Heir of the Gods

Ch. 10: Dreams and Reality

Calix watched the sun drift below the horizon, darkness claiming the land and drowsiness claiming him. On the table before him was a half-finished letter to Arcturus. The general had threatened to beat him into the ground if Calix didn't stay in contact, and was probably the only man in the empire who could see that threat through.

And he was starved for news of the Second. After he'd left the princess, he'd hobbled down to the guard's barracks. The boy he remembered had helped him into the castle was the first one he ran into.

The boy had offered him a cheerful smile, but judging by the nervous sweat and rushing footsteps, he was late for something. Still, he'd taken a moment to direct Calix to the captain's office. 

It had been disappointing to learn that the only reports from Brunia came from the Fourth Legion, and those had only been concerning the headway they were making with the roads from the two ports they had managed to establish.

According to the captain, they hadn't been receiving consistent communication from the Second or the Sixth. A letter from Arcturus had found him a day after his arrival, but had hardly contained more than a few pleasantries. This all made Calix suspect that the communication lines in Brunia were being watched. Or worse, intercepted.

Otherwise Arcturus would have let him know if the men had been able to return to full rations or not. 

As it was, Calix was having a difficult time eating. He literally couldn't stomach the idea of eating well every night while his men either went hungry or were forced to subsist on the wretched gruel the kitchens served in an effort to stretch grain rations.

Even now he could only look at the meal one of the servants had brought up to his rooms. Delicate slices of tender roast chicken with rich gravy. Sautéed  asparagus drizzled with olive oil and finely chopped garlic. Fluffy white bread rolls with butter already melted and golden in their centers.

He'd managed a few bites of chicken before his stomach had twisted with guilt. Even the rich red wine had tasted sour.

How utterly bizarre life was, when he could force himself to eat the atrocities the army called food, while the fare served at the king's table made him want to vomit.

Calix turned back to his letter. What was he even supposed to write, aside from inquiries after the men? He couldn't say anything about his affair with the crown princess. He wasn't about to share the details of his injury with a man he'd once watched brush off a wound that nearly flayed his hand to the bone. Which left him with absolutely nothing else to write about.

How terrible to think that boredom or uselessness would kill him before a sword ever got the chance.

His stomach growled viciously, his body's needs momentarily overriding his mind's reservations. Calix snatched up one of the rolls, tearing off a sizeable piece with his teeth.

The sweet white bread made him groan with momentary delight before he swallowed and immediately had to concentrate on not gagging. His men were potentially starving and he was eating like... a lord.

He hissed in disgust and shoved the plate away, nearly sending it over the edge of the low table between the two armchairs before the empty fireplace. The servants had offered to stoke a fire, but even with the mornings turning chill as winter crept toward Levitum, it was still warmer than Calix had recently been accustomed to.

Candles spaced around the rooms cast everything in softly wavering, golden light. He was warm and comfortable and could be well-fed. Every luxury in the empire was at his fingertips. He even had a gorgeous woman warming his bed. 

And he would rather be shivering in a tent, freezing his ass off and waiting for the next attack.

Perhaps his father had been right, all those years ago.