Reckless

Chapter 13 Part 7

61 AD

Character POV: Ariadne

I push through the lines of warriors preparing for battle, shouldering my way towards Boudicca. She has just given the orders that anyone with a brain would know would spell their death. Eventually, I catch sight of her flaming red hair and push past the last few people to reach her. She's sharpening a spear, the wooden shaft of it laying over her lap as she focuses on the spearhead. She glances up when I approach her, looking back down as she says to me, "You do not have to be here, Ariadne. This is Iceni business. I have heard that your father has already returned back to Greece and you refused to go with him. You should change your mind and leave before things descend into war."

"You cannot possibly win against Rome," I say breathlessly, shaking my head in despair. "They crush everyone beneath their boots. You must know that." She looks back down at the spearhead and starts sharpening it more forcefully, but she does not dismiss me so I press on. I kneel before her, resting a hand on her knee as I whisper so no one else can hear, "What the Romans did to your daughters was barbaric and horrific. There is no excuse for that. But what you are doing in return is only going to get all of you killed. Your daughters and your sister need you more than you need revenge."

Boudicca suddenly stops sharpening the spear, lifting it from her lap and standing it up as she turns her blue eyes on me. "My eldest daughter was only twelve. It's beyond barbaric. If I do not get justice for them, no one will get it for me. We are just "barbarians" after all." I look away, wincing at the word but knowing that she is correct. Her voice softens as she reaches out with a hand and steers my face back so that I look at her. She smiles sadly at me as she says, "I know how you feel about my sister." I pull back from her at that, suddenly afraid, but she shakes her head and continues, "It is alright. It is actually good. I am relying on those feelings." When my brows knit together in confusion, Boudicca smiles sadly at me and whispers, "We both know who Drusilla really is, that Romans clearly cannot be trusted no matter what they have promised. And if what I am planning does go wrong," she says, her voice straining with emotion-- either fear or pain or a combination of both, "then my sister is going to need someone looking out for her. I won't be there to do so any longer. Which means that it will fall to you." I open my mouth to object, to say that I am nothing to Aoibhe, but she cuts me off and says forcefully, her demeanor a force of nature, "Promise me that you will always be there for Aoibhe, that you will protect her for me when I am no longer able to, that when she finally sees Drusilla for what she is, you will be there to support her." I scan her face, the deep lines forming between her brows, seeing the seriousness written on her face as she emphasizes, "Promise me so that I can go to my grave in peace."

The thought of Boudicca in her grave, the brave people of the Iceni reduced to ash and no longer able to determine their own destiny or fate makes me sick to my stomach. I want to rage with her, raise a spear, and fight the Romans until their empire has had a taste of the suffering they have caused, but I know better. I know what they do to those who stand against them, how no one survives. Boudicca's words reach me, reminding me of all of the things I hated about Drusilla when I met her, all of the ways she could take advantage of a sweet soul like Aoibhe. My voice shakes as I say to Boudicca firmly, "I promise. I will always be there for Aoibhe." I mean it. I have no idea how I will be able to live long enough to always be there for her when she is immortal, but I think if I find a witch, I might find a work around. My mind starts going a mile a minute as Boudicca gives my hand a squeeze and stands up, walking to her men and shouting orders, leaving me kneeling there for a second more as I try and figure out what comes next. I remember vaguely the rumors that the strongest magical practitioners used to come from Egypt, ones that predated Drusilla's lifetime. If anyone would help me work around her, it would be people who predate her and come from a different time, people who have no love for the Romans. I stand up, dusting the dirt from my knees, and march off, determined to do whatever it takes to keep good on a promise to a woman who soon will die.