House Omega: A Military Sci-Fi Epic (Marshals of Rhea Book 1) by Gus Harris-Reid

Author:Gus Harris-Reid [Harris-Reid, Gus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2021-12-06T16:00:00+00:00

Xanthe hammered on the door to Mister Bolt’s study.

“Bolt!” she called. “Mister Bolt, are you still in there?”

Some unintelligible muttering came from within.

Xanthe sighed. It was proving extremely difficult to rouse Bolt from the torpor into which he’d sunk after hearing the terrible news three days ago. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his distress; they were all distraught at what had happened. But life didn’t stop, and there was still plenty of work to do. Bolt couldn’t just lock himself away indefinitely.

“Mister Bolt, are you ever going to come out? As you like to point out so often, Clarion won’t run itself!”

Silence.

“Frag!” Xanthe cursed. She gave the door a kick, spun on her heel and stormed back to the kitchen.

Dinner had finished and several of her assistants were tidying up the resulting detritus, washing dishes, scrubbing tables or collecting scraps for the gardeners’ compost. Some Marshals had retired to their chambers, whilst others had gathered in one of the common drawing rooms on the upper floors, amply supplied with liquor. Apparently, there’d been a window breakage in House Theta’s suite and the occupants advised not to return until it was repaired.

There was a knock at the door. Xanthe opened it and Morrow, the head mason, stepped through. His eyes darted around nervously and his frown was visible even through his bushy brown beard. Xanthe doubted he’d ever been down here before.

“Madam Xanthe,” he said, anxiously gripping the straps of his leather apron. “I don’t wish to be a bother, but I wanted to know if I should get my boys and girls started on the repairs to the eastern bastion. We won’t be doing any climbing tonight, but there’s stones needing cut. I’d normally go to Mister Bolt about something like this, or even the High Marshal, but…” He trailed off.

“Whatever you think is best, Mister Morrow,” Xanthe said wearily. “You’re the expert. If you want to make a start, then go ahead.”

“Thank you, Madam,” he said, looking relieved. “Well get on it straight away.”

Xanthe closed the door behind him. She sat down, put her head in her hands, and groaned.

Why did everyone keep looking to her for answers? She didn’t know what to do—she was just the fragging cook! But until Bolt took up his responsibilities as Seneschal again, Xanthe was the de facto leader of the House; a role she felt thoroughly ill-prepared for.

She wondered what Temis was up to. There was little chance of the Armorer leaving her precious workshop and actually helping around the stronghold for once, especially with so many of her Guild colleagues to distract her. But at least Biella’s operation had been a success, and by all accounts she was recovering well. That was one piece of good news, at least.

As the last of the dishes were being dried and put away, there was another knock at the door, and Xanthe sighed. “Who the frag is it this time?” she called, temper fraying. The door opened and Voss stepped into the kitchen, cobalt-blue cloak over one shoulder.

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