Chapter Six
An Old Friend

 

“It’s hideous.”

“You really think so? I think it’s quite striking.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Rubicus chuckled, looking up at the statue. “It’s garish and makes him look like a pompous ass. It’s perfect!” Vera looked up at the sculpture on the plinth in front of them. The only reference material had been a fifteen year old portrait, and that one had been a shoddy job, so the artist had done what they could with what they’d had. The thing of gold and marble had a nose so pointy it could take someone’s eye out. 

“He would have hated it,” Vera said approvingly. Flaveo had been far from humble, but the statue that had been erected in his honour — at Clarus’ request — would have been a lot, even for him. “Did he ever have golden locks like that?”

“No,” Rubicus said, putting his hands on his hips and cocking his head. “It makes him look seventeen and seventy at the same time. It’s uncanny.” He jutted his jaw forward. “When do I get a statue? I saved your boy’s life too, you know.”

“We talked about this, Ruben. You get a statue when you’re dead,” Vera said with a big grin. “And you’re not allowed to die for a long time.”

“On the condition that whoever did this,” he said, pointing at the immortalised Flaveo. The artist had tried to give him a smile, but now Flaveo would forever have a look of mild constipation on his face. “That they’re hit over the head every time they try to take a crack at mine. Or I’ll come back to haunt every last one of you.”

“You would,” Vera giggled. “Walk with me.” The garden where the statue had been put up was, for lack of a better word, long. It wasn’t big. It was fifteen feet of garden, but it stretched most of the way around the castle, and even included a stream that was only a few steps wide. On nice days, otters would sometimes find their way into the palace gardens, much to Vera and Aesling’s delight. 

As they walked down the path that wound its way along the garden, Vera looked at her companion. Rubicus seemed to enjoy the calm, and he stopped to look at certain flowers from time to time, which was mildly worrying on its own. He had never really been the kind of man to slow down to smell the roses, literally or figuratively. 

With the money gifted to him by Clarus, he’d hired more people onto his company, and was sending them out. Most action he saw these days was training and yelling at new recruits. And Vera could tell that, every few breaths, one of them was a little more laboured. 

He’s getting older, Aesling said quietly. Vera nodded. She’d seen it too. He was pushing well into his sixties now, and his history of violence and barely surviving by the skin of his teeth were slowly catching up to him. 

“So,” Rubicus said, “I hear they call you Mad now.” He shot her a casual glance, an eyebrow raised. “You don’t seem any more mad than usual.” Vera laughed softly as they crossed a tiny wooden bridge. 

“I suppose we’re not as careful as we ought to be, Aesling and I,” she said. “And I’ll admit that I find myself not caring as much what people think.”

“Good,” Rubicus grumbled. “Good. Haven’t considered giving up on your quest?”

“Not by a mile.” Vera shook her head. “There’s too many people out there like myself, Rubicus. Too many children who think they’re alone. We have to do what we can.”

“The Queen going door to door to ask questions is bound to raise an eyebrow or two. You certain this is the best way to go about things?”

“Well, when you’re Queen, you can have a try,” Vera quipped. Rubicus smirked.

“Not for me, thanks all the same.” He had brought up a decent point. For the past five years, Vera had slowly been working on her list of questions, and had always found it wanting in some form. She’d assumed, once, that if she wasn’t alone, then that her experiences had been the same for all people like her. Big mistake, that. The girl Iana especially had helped her see things differently, though it was slow-going. Maybe one day they’d have some sort of survey or test in classrooms, but there were elements of stigma to contend with, not to mention what she’d do if the list of kids was larger than she was able to handle. She had almost a dozen on her hands now, and each had different medical needs. 

All in all, she had a lot to think about. They walked in silence for a bit, enjoying the quiet. Vera’s life had been far too busy recently, and it was nice to just take a walk with a friend. But she was running out of garden. 

“How’s Caerella doing?” Vera asked. She hadn’t seen her old friend in months, but that was partly her own fault. She had sent her out on an errand herself.

“She’s doing ‘right, I suppose,” Rubicus said. “Can’t stay retired to save her life, and I reckon it would if she did. But for now, she’s travelling. Went up North, to Raasland. Came back and then left again.”

“I know,” Vera said, “I read her report on the region. Very industrious people. King Leonald has done a lot of good, it seems. Not particularly spiritual. Beautiful forests, which is of course where our Aesling is from.” When she and Aesling switched, there was nothing conscious about it. There was no more need for words or requests. 

“The people of Raasland have always lived off the land,” Aesling said. “The people in cities and towns have long had a healthy — and distant — relationship with woodland folk like myself.”

“I’ll never get used to the two of you trading places like that,” Rubicus said. “And that sounds about right. Rugged people, if Caerella’s story is anything to go by. Hard working. Damned good fighters, too, if they kept Caligon and his armies at bay.” He sighed and put his hands on his back. Vera heard his vertebrae pop into place. “If I’d been a bit younger, I would’ve loved to go travelling up there.”

“You still can, Reuben,” Vera said. “It’s not as if the journey is particularly perilous.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Rubicus said. “I would’ve loved to go toe to toe with one of them. But now I’m just worried I’ll give myself a hernia.” He chuckled, but he wasn’t joking. 

“The last thing you need is to get your ass kicked even more, old man.”

“I can still snap you in half like a toothpick, ‘Queen Vera,’ and don’t you forget it!” Rubicus said with a laugh that bounced off the Palace walls and startled some sleeping geese. He ran a hand through what was left of his thin hair. “I’ve got a few years left in me and, Saints willing, a couple of fights.”

“Well, you have plenty of rookies to swat around the training grounds, last I’ve seen.”

“True,” Rubicus said, “true. But it’s slim pickings, I’ll tell you. Not like after the war. No offence.” He eyed her carefully, but Vera shook her head. 

“None taken,” she said. “Just grateful you took me in at the time.”

“You were such a scrawny little thing,” Rubicus said, reminiscing. “Look at you now.”

“Look at me now!” Vera giggled. “So, how does the fresh blood measure up? Better or worse than I was?” She led them up the battlements. The Palace walls were thick, high and well maintained, even more so once upon a time than those of the city. 

“Well, they’re a damn sight more vocal, I can tell you that much.” He grunted and looked out past the city gates, where he’d set up his company barracks. “For better or worse, too. You were lousy for companionship, but you didn’t complain during training. Saints,” he rubbed his face, “so much complaining.”

“How’d they end up with you then?”

“Well, thanks to you and your beau,” Rubicus said, crossing the tree trunks he called arms in front of his chest, “I’m now considered nobility. Which means high and mighty culos try to drop their spawn on me and make their lack of backbone my problem.”

“You’re welcome,” Vera said with a little curtsy. “Surely they can’t all be that bad. “

“No, there’s some good ones in there. But I’m not drinking with any of them until they’ve seen some action.” Rubicus leaned on the parapet. “And there ain’t much of that going around. I feel like a glorified guardsman sometimes.”

“I’ll start a war for you,” Vera said with a smirk. “Give you some work to do.”

“Hah! Please do! I’m growing fat, Vera!”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she smirked, then dodged a slow punch aimed at her shoulder with a laugh. “Fat is good, Reuben. Means you’ve a chance to get comfortable. It wasn’t like that after the war. Caligon burned down half the country.”

“True,” Rubicus said. “It’s just… there were things to do, back then, you know? I was comfortable being uncomfortable. Now I’m uncomfortable being comfortable.”

“You’re an old goat,” Vera said. “But I’m glad to see you.” They smiled at each other for a bit, and then an idea came to her. “Actually,” she said cautiously, “I’ll likely be travelling for a bit, soon. Raasland, Vrijdam, one or two other small states whose names I keep forgetting. Political nonsense, but we’re also visiting Aesling’s home. Could come with…” she raised her eyebrows in something that hovered between question and offer.

Rubicus chewed it over. “When would this trip be?”

“Next week?” Vera said, smiling hopefully.

“Saints, girl.” Rubicus rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you ever do something the regular way? Give me a day and I’ll have your answer. Without me and Caerella at the company, I worry the whole thing would fall apart, but if I’m honest,” he said, looking at her, “I don’t want to pass up the opportunity for a last hurrah. Trouble follows where you go, and I haven’t seen trouble in too long.”

“Love you, Reuben,” Vera said with a shit-eating grin. He mumble-grumbled something in return. Vera could infer from context clues. “Tell you what, we’ve been rebuilding Caledon Keep. Come with us up to the pass. If you’ve had your fill when we get there, you can put your feet up, have a good meal, and then head back to take care of your fledgling warriors.”

He pursed his lips. “Sounds like a good deal, all ‘round.” He raised a big, meaty finger. “You’re paying full wages, though. I’m captain of a company now, I don’t come cheap!” 

Vera swallowed another giggle. “The Palace’s coffers will be open, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Rubicus said with a smile. He took a deep breath, and Vera saw it hitch very briefly. She pretended she didn’t. She saw the years on him. Not five years prior he’d taken the talons of something infernal through the chest. She had too, but she shared her body with Aesling, who’d healed her. Even though she’d done her best, she knew it sometimes burned when he breathed. She knew sometimes his heart skipped a beat when it shouldn’t. One last quiet adventure for her old friend was the least she could do. 

“Try not to think of it that way,” Aesling said. “He’s got at least another decade in him, probably two, if he’s smart.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Vera said, internally. The last thing she wanted was him hearing this conversation. “Playing it smart isn’t exactly what he does. That was always more Flaveo’s thing. Without him…”

Without Flaveo, Rubicus was just old. 

“Well, that’s not true,” Aesling reminded her. “Without Flaveo, Rubicus is still the man that raised you from a burnt out village.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Vera mumbled. “Thanks.”

“What’s that?” Rubicus asked.

“If you’re hungry,” Vera said. “We’ve got to get you nice and plump so I can offer you up to the northerners to eat.”

“I could throw you off the wall, here and now, and nobody would know it was me.”

“You could try, old man.”

The two of them traded barbs all the way inside, and by the time Vera was full of good food and slightly tipsy with good wine, most of her worries had melted away into blissful happiness, in the company of Clarus and her oldest friend.

Most of them.