heavily. “Gods… that feels amazing…”
“I’ll bet,” Nephthys said. “As I said earlier at the docks—you’re going to need to drink more water here.” Her voice turned stern. “It’s entirely possible to die of dehydration still within the grasp of civilization. I have seen it happen before, and I’d rather you not meet such a fate, alright?”
Caesennia shivered. “Yes ma’am.”
The pair’s talking and drinking continued for a while longer. How much longer, Caesennia was unsure, for time passed in a blur. They spoke of friends, family, ambitions, and more. Sometimes the conversation was enjoyable, sometimes it was sobering.
“… So your mother…” Caesennia began.
“Isn’t of this world anymore, no,” Nephthys said softly. “We never found her in that sandstorm. I expect no pity for it. I’ve moved on, and a great many people can speak of fallen parents, and…” she glanced out into the night. “With the coming war, a great many more will speak of that or fallen children. Sameria will likely find it necessary to issue a levy for capable civilians.”
Caesennia frowned. “You think that will include you?”
“I’m not sure,” Nephthys admitted, gripping the couch. “My magic isn’t… particularly battle-worthy. Yes, I understand how to make sand form into a drill or scalpel using an Arcanium tool, but keeping sand tight and piercing over long distances… that’s not something I have practiced. Nor is it easy.”
Caesennia had trained a sand mage three years ago. From her experience, the merchant was right—sand magic was one of the more difficult magics to properly weaponize.
“Or, mayhap, I am simply too scared of fighting to do so,” Nephthys brooded, clutching her upper arms. “After all, you saw that I made no attempt at doing so when that brute of a man pinned me against an alleyway wall. All I could really do was blabber.”
“No, but that was for the better,” Caesennia said, gingerly placing a gloved hand on Nephthys’s back. “Talking your way out of a fight is usually far safer than making any attempt at brawling your way out. But…” she paused. “I do know some mages in the legion. Don’t know if one with sand magic has been deployed here, but I’m sure there’s someone who can at least give you advice on how to make your magic more suitable for combat.”
Nephthys nodded appreciatively. “That would… yes, that would be nice. Thank you, Caesennia.”
Caesennia smiled, continuing to stroke the merchant’s back. She paused as she realized her gloves rested over bare skin, before quickly retracting her hand.
Nephthys turned at her, before glancing out at the sky. It was well into night, and stars laid twinkling across the ebony sheet of nothingness. “Last night, you said it would be dangerous for me to venture out at night without an escort, yes?”
Caesennia took another glance out at the sky. “I did advise that, yes.”
Nephthys offered out a hand. “Then, would you mind acting as my escort once more?”
The centurion accepted the merchant’s hand. “I would not mind at all, my lady.”
After paying for their drinks and retrieving Caesennia’s sword from the front, two made their way outwards. The inn was only a few blocks away, and the streets to it were traveled and well-lit by oil lanterns. Truthfully, Nephthys probably didn’t need an escort for safety, but Caesennia didn’t mind walking her at all. If anything, she enjoyed it. They stopped once more before the inn’s entrance, customers heading to the rooms inside, the lights gradually being snuffed out for the night.
“Thank you,” Nephthys said, once again holding both of Caesennia’s hands in hers.
“As I have told you quite repeatedly; it’s not a problem,” Caesennia replied.
“Mmm,” the merchant hummed, before walking close, moving Caesennia’s hands to her hips as she wrapped her arms around the centurion’s armored torso. “May I be forwards, Lady Lucia Novia Caesennia?”
Caesennia’s breath hitched. She took a moment to calm herself down and give a measured response. “You’ve been anything but in the time we’ve known one another?”
Nephthys chuckled. “Maybe so.” Her eyes, brown and shining like ambers held up to the sun, met Caesennia’s. “I enjoyed our conversations tonight greatly. But more than that; you yourself are quite lovely, you know. Perhaps too lovely for me to get my hopes up, but would there be a chance in the world that you find yourself wanting for a partner?” One of her hands brushed at the long strand of hair hanging on the right side of Caesennia’s face.
The centurion swallowed, before taking Nephthys’s stroking hand and lowering it to her lips, planting a caste kiss on the merchant’s knuckles. “I am,” she breathed. “Whether by happenstance or force of fate, I am. And your proposition?”
“My proposition is,” Nephthys breathed as she pulled Caesennia towards her, placing her own back against the inn’s exterior wall in a crevice of shadow. “We remedy that for one another. What say you?”
Caesennia had only began to nod when Nephthys pulled the centurion forwards for a long, enveloping kiss. Her hands, which Caesennia could only barely feel, clawed and caressed at her scalemail back, clutching both of them tightly together until their bodies laid flush. It was nowhere near Caesennia’s first kiss, and she had the feeling that it wasn’t Nephthys’s, either. But that was more than okay—especially because the jewelcrafter woman was quite good at it, her lips adjusting and pressing in a manner that was neither purely chaste nor consumingly lustful, but which managed a delicate balance between heat and gentleness. The kiss lasted until Nephthys broke it, both of them gasping for breath and grinning.
“I think I quite like your proposition, my lady,” Caesennia whispered.
“I thought you might,” Nephthys replied in a pant. And with that, she pulled Caesennia in for another kiss.