Free Ironroot by S. J. A. Turney

frowned as he caught sight of the pale, slender hand holding the robe closed, and the two white gold and amethyst rings on the hand.
    “Catilina?”
    The captain stepped back and straightened, a dozen emotions fighting for control of his face. He suddenly felt quite ill.
    “Catilina…”
    The lady let the hood of the robe fall back to reveal her delicate porcelain features. Her prefect brow and the tresses and curls of her ebony hair gave her an austere and otherworldly appearance in the strange, waning sunlight. Catilina had been renowned as a beauty from a very young age and many a courtier had been deceived by her looks into believing her to be flighty, weak or even vapid. Nothing could be farther from the truth and, given her parentage, there was no surprise in that. marshal Sabian had built the modern Imperial army back up from scratch, and the Lady Cassida had survived twenty years of civil war as mistress of her own estate, purely through nerve and insight, while many a powerful lord had fallen.
    “Captain Varro, you should address me as Lady Sabianus.” The primness of her words caught Varro off guard and he stood dumb, weighing her words and trying to decide whether she was truly serious or playing some game with him. This was not a simple woman, even in simple conversation.
    She waited a moment, watching the uncertainty on Varro’s face. “Has the constant drudgery of battle finally driven your Gods-born manners from you?” she enquired in a flat tone.
    The captain remained still. When he opened his mouth to reply, all that came out was a choking, stuttering noise. He felt a slight flush rise in his cheeks and damned himself to more than one hell for showing such childish weakness in front of professional soldiers. He was a longstanding and decorated veteran and yet, faced with a dozen words from Catilina he fell apart like a fresh faced boy. A low growl of irritation or anger began to well up deep in his throat.
    “Varro,” the woman laughed lightly, her eyes suddenly sparkling in the moonlight, matching the amethysts on her fingers almost perfectly. “I do believe you are blushing!”
    Before he could react, for which he was truly grateful, Catilina’s smile warmed and she tilted her head slightly to one side.
    “But I see you’ve been wounded again, my dear captain.”
    Varro’s hand went to his aching side in an involuntary movement.
    “Yes.”
    The lady locked his eyes with her own for a moment and a look of concern passed briefly across her face before being replaced once more with a visage of good natured elegance. Her eyes bored into his.
    “You’re not yourself, Varro” she stated as a matter of fact.
    He shook his head and gave a weak smile, but Catilina tapped her cheek with a slender finger, her gaze never leaving his face.
    “You’ve no banter and no quick wit. Most unlike you. Your eyes seem hazy and they wander while I speak.” To emphasise her point, she held up her index finger and moved it slowly from side to side while her eyes remained locked on his face.
    Varro found with great irritation, that he was watching her finger and shaking his head like an idiot. He growled and waved a hand at her irritably, dismissing the conversation, but her look hardened.
    “You’ve been on mare’s mead,” she said with a note of accusation. “Or something stronger, possibly. Whatever it is, you don’t look well.”
    Finally Varro found his voice. It wasn’t as strong as he’d like, but still clear enough in the cool evening air.
    “I’m fine, Lady Sabianus.” He stressed the title a little too much. “A little battered, but I’m fine. I’m due to see Scortius sometime today…” He looked around the street, now almost dark with the sun fully set. “Tonight, I suppose.”
    Catilina glared at him.
    “You need to see him now, Varro. Not later. I’ll have two of the guard escort you.”
    Varro waved his hands at her in a way he hoped looked pleasantly admonishing and shook his