“—In summary, I believe that these changes will be a net positive for our readiness. You will see more of me in the training field, and I will see less paperwork in my office. We could hardly ask for more from a new officer.”
The stunning endorsement sounded hollow, even to Alarion’s ears, but it was the best he’d been able to concoct during the trip back to Ilvan-Trai—and that had been with Bergman’s help.
It wasn’t that he was too stupid to come up with empty flattery. While it was far from his normal habitat, Alarion was fully capable of heaping unrealistic praise on their new officer if push came to shove. The problem was that it was unrealistic. The 238th were not stupid—barring a few notable exceptions—and they were fiercely loyal. If Alarion looked as if he were reading a hostage note during Anastacia’s introduction, they’d be understandably skeptical. They needed to like—or at bare minimum tolerate—the new Vitrian in their midst, or the strong sense of duty, discipline, and morale that he had cultivated would fall through the floor.
‘She’ll do all of the boring paperwork and keep out of our way’ was as ringing an endorsement as he was likely to get.
“Thank you, Master Sergeant,” Anastacia said with a magnanimous smile. He hadn’t run the speech by her, but if she was upset by what he’d told her, he couldn’t tell. “And thank all of you for your service. Even through grace and selection, I could not have asked for a better posting. In the coming days, I will be meeting with each and every one of you, some individually, others as part of your squad or section. I want to know what you need, what you want, and what I can get you to make either more effective. For now, I think everyone could use time off their feet. First, second, and third, you may stand down. The rest of you will rotate through half duty for the day.”
Cynical or not, bribing them with time off was a good start.
“Dismissed!” she shouted with finality, before turning her attention to those standing behind her on the small courtyard stage. “Not the lot of you, I am afraid. Specialist Hart, I am told you handle most of the fortress’s logistics?”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Lily said, firmly at attention with barely a hint of an expression as she met her fellow Vitrian’s gaze.
“My household staff arrived slightly ahead of schedule. I suspect we are rather tight on space, so the porters and guardsmen will have to bunk where they can, but if you could procure a private room for CeeCee, and another for Cyiar and Cyrine? As close to mine as you can.”
“I already had most of that prepared.” Lily couldn’t quite stifle her own smile at Anastacia’s approval, but it faltered when she scanned her list. “Though I do not have anyone with that name on my—”
“She... uh, she will be listed as the Ordinate.” Anastacia couldn’t quite meet Lily’s eye at the admission and instead turned her attention to Kali and Bergman. “If one of you could see to having a report on the subjugation sent out, then the other can reset the duty rotations?”
Kali flicked his gaze briefly toward Alarion, causing the latter to scowl.
“Do I have something on my face, Sergeant?” Alarion asked.
“No, Sir,” Kali responded without hesitation.
Message received. Do what the Blue Eye tells us to.
“And me? Madam?” Alarion asked.
Anastacia pursed her lips, as if considering scolding him for his formality. She’d been trying for days to break him of that habit, but this was still technically a gathering of senior staff, even if she rightly doubted he’d have been anywhere near so formal with them otherwise.
“I would like to make introductions,” she explained. “My household staff is small, and though you aren’t formally in the chain of command, I want you to make a good first impression and set expectations that when you talk, they listen.”
Vitrians, listening to him. That’ll be the day.
The introductions were every bit as tedious as Alarion imagined they would be, in part because Anastacia’s depiction of her staff as small was as close to an outright lie as Alarion had ever heard from a Vitrian.
The soldiers came first, standing ready at attention as Alarion and Anastacia made their way down the line. Alarion counted close to twenty, a mixture of blue-eyed Vitrian youth and a few older, harder-eyed veterans with the bored hurry-up-and-wait energy of real soldiers. The latter, he learned, were former Auxilia—exceptional men and women who had served alongside Anastacia in Imuria and the Principalities, then been offered the opportunity to sign onto her personal retinue.
That she was willing to hire talent even among the provincials was a feather in her cap as far as Alarion was concerned. She saw value regardless of where it came from. But that also came with a caveat. The soldiers weren’t simply outside of the chain of command—they were loyal exclusively to her.
Next came the menial staff, twice the soldiers’ number and considerably less impressed to be there. There were broad-shouldered porters with nothing in hand but storage skills, no doubt brimming with whatever a Vitrian noblewoman needed to bring with her. Then there were tradesmen, cooks, maids, and even a stylist. A few wore the grey and gold of Anastacia’s house, but most seemed like local Ashadi hired for the duration.
At the very end of the procession was a single, ancient woman flanked by Anastacia’s bodyguard Cyrine. The old woman sat next to the fortress wall under a freshly assembled awning, her head down. It was hard to tell if she was asleep or studying the open book in her lap, but a tap on her shoulder from Cyrine caused her to stir either way.
“Are we finished with all the pomp?” Her eyes were cloudy as milk, but still followed the pair as they approached, paying special attention to Alarion. “All this time outdoors is wreched for my sinuses.”
“Yes, Auntie. But first I need to introduce you to—”
“Yes, yes. The Orphan.” She flapped her fingers as if to say ‘get on with it’, but didn’t give Anastacia time to speak as she added, “And we have told you not to call us that, Ana.”
“My apologies, Ordinate,” Anastacia said, her affectionate tone stiffening with embarrassment at the rebuke. “Master Sergeant, this is my household Ordinate. She has been with us for a long time, and I would ask you to treat her with the utmost care and respect.”
A long time. Looking at her, the woman was probably advising the House of Guilt back when they were plotting to overthrow the Celesians.
“The lieutenant spoke of you briefly.” Alarion tried to hide the mirth on his lips with a polite dip of his head. “And highly, I believe she called you—”
“We Ordinates do not have names,” the old woman interrupted rudely, though she was glaring at Anastacia. “If you must differentiate, our filing code is CC-193.”
CeeCee. That made sense. The name certainly hadn’t sounded Vitrian.
“But we still appreciate praise when given honestly. Thank you, Vaelde, oto sai,” the woman continued with a smirk, returning her unwanted title with one of his own. Martyr, in the West. “We look forward to working with you.”
“I am sorry? In what context?” Alarion asked.
“Whatever the young mistress requires. We are a touch too old to handle an entire company, but we should have time left over to ease your volunteers’ burden. Many hands make light work.”
“I was thinking I would have her handle some or all of the appraisals? She has been advising—”
“I am not sure that is a good idea,” Alarion blurted out before he could even consider the optics. The words had made his blood run cold.
Both women looked at him expectantly, and Alarion did his best not to look guilty as he stammered through the first thing that came to mind. “The men... we have...” he waved his hands one around the other as if the word were just on the tip of his tongue. “They trust her.”
CeeCee raised a silver eyebrow. “Do they now?”
“She volunteered, as you said. She felt that many of her peers were not invested in the soldiers they were advising. That she did not look at their skill and class options holistically, but gave by-the-book recommendations. She spent the time to draw up proper recommendations, even training guidelines for known skills they might work toward. Some of our soldiers are alive today because of advice she gave them, and you do not know them at all. I worry you would get pushback.”
Beside him, Anastacia straightened, her head turned slightly toward him so that she could watch him out of the corner of her eye.
“Hmm.” The ancient Vitrian steepled her fingers in her lap, their tips tapping together as she held his eyes. Her lips wiggled, as though she were practicing an accusation, but when she spoke, her words were conciliatory. “The young man raises a compelling point, does he not, Ana?”
“Must you rub it in?” Anastacia complained.
“We must,” the Ordinate agreed. “The majority of the 238th’s appraisals are coming up, and we have nowhere near enough time to familiarize ourselves with so many dossiers to give an informed opinion. We told the young mistress as much.”
“Then why the suggestion?” Alarion wondered
“We were curious.” CeeCee shrugged, but the effort involved seemed to take something out of her as she shrank in upon herself, her mood souring. “We will sit in on a handful of the senior staff reviews, but otherwise we will leave it to our capable colleague for now.”
For now.
“Just the reviews?” Alarion asked, injecting levity into his tone that he did not feel.
“Magic is a young woman’s game. We are sure your Ordinate can handle the actual Evaluate spellcasting.” CeeCee’s smile was warm and motherly, but Alarion couldn’t imagine ever trusting the woman. “Though on the subject of the arcane, we did have a question?”
“By all means,” Alarion answered.
“Our porters have already moved your personal effects to the Executive Officer’s chamber, but they were unable to enter the Commandant’s Office. We have been told it was heavily warded, beyond anything in the original specifications. Why?”
“I was using the side office for a personal project.” This, at least, was an excuse he’d had time to practice. “With your leave, I will go to see to it immediately.”
“What kind of project?” Anastacia seemed more curious than concerned.
“The personal kind.” Alarion laughed. “A hobby. An embarrassing one, but nothing illicit. I can move it to my quarters—”
“The Executive Officer’s study will be fine.” Personal use of official space went against protocol, but Anastacia knew when to pick her battles. “I trust this will not blow up in my face?”
“No, Madam,” he said, before adding, “Not unless you force the door.”