The Middling Islands, St. Lucien773Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqZrFy4QKDB
The Second Empirical War
Evette woke to an oddly familiar sound. The clock over the hearth in her bedroom read ten till seven. She had slept later than she had purposed. With the fog in her brain dissipating, she registered that what she heard was a chicken.
Her father would have already left on foot for the island parliament. The invading Berchten troops had seized every automobile on St. Lucien for their officers' use, forcing the man in his 60s to walk to town. Even as magistrate, he had not been an exception.
Evette threw her feet onto the rich rug at her bedside and stumbled over to the open window. Cackling robustly, the hen pecked insects from the urns lining the green house entrance. She couldn't imagine to whom the bird belonged. The Caverfords down the lane didn't own any little reds and they were the only ones in the general area with a coop. Chickens were growing scarce since the invasion.
Without putting on a coat, Evette rushed down the stairs of the villa. Leaping over the marmalade cat stretched out before the kitchen entryway, she pulled her father's galoshes onto her bare feet. Amber braid swinging over her shoulder, she eased the door open to avoid any unwanted creaks from the hinges. The last thing she needed was to wake their house guest.
The heavy air was damp from the predawn storm. She eased across the muddy stretch, the chicken oblivious to her presence. Swiveling its pearly jet eyes in her direction, the head chopped out to the side in curiosity and a low crow rose from its dusty throat. Evette paused, fearing it would take off for the orchard but instead it drew closer. She almost felt guilty. However, if she didn't take it, the soldiers certainly would.
Snatching it from the ground, she clamped it's plump, wiggling body under her arm. A triumphant chuckle rolled from her lips and she pivoted towards the kitchen. As she twisted the neck, she felt the delicate vertebra snap. Its head fell limp against her elbow. Marta had always made her family an excellent roast chicken. The leftover meat would make for soup, tendons and bone for broth.
"Good morning, Miss Wardley."
Evette halted at the sight of the Berchten Lieutenant in the doorway. Tall boots up to his knees and uniform jacket loose at the neck, his hair was neatly combed in the manner of all the invading soldiers. They were a clean looking brood, she'd give them that much.
"Lieutenant Vachel." She nodded curtly, "Good morning."
He drew the cigarette from his mouth, his olive green eyes sweeping the length of her. She lifted her chin. His gaze cut away, cheeks tinting with color. She wasn't sure what was more provocative, the fact that she held a dead chicken that wasn't hers or that she was still in her nightgown.
"A chicken for supper tonight." She dared, "It'll be good for my mother, give her strength."
Drawing from his cigarette, he returned his shrewd glare to her. He wasn't a tall man but had a granite jaw and a frigidity about him. Idly, she wondered his age.
"Very well." He swept aside, "Bring it in."
Evette blinked in surprise. Before risking him changing his mind, she skirted towards the house. Brushing past him, she caught the scent of oranges on his clothes. Vachel had been quartered at the villa for a fortnight. Compared to the rumors about other officers, he was relatively tame.
Tossing the galoshes by the door, she left the hen on the table. She tripped over the runner in the foyer in her haste but made it to the first landing on the staircase.
"I would appreciate it if you informed me of anything similar in the future, Miss Wardly."
Cagily, she peered down into the foyer. Vachel was watching her with his hands folded at his back and straight legs shoulder width apart. His head cocked to the side, murderously expressive eyebrows narrowing.
"In other words, tell me about the chicken before you slaughter it next time." The corner of his mouth twisted upwards.
Her hand rested at the hollow of her throat, holding together the laces of her collar. Without answering, she calmly climbed the steps to her bedroom. Despite his polite first impression, Evette shuddered to think that perhaps he was only a wolf in waiting.
Clasping the tiny buttons on the insides of her wrists, Evette tucked her fingers snugly into her white gloves. Wide brimmed hat angled towards her neck, it kept off the unseasonably warm glare. The kick stand on her bicycle snapped back and she mounted it, pedaling the shady villa drive to the main road. The ride to the island school was relatively easy. Fresh morning breeze whipped at her navy skirts as she glided down the hill before the old brick building.
She had graduated from the island school seven years earlier. That had been a different time, rife with fear of inevitable war. The air had changed since the invasion. No longer electric with dread, they were now a people trudging under the heavy eye of their conquerors.
Neatening the cluster of fake cherries on her collar, Evette dusted off her dress and strode into the school. The students had yet to arrive for the day. Her small classroom was decorated with diagrams of dissected frogs and charts of chemical elements. With her degree under her belt and her father's sway as magistrate, Evette had no trouble gaining the position as science teacher to the upper grades.
She was unpinning her hat from her dark head as Myrie Settleton, the music teacher, rushed into the room. Her heart shaped face was rosy as her hair. Pursing her lips, Myrie perched her hands on her slender hips.
"Have you heard?"
"Heard what?" Evette's heart dropped, fearing bad news as Berchten troops cut their way south.
"That Colonel. Dryfel." She hissed, "He's gone and done it."
Evette sank into the chair at her desk, "Done what, Myrie? Stop being so vague."
"Cancelled the graduates' spring social. Two days before it's planned!"
Scratching the center of her forehead, Evette peered up at her irate friend, "And you're surprised?"
"No, I'm mad."
"Clearly."
"How dare they? These poor children have enough to deal with but to cancel the event commemorating their coming-of-age is just-"
"Is the graduation ceremony still on?"
With a huff, Myrie rested against one of the front row desks, "As far as I know."
"Dryfel is probably jumpy about large groups of islanders together."
"But they are just kids."
"To the Berchtens they aren't. They are as much the enemy as you and I. As much as your brother on the front." Evette arched her fingers into a steeple and grimaced, "Though I'm not surprised, I'm as disappointed as you. It's only a school dance but it would have been so much more to our students. It would have been a spark of normalcy in a mad world."
"You have that lieutenant living with you, right?"
Evette's jaw stiffened. Reaching for a stack of exams, she neatened their corners, remembering his expression when he found her in the yard that morning. The recollection of his mossy eyes as they had trailed over her figure left her breathless.
"What of it?" She snapped.
"Well?" Myrie arched a blonde eyebrow, "Can't you speak to him? Tell him our dilemma?"
Evette wet her dry lips and gave a half shrug, "I suppose I can see what he has to say on the matter."
"Good. Maybe you can get somewhere with him." Myrie stomped over to the door, "See you at lunch."
"See you at-"
"Actually, I had wanted to talk to you about something before this whole debacle came up." Myrie paused at the door, resting a hand on the frame, "I heard the news about Justus."
Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, "Yes, I received the letter last week."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I wasn't ready yet."
Myrie bit her bottom lip, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."
Evette waved a hand dismissively, trying to keep it from trembling, "I'll be fine."
Patting the door frame, Myrie kept her eyes on her childhood friend, "Let me know if you need anything."
Evette quipped back with a tight smile, "Thank you, Myrie."
After news of the cancelled school dance spread, all she heard throughout the day were drones of disappointment and barely contained rants against the Berchtens. It was all Evette could do to contain her students and keep them focused on their studies.
Too many of them had already lost loved ones, brothers, fathers and uncles. With the death toll rising on their side, the Berchten Empire was keen on bleeding them dry to gain ultimate victory. It only incited the quiet rage in Evette's heart. By the end of the day, she felt as volatile as Myrie had been that morning.
Pedaling in her worn Oxfords up the hill after school, a slew of paper work in her messenger bag, Evette concocted with venom what she would say to Lieutenant Vachel. As she breathlessly breached the top of the hill, a strong wind caught her hat. With a gasp, she reached out to catch it but lost her balance.
The front wheel wobbled then slid in the dry afternoon dust, sending Evette into the ditch. A car drove past. The open air automobile reversed as Evette rose from the knee high grass on the side of the road, inspecting a gash in her forearm. The sleeve on her dress was torn as well.
"Miss Wardly! Are you alright?"
Evette scoffed ruefully, glaring at Lieutenant Vachel as he got out of the driver's side. His forehead crinkled in concern. He approached the edge of the road and held a gloved hand out to her.
"What do you think, Lieutenant?" She snarled, ignoring his hand and scuffing her shoes back onto the road, "Do I look alright?"
She righted her bicycle as he came to stand beside her, his stature tense. Without being asked, he knelt in front of the crooked front wheel. He pushed his hat back as he inspected the damage.
"It's bent badly," He ascertained, peering up at her from the ground with narrowed eyes, "You won't be able to ride it home."
"Then I'll walk it." Evette winced as she stepped forward.
"You're pretty beat up too, Miss Wardly," He presumptuously picked up the bicycle and walked it over to the car, "I'll drive you home."
"I don't want a ride," Limping over, Evette took out her kerchief and pressed it to the wound on her arm, "And I don't want your help."
Vachel sighed as he set the bike next to the vehicle with a thud. He pivoted to face her, his expression souring with frustration.
"Please let me assist you. I assure you, I have no other motive."
Evette barked out a harsh laugh, "I wouldn't have given you the option of one, Lieutenant."
"Your knee is bleeding," He opened the driver's side door, "May I look at it?"
Evette peered down at the blood staining her shredded stocking. The shock of the event had kept her ignorant to the injury. With a grimace, she met his entreating gaze.
"I have an emergency packet in the backseat. We can bandage you up and send you on your way if you wish it."
With a groan, Evette approached the vehicle, "Very well. But I have something I want to discuss with you, Lieutenant. It's concerning the school dance and Colonel Dryfel canceling it."
She trudged over to the driver's side and carefully lowered herself onto the leather seat. The Lieutenant fetched the medical supply packet on the other side of the car. Swiftly, Evette drew up her skirt and unhooked the ruined stocking, peeling it down her leg. Vachel returned to where she sat. He tore his deep set eyes away from her bare leg, wetting his lower lip as he held the packet out to her.
"There is a little bottle of antiseptic in there, I believe." He instructed.
Evette shifted uncomfortably as he knelt in front of her. Her brow lowering, she watched him take out a handkerchief from his coat pocket. She silently handed him the iodine. Her pulse spiking, he wrapped a hand around her bare calf and lifted her knee to the light.
"This will only hurt a moment, I promise." Vachel murmured.
He dabbed the kerchief splashed with antiseptic on her wound. Evette hissed, nostrils flaring as the sting sang in her brain.
"There is some grit in there," Vachel grunted, removing a glove with his teeth, "Now what was it you wanted to discuss with me?"
Evette's eyes squeezed shut as he managed to remove a good sized pebble from the cut.
"The social to celebrate the graduating seniors has been canceled," She explained, "Your Colonel believes it's a security risk."
Vachel chuckled, shaking his head as he pressed the cloth to her leg, "If you haven't noticed, Miss Wardly, we are in the middle of a war. Is this really that important?"
"I have noticed and that's exactly why it is so important," She insisted, "Lieutenant, is there any way that you could-"
"Any way I can do… what?" He peered up at her, his bare palm warm against her skin, "Are you asking me a favor?"
Heat erupted in Evette's face. She cringed, pulling herself free from his touch and wrapping her knee with a rolled bandage from the packet. Vachel sighed, dropping his head.
"Perhaps that was the wrong word choice," He rose to his feet, peering down the road, "I didn't mean to offend you."
"I'm not like those other girls. I'm sure you have heard about them from your men," She growled, "Believe me, I wouldn't come to you like this if it wasn't important to me."
"So this means much to you? That your students get their social?" He asked, glancing down at her.
Evette stumbled to her feet. Vachel reached out to steady her but his hand only brushed her upper arm before pulling it away. He stood a couple inches taller, his dark green eyes trailing over her face before darting away.
"I will see what I can do."
Evette narrowed her eyes, "Without expecting anything in return-"
"I will do as you request only if you let me drop you off at home. It would be ridiculous to try and walk a broken bike all the way back to the villa with a hurt leg." Vachel arched a dark eyebrow, "Well? What will it be?"
Heaving a sigh, Evette snatched her messenger back from the ground and limped over to the passenger side.
