The Black Rose by James Bartholomeusz

encampment, but, with little to occupy their attention other than what there was to see in Maht’s tent, she always returned fairly soon afterwards. The matriarch, it seemed, dwelt in almost continual solitude, enshrined within her fur nest, pondering her ring of candles.
    The one occupation Lucy found was when Maht’s daughter, Doch, was awake. Appearing only five or six years old, she had wide blue eyes and an even wider mouth. Not remotely intimidated by the discovery that she now shared her home with four strangers, she had made a point of introducing herself to each of them. She had fixed Lucy with an expansive stare before announcing phonetically: “My name’s Doch. What’s yours?”
    â€œHi. I’m Lucy. Doch—that’s a funny name.”
    â€œNo, you’ve got a funny name. Loo-see.”
    Wandering around the encampment, Lucy became aware of a difference in Maht’s household. Every other family she saw had either a father or an elder son, mostly in the service of the guards. During the winter months not having a man around probably didn’t matter much, she supposed, but Maht must have had a hard time during the sowing and harvesting seasons.
    She asked the goblin about it one evening. “Doch’s father… What happened to him?”
    Maht was sewing at this point. She pushed the needle through the fabric and took her time pulling the thread to its full length. “He left. It’s not usual for the men here to leave, but that didn’t stop him. He went to seek his fate elsewhere and left her… and me.”
    Lucy felt a rush of affection for the woman. “Have you ever thought of finding someone else?” The question sounded stunted, even cruel.
    Maht looked up from her sewing and smiled. “The women of my tribe are famously strong. We do not need men to command our lives. I can raise Doch by myself. The men can come and go, but we remain.”
    As the affection mingled with pride, Lucy returned the smile.
    Later, when the goblins were asleep, the group of Apollonians were crouched around the circle of candles. There had been little to talk about, so they had said little. Now, with no prospect of developments ahead of them, Lucy decided to find out more about their situation. “So who are the Cultists we’re up against this time? Phaedra and Paethon?”
    To Lucy’s slight surprise, it was not Hakim, the fountain of knowledge, but Vince who answered. “They’re twins. Girl and boy.”
    â€œHow do you know about them?”
    Vince took a hefty swig from the wooden cup clutched in his fingers and put it to one side, rubbing his hands in front of the flames. “They’re the reason I got involved with the Apollonians in the first place. My elder sister and I grew up on a council estate in Scotland, and she sometimes had to go away for days at a time. Then, one time, she disappeared.”
    â€œShe didn’t come back?”
    Vince’s expression tautened. “Oh, she came back. She came back in a shoe box. That’s when I met Isaac. He came and explained what had happened. She’d been on a humanitarian aid mission to a world ravaged by the Cult when they mounted a second attack. Those two—Phadrea and Paethon—were leading it, and they set fire to the land. My sister was burnt alive.”
    He let out a long, low breath, shadows of candle flames flickering across his face. “They murdered her because she was trying to help the people they wanted to conquer. She did nothing to them. That’s why I’m here, on this particular mission. I’ve wanted the chance to come face-to-face with them ever since I found out what they did. I want to make them pay.” Vince finished, his eyes glazed over.
    Adâ and Hakim looked despondent. Lucy grimaced, wishing she hadn’t asked.

Chapter VIII
lady osborne
    â€œI’ve
finally
got some idea of what’s going on,”