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Ravelin
Part 1
Jarren Entigen slept peacefully, dimly aware of the hand gently shaking her shoulder. Clinging stubbornly to her slumber, she moaned her objections as a familiar voice attempted to rouse her.
“It’s time to wake up.”
“Mmmm...”
“You’re going to miss breakfast.”
“What time is it...?”
“Almost 6:30.”
Opening one eye, she strained to look over her shoulder at a grinning face. Behind the mischievous expression, she saw the tenderness in his eyes and felt his devotion to her. A scar cut across the side of his face, the residue of a killer’s knife. Tracing the line with her finger, she murmured, “You go. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Duncan Milius stood up and shook his head. “Nope. Cyril will be there and he’ll start his inspection right after.” He slipped his pants on and grabbed a pair of socks. “You know how these things go. The chief-of-staff to the commander of the Federate militia can’t be late.”
“I’ll call in sick and send my assistant.”
“You don’t have an assistant.”
“Grr. It’s too early. Tell him that if he doesn’t give me my beauty rest, you’ll demote him to refuse duty after you make Grand-General.”
Duncan chuckled. “That’s a good one. I’ll pass it on.” He pulled his shirt on.
Turning onto her back, Jarren folded her hands behind her head and regarded him impishly. “You look better without all that on, you know.”
He shook his head and smiled.
“Honestly,” she continued. “I’d be happy to help, if you want.”
She pawed at him with her foot. Grabbing her by the ankle, he started to massage her.
She moaned happily and stared up at the ceiling. Although they were in a military building, the personal quarters of the garrison commander felt surprisingly warm. A mix of wood and stone, it doubled as Duncan’s living space and office. Large regional maps hung on the walls, and the round table where he met in strategy sessions with his senior officers was cluttered with pieces representing military units that looked like they were borrowed from a board game. Apart from this, everything else in the room was clean and organized. Although he had been the commander here for three months, he had only lately begun to add personal touches to his quarters.
Enjoying her foot massage, Jarren purred, “This is nice, Romi.”
She knew he found her hard to resist when she used his Teivan nickname. Pleasantly, he replied, “Is it? What about this?” Taking hold of both feet in his hands, he started pulling.
Jarren yelped. “Don’t you dare!”
Duncan chuckled and released her. Walking around the bed, he bent down and kissed her. “Breakfast is in ten minutes.”
“Ten?! Make it twenty.”
“Fifteen. See you soon.”
Grabbing the jacket to his uniform, he headed out. With a groan, she pulled the bedding over her head and curled into a ball.
*
When Jarren arrived for breakfast, Duncan was still greeting his troops. She watched from the back of the mess hall as he made his rounds of the platoons. The camaraderie was genuine, and she noted that he made sure to greet everyone regardless of rank or position. As she noted their warm responses to him, she felt intense pride for her lover. By the time Jarren had her tray of food and joined Duncan at the officers’ table, he was already deeply in conversation with General Cyril Hawkwin. At her approach, the burly commander of the Federate armies rose.
“Welcome to breakfast. I’m surprised you made it.”
Jarren smirked and sat down. Eying Duncan, she replied, “I have a good alarm system.”
“No doubt.”
The general returned to his seat. Digging into her meal, Jarren glanced at Duncan. “So, do you know all their names yet?”
“Not quite, but I’m working on it.”
Hawkwin grinned. “Duncan and I were just talking about how he’s settled into his new job. ‘Marshal Milius’ — it has a nice ring.”
Duncan snuck a sip of his drink. “The paperwork’s a killer.”
One of Duncan’s captains who was sitting nearby chuckled at this. Duncan exchanged glances with him as his mood darkened. “But starting tomorrow, I’ll be getting a break from it.”
The others at the table nodded solemnly as they finished their meals. Jarren shuddered inwardly. She was used to having him leave for risky missions, but this was the first time she was present for his departure. On top of this was her anxiety over the nature of this particular assignment: his return to Ravelin, the place where Marshall Corinn Wallace had led his own battalion to a stunning defeat — a first for the Praetorship, and a battle from which Duncan had barely escaped alive. Jarren knew that the other survivors of Ravelin were here in this very mess hall preparing for their own return. She wondered what they were thinking. Were they looking for vengeance? Justice? Or did they want to ensure that their comrades hadn’t died in vain?
The fully reconstituted Eighteenth Battalion had spent the last three months training for this mission, and Duncan had been the architect. After today’s inspection from General Hawkwin, they would set out. Jarren expected to feel overwhelmed with anxiety this morning. Yet, as she reflected on the reactions of the troops when Duncan greeted them, she saw only admiration and respect, and the marshal’s own confidence was palpable. They trusted him completely, and so did she.
Duncan finished his plate and stretched. He glanced over to her and caught her expression.
“What is it?” he asked softly.
Jarren shrugged. “Nothing.”
Smiling grimly, she returned to her half-eaten breakfast.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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