Shadows of Sickness and Suspicion

Part 1

Bisera and James landed back in Balkania with a golden shimmer that announced Seraphina's mysterious hand. The transition was swift and disorienting—one moment, they stood in the sleek foyer of James's modern home; the next, they found themselves in the sprawling Vakerian encampment, the cool evening sky streaked with red and purple overhead.

A pang of dread seized Bisera's heart the instant her boots touched the earth. The camp was different now: tense, subdued, and punctuated by the pitiful groans of sick men. Torches burned low, and the acrid smell of feverish sweat and rotting straw undercut the usual stench of horses.

Vesmir—whom Bisera left in charge in her absence—rushed to greet them the moment he spotted her. His normally upright posture now sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

"General!" he gasped. Relief and despair warred in his eyes. "Thank the Spirit you're here."

Bisera pulled off her helm, letting her blonde hair fall loose around her shoulders. "Vesmir, what's happened? Seraphina told us there's a plague."

Vesmir nodded grimly. "It started two days ago. At first just a handful of men: fever, vomiting, delirium. But by yesterday evening, scores were down. Some died within a day. We suspect the well near the base of the ridge—perhaps deliberately tainted."

Bisera clenched her jaw. Poisoned wells. A cunning, terrible method once used by Gillyrians in times of desperation—she had heard such accounts from older Vakerian campaign logs. She immediately thought of Nikolaos, the handsome but ruthless Gillyrian governor who openly flouts battlefield ethics for results.

"We'll discuss it soon," she said stiffly. "First, we treat the men."

James—modern laptop bag slung over his shoulder—stepped forward. "We have new supplies," he told Vesmir. "Medicine, or potions, that might help mitigate the worst of it. Where are the sickest?"

"Mostly quartered near the center, General," Vesmir said to Bisera, but his eyes kept darting to James's laptop as if it was some divine artefact. "We tried separating the afflicted. Some men balked at quarantine, but we locked down a zone behind the main tents. Adelais… well, she's been helping with water and children, but the captains suspect—"

Bisera's gaze hardened. "We will address any suspicions later. Let's treat the men first."

The trio made their way through the camp, accompanied by a handful of Vakerian healers who had worked with James in treating the wounded before. The closer they got to the quarantine, the worse the odor of sickness became. Men lay on bedrolls or shivered under thin blankets, eyes glazed with fever. Some moaned, others lay eerily silent.

Grim-faced, Bisera crouched beside a delirious soldier. "Hold on," she said softly, pressing a hand to his clammy forehead. "We'll help you."

James knelt by her, rummaging in the bag Seraphina had let him bring. His equipment seemed almost alien against the backdrop of medieval tents. He drew out a small battery-powered cooler, opening it to reveal sealed pouches of antibiotic ointments and rehydration salts. He also had references—basic instructions on medieval disease prevention that he'd saved offline.

Quietly, he and Bisera worked side by side, administering a conjured fluid solution with whatever cups and ladles they could find. The soldier gagged, but James coaxed him until he drank.

"Make him sip small amounts," James instructed Vesmir and the healers. "We need to keep him hydrated above all else. Fever is the enemy." Though most did not understand what James meant, their trust in him made them follow obediently.

Bisera nodded. Though exhausted from the journey and weighed down by fear for her men, she steeled her voice. "Spread the word: No one drinks from the old well. Boil every drop of water. Mark the well with a guard if you must."

"Yes, General," one of the medics said.

It felt surreal—the chirping of distant insects under the faint moonlight, the flicker of torches on battered armor, and James in his modern T-shirt under a conjured cloak. But if the men found it strange, they also found it hopeful. A rumor flitted from soldier to soldier: "Seraphina's emissary is back. He's brought cures."

Part 2

After stabilizing as many patients as they could, Bisera, James, and Vesmir retreated briefly to the command tent. A single lantern burned, casting gold arcs on the canvas walls. Spreading out a rough map of the area, Vesmir pointed to a spot near the ridge.

"This is where we drew water for the camp," he said. "But three days ago, men reported a strange taste and foul smell. We found traces of dead animals tossed in the stream that feeds the well."

James frowned. "That's a cruel but historically recognized tactic," he murmured. In the corners of his memory, he recalled reading about Byzantine and other medieval armies throwing diseased carcasses into water sources to weaken their enemies.

Bisera's jaw tightened. "It must be the Gillyrians. Who else? Despicable cowards."

A wave of heated anger rippled through her. Vakeria might have clashed swords with Gillyria for decades, but this method was beyond the pale—contemptible and cowardly. She pictured Nikolaos's handsome, arrogant face. She swore if she ever crossed blades with him, she would make him pay.

"General," Vesmir said gravely, "some of the captains want to arrest Adelais. She's not one of us and she was seen near the water barrels the few nights before the animal carcasses were discovered."

Bisera froze. Adelais. The young, red-haired woman from Gillyria who had traveled with them, one of the key caretakers of orphans. In truth, Bisera had felt a pang of insecurity whenever she saw how James interacted with Adelais. He was always so gentle and protective towards her. Bisera loathed how that small spark of jealousy coiled in her belly, but she couldn't ignore it.

"Are there actual charges?" James asked warily.

Vesmir shrugged. "She was found with a jar of herbs… not obviously poison, but it raised suspicion. Men are frightened. Any outsiders in our midst at such a time are bound to arouse suspicion."

Bisera closed her eyes. She was keen on acting justly and fairly, even if it went against her heart's innermost desire.

"We do nothing without proof. Understood?" She glanced at James while she spoke, noticing that little flicker of relief on his face at her words—and immediately felt an unfamiliar sting in her chest.

"Adelais shall remain under watch, but she's innocent until proven otherwise," Bisera concluded.

Vesmir nodded. "Yes, General."

Not long after, James and Bisera found themselves in a roped-off section near the wagons. Wooden barrels of fresh water had been dragged in, carefully tested and boiled. Soldiers lined up, filling canteens, while a few healthy watchers kept a wary eye on any new sign of plague.

Suddenly, a commotion drew their attention. Two men were holding Adelais by the arms. She looked pale and terrified, hair askew. One soldier towered over her, face twisted in suspicion.

"You!" he spat. "Confess your Gillyrian master gave you orders to poison us!"

"I did nothing!" Adelais's voice quivered, but she lifted her chin. "I've been fetching water for the children. Ask them!"

Bisera stepped forward, voice slicing through the uproar. "Unhand her. Now."

The soldiers hesitated but obeyed, releasing Adelais. She staggered back, arms trembling.

One of the men scowled. "General, we— we caught her near the water supply last night. She was… rummaging about."

"I was placing herbs to help with the smell," Adelais shot back, tears bright in her eyes. "Mint and thyme, to keep the flies away."

James exchanged a glance with Bisera, concern etched on his face. "Those are harmless," he said quietly. "They might even help keep insects from contaminating the water further."

Bisera turned on the soldiers. "We do not punish on fear alone. Adelais is under my protection until we have solid proof of wrongdoing."

The taller soldier's anger wavered under Bisera's steely gaze. "Yes, General," he muttered, stepping back with a salute.

Adelais stood there, shaking. Her eyes flicked to James—maybe hoping for a gentle word—but Bisera's presence loomed between them. Despite the tug in her heart, Bisera forced herself to remain impartial.

"Until further notice, you will not be near any water barrels unsupervised," Bisera said to Adelais, voice firm but not unkind. "Now go help the orphans, and cause no further alarm."

Adelais bowed hastily, a flush coloring her cheeks. She fled into the maze of tents.

An uneasy hush followed. Bisera felt James's gaze upon her and turned to find both gratitude and concern in his eyes. She stared back, mind racing with complicated emotions. Duty first, always.

Night fell on a camp weighed down by plague. Soldiers lay moaning in the quarantine zone, while watchmen patrolled the perimeter with drawn swords, dreading any Gillyrian strike.

Just outside the main sick tent, James leaned on a makeshift table, studying his offline references. His brows furrowed at the labyrinth of medieval plague symptoms—fever, violent chills, delirium. He had conjured antibiotic salves and fluids, but it all felt like patchwork relief compared to modern resources.

Bisera approached, her leather pauldrons creaking in the torchlight. "Any progress?"

He turned, letting out a long breath. "Some men are stabilizing. Seraphina let me conjure more rehydration salts. But if the water contamination was truly by diseased animals, this could spread unless we maintain strict discipline."

"We will." She paused, scanning his exhausted face, then laid a gloved hand lightly on his shoulder. "James… I can't begin to thank you. You saved many men today."

Her words stirred something deep in him, and a warm tension flared between them—an echo of the passion they shared mere hours ago in his realm, before Seraphina's dramatic interruption. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You've done your share of saving too, Bisera. Their morale hinges on you."

Bisera felt her pulse quicken at the husky note in his voice. In truth, she desperately wanted a moment alone with him, free from watchful soldiers and panicking subordinates. She found herself stepping in, close enough to catch the faint scent of soap that still clung to him from the modern world.

Her heart fluttered, a swirl of guilt and longing. How could she crave intimacy now, with men dying around them? Yet, James's presence felt like a lifeline. She inhaled, letting her guard slip for a fleeting instant.

"Listen," he murmured, "once the situation stabilizes, we should—"

"General!" A voice cut through the darkness—Velika's. The tall captain hobbled forward on a makeshift crutch, ignoring the pain in her bandaged leg. "We've had another surge of fever in the west quadrant. We need you."

Bisera straightened, pulling away from James as though yanked back to reality. "I'll be right there," she told Velika, tension woven into her tone.

Velika's sharp eyes flicked between Bisera and James, sensing the closeness. A shadow of mischief—or perhaps curiosity—crossed her features, but she masked it quickly. "Yes, General," she said curtly.

Bisera turned to James, meeting his gaze one last time. A thousand unspoken words passed between them in that breath. Then she pivoted, marching into the night.

Part 3

The hours blurred. Bisera and James dashed between quarantine cots, administering medicine, calming panicked soldiers, and disciplining any who broke ranks. Rumors flew—some men whispered that Adelais had tainted the water. Others insisted Gillyrian infiltrators lurked in the dark.

But by midnight, the frantic pace slowed. The fever's worst wave seemed to pass, thanks to the enforced quarantines and James's conjured supplies. Though bone-tired, Bisera insisted on checking each section personally.

At last, near the command tent, James cornered her with quiet insistence. "You haven't slept in nearly a day. You're barely standing."

She tried to brush him off, only to sway on her feet. With surprising gentleness, he caught her arm.

Her breath hitched, remembering how she once teased him about being "too delicate." Now, she felt the warmth of his hand searing through her bracer. "James, I…"

She wanted to protest, but her body betrayed her exhaustion. He guided her inside the tent, where a solitary lantern glowed.

There, in the hush, she eased onto a wooden stool. James crouched beside her, removing her gauntlets so she could flex her aching fingers. Without thinking, she placed her hand against his cheek—a gesture of weary gratitude and something more.

He inhaled sharply, meeting her eyes. "Bisera," he whispered, leaning into her touch.

For a moment, the war, the plague, even Adelais's suspicion fell away. She felt only the rapid thrum of her own pulse. Slowly, she let herself be guided closer, until their foreheads touched. The charged memory of their kiss in his world flickered back—so intimate, so unguarded. Her entire being ached for a respite from the endless commands and burdens.

His lips brushed hers, tentative but hungry. She melted against him, letting the tension in her shoulders ease. The stolen kiss was like a secret vow—an affirmation that, amidst death and sabotage, they were still human.

Then she pulled back, flush with desire and guilt in equal measure. "I— I can't do this," she whispered. "Not when my men are still not out of danger."

His voice quivered with longing but also understanding. "I know."

She exhaled, heart stinging, wanting so badly to lose herself in him. But a commander's duty never slept. She rose, trembling from fatigue, and he offered his arm for support.

"We'll find another moment," he said softly. "I promise. For now, let me walk you to your quarters, at least."

She nodded. The warmth of his embrace echoed in her core, even as she left him, stepping out to meet the dark hush of the night.

At dawn, a fresh crisis stirred. A group of captains—Velika among them, still limping—approached Bisera near the smoldering quarantine fires. Their eyes shone with frustration.

"General," one of them said, voice taut with barely contained anger. "The men demand answers about Adelais. They suspect she's been feeding the plague. Some found her last night again near the children's tents with a mortar of herbs."

Bisera squared her shoulders. The last thing she needed was a mob turning on the easiest scapegoat. "And were those herbs proven harmful?"

Velika's mouth twisted. "No… but the suspicion alone could fracture our ranks."

Bisera set her jaw, remembering her vow to remain just, no matter her personal insecurities. "If we arrest Adelais without proof, we become no better than Nikolaos. And we lose a caretaker for the orphans."

Another captain stepped forward, scowling. "If we don't arrest her, we risk letting a Gillyrian spy roam free."

"Then we watch her," Bisera retorted, steel in her voice. "Should we find any evidence of wrongdoing, I'll personally see her executed. But until then, that's final."

The captains exchanged uneasy glances but ultimately saluted. They had seen Bisera's unwavering resolve on a hundred battlefields; none dared defy her direct command.

Velika, however, lingered as the others left. Her gaze flicked over Bisera with concern. "General," she said in a quieter tone, "you're exhausted, and the men pick up on every ripple of uncertainty. Are you sure you're not—blinded by your feelings?"

Bisera's cheeks heated. "Feelings?"

"You're protective of James. Everyone sees that. And he's kind to Adelais. Some might suspect... bias towards Adelais out of fear of upsetting James."

Bisera's heart tightened, shame and anger colliding. She tried to hold Velika's gaze calmly. "My personal emotions have no bearing on my decisions. I won't arrest a woman on baseless rumors. You know me better than that."

Velika bowed her head. "I do, General. Forgive my impertinence. I only worry for you."

Bisera touched Velika's shoulder lightly. "I appreciate that. But right now, we must hold this army together and prevent it from turning on itself. Remember, mutual suspicion will kill us faster than disease."

By mid-morning, the plague's surge had slowed. The quarantines, combined with James's conjured cures and Bisera's strict enforcement, had borne fruit. Though many soldiers still hovered near death, fresh casualties were fewer. The men started to believe they might outlast this outbreak.

In the main clearing, James slumped onto a bench, thoroughly spent. He'd spent the morning mixing rehydration powders and scouring his offline files for more medieval remedies. Bisera found him there, her own eyelids heavy.

"How's the fever count?" she asked softly, standing before him.

He looked up, a tired but genuine smile on his lips. "Better. Two new cases overnight, down from ten."

She exhaled in relief. "That's a victory for now."

Slowly, she sat beside him, letting her shoulder brush his. Even amid the swirl of fear and suspicion, that contact offered a quiet comfort. A hush stretched between them as they listened to the bustle of an army that was, despite everything, still alive.

Eventually, Bisera murmured, "Thank you—again. You came from your realm to mine, sacrificing comfort to help my men."

James reached out, gently folding her hand into his. "We are in this together."

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. In that moment, her heart thudded with an overwhelming sense of gratitude—and a flicker of vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to feel. "Together," she echoed, the word tinged with more than mere camaraderie.

A shy, almost playful smile tugged at her lips, belying the stern general's exterior. She remembered her father's old caution: "Love in war is a liability." And yet, what if it was also the strongest shield they had?

James's eyes softened, and he leaned closer, perhaps to kiss her. Then footsteps crunched behind them. Vesmir cleared his throat.

"General," he said, apologetically glancing away. "We have scouts reporting unusual movement near the southern hills. Gillyrian, perhaps. We need your orders."