The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RAESINIA

For the moment, they were letting Raesinia remain in her chambers in the Prince’s Tower. Eventually, she assumed, some court stickler for protocol would probably demand that she move over to the Royal Apartments, but that would require refurnishing, and the staff of the palace was fully occupied. So many of the more cautious nobles and their retinues had departed for the country as the riots had developed that the royal household had been left with a skeleton crew, managing a building that was suddenly vastly too large for its inhabitants. The task of putting the palace in its mourning garb was big enough to occupy an army, even without considering all the changes to the lists of precedence that would be required by so many departures and the consequent adjustments to social calendars, place settings, and so on.

Raesinia was happy to leave well enough alone. Sothe was adamant that her days of sneaking out to visit the revolutionaries were over, but it was nice to know that she still had her convenient-if-painful escape route from the tower. New rooms would come with a squadron of new servants, too, with all the complicated negotiations that entailed. Here in the Prince’s Tower, Sothe ruled with an iron hand, and she had a very simple protocol-when Raesinia was present, Sothe met visitors at the door and no other menials were allowed to enter. The cleaning and laundry staff had learned to pounce on the room the moment Raesinia stepped out the door.

This morning, Sothe brought breakfast to her table, as usual, together with a stack of the morning papers. One advantage of being queen was that she could pay attention to current events more openly, without having to play the part of the brainless princess.

There was no news except the Revolution, as the papers were already starting to call it. Several woodcuts of Danton looked up at her, including a rather good profile in the Barker. The Deputies-General, scheduled to open today, had driven everyone into renewed frenzies of excitement. A more or less permanent camp of revolutionaries, centered on the occupied Vendre, was surrounded by a temporary mob whose size varied with the mood of the public. Today, Raesinia read, they occupied most of the Island, leaving only a small clear space around the cathedral in the hands of the Armsmen. The South Bank was boiling, and even the North Bank was starting to rumble, centered on the University and the Dregs.

Not all the news was good. Fresh water was becoming scarce on the Island, in spite of the best efforts of the merchants selling it at ruinous prices, so some of the gathered thousands had been reduced to drinking river water. The result was an epidemic of the bloody flux, which had already laid low hundreds and was claiming several victims a day. One paper even helpfully provided a cartoon, which showed Raesinia herself walking over the bridge to the Island in full regalia only to be met by a tidal wave of oncoming diarrhea.

In addition to disease, the prostitutes and thieves who gathered wherever there was a crowd to fleece were out in force, and with the Armsmen banished there was nothing to restrain their street feuds. Still, it looked to Raesinia as though everyone was behaving remarkably well under the circumstances, and the view of the papers seemed positive. The people believed in the deputies, which was exactly what the deputies needed in order to be effective.

The people also believed in Danton. Several papers reprinted the text of his latest speeches, beside columns calling for him to have some kind of a role in government even before the deputies had met. Or Raesinia should marry him, and make him king, so his wisdom could lead Vordan to a new golden age.

“Look at this nonsense,” Raesinia said, rattling the paper. “He’s telling everyone to stay calm, which is all well and good, but then he goes on and on about the nature of the social compact and the theory of a just monarchy. That’s Maurisk’s writing, obviously.” She turned the paper over and rolled her eyes. “It goes onto the back, in small print. He never did know when to shut up.”

Sothe didn’t comment. Raesinia tossed the paper aside. “You delivered his speech for today?”

It had taken her most of the previous week to write, and Raesinia thought it was a pretty fine piece of work. As the keynote address to the new Deputies- General, coming out in Danton’s glorious golden voice, it would go a long way toward setting the tone.

“I did. The others accepted that it was something you’d written before you. . died.” Sothe was frowning, and Raesinia thought she knew why. She decided it was better to bite the bullet.

“And? Did you see Cora?”

“I saw her.”

“And?”

Sothe sighed. “Pri-my queen. I’ve said before that the farther you stay away from her and the others, the safer everyone will be.”

“That’s why I sent you to look in on her instead of going myself.”

“It’s still an unnecessary risk. I could be recognized, followed.”

“We both know a dozen bloodhounds couldn’t follow you across fresh snow.”

“It’s a possibility,” Sothe insisted. “And I worry that you won’t be content to simply ‘look in’ forever. It’s better that you make a clean break, my queen.”

“I just want to know if Cora is all right,” Raesinia said. “Maurisk and Sarton can take care of themselves, but Cora’s just a girl.”

“She seemed fine,” Sothe said, relenting. “She has taken your ‘death’ hard, but otherwise she appears to be in reasonable spirits. I believe Maurisk has been talking to her about the need to carry on, ‘for Raesinia’s sake.’”

Raesinia clapped her hands. “He’s not completely clueless, then. Sooner or later, I want to find a way to bring Cora in.”

“Much too risky. She’ll recognize you, and then the secret is as good as out.”

“Not if we asked her to keep it. Cora would never betray me.”

“The same as Faro?” There was a long, painful pause. “I’m sorry, my queen. But the stakes are extremely high. Perhaps, in time, I might be able to find a way.”

“Think about it,” Raesinia said. “You’ve seen how talented she is with money. We’re going to need all the coin we can get if we’re not going to continue Orlanko’s policy of mortgaging the kingdom to the Borels.”

Sothe nodded, lips pursed. There was a knock at the door, and she got up to answer it. Raesinia read a few more paragraphs of Danton’s speech, then pushed the papers away in disgust.

I’m going to have to have a talk with Maurisk. Then she remembered that she couldn’t, not now and probably not ever. As far as Maurisk was concerned, Raesinia had fallen from the Vendre’s walls with a bullet in her skull, dragging the traitor Faro to his death. A whole chapter of her life had ended, almost as though she had died. Rationally, she could agree with Sothe that it was probably for the best. Now that her father was dead and she was under greater scrutiny, sneaking out would be too risky; besides, the conspiracy had served its purpose. The will of the people, expressed through the Deputies-General, would give her the means to rid the country of Orlanko. With Janus as an ally on the Cabinet, she might be able to start putting things right.

Orlanko still held his trump card, the threat to expose her as demonically possessed. But the very power of that move would make him afraid to use it. Without being able to install himself as regent and thus as a clear successor to the throne, the result could only be chaos, possibly even another civil war. Raesinia’s reign would have to be short, in any case, since eventually the public and the court would become suspicious of their unaging queen. Unless Janus finds a solution in the Thousand Names. But I can’t count on that. She would have to marry someone she trusted to be the kind of king the country needed, the kind her father would have wanted and that her brother would have been. Then Raesinia could “die” with a clean conscience, and after that-something else. She had never allowed herself to think that far in advance.

Perhaps Janus himself is the king I need. He was certainly of a sufficiently noble line, albeit somewhat impoverished in recent years, that the people would accept him. He was intelligent, and a capable general, if his Khandarai exploits were anything to go by. And, of course, he already knew her secret, obviating the need for either a complicated subterfuge or a potentially dangerous confrontation. And he’s handsome enough, I suppose, in an arch sort of way.

On the other hand, there was something about him that made her nervous. A sense of ambition, carefully harnessed but nonetheless visible just below the surface. She wondered if being king would be enough for him, or if he was one of those men whose thirst for power simply could not be slaked. The vision of Vordanai armies marching forth to conquer with fire and sword-with Janus bet Vhalnich at their head and Danton to fire their blood-was too plausible for comfort. That was not, she was sure, what her father would have wanted. His dreams of martial glory had ended with the cruel realities of Vansfeldt.

A problem for another day. There was a long, twisting road yet to walk before she arrived at a position where she could begin to contemplate that choice. But it starts today, with the Deputies-General.

Sothe reappeared. “Captain d’Ivoire is here, Your Majesty, with your escort.”

Your Majesty. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to that. “Send him in, and go and fetch the bits and pieces.” Raesinia was already wearing the slim, plain black dress that was proper for a queen in mourning, but it wouldn’t do to be seen in public without the appropriate accessories and a tasteful amount of jewels.

Bowing, Sothe went back to the door, and was replaced a moment later by Marcus d’Ivoire. The captain bowed as well, more formally. He was in the full dress uniform of the captain of Armsmen, dark forest green trimmed with silver and gold, with braids of army blue and silver at the shoulder to indicate he was a captain in a royal regiment as well. The only false note was the sword at his hip, which was a solid, weather-beaten cavalry saber instead of the jeweled rapier or small sword she might have expected.

“Your Majesty,” he said, when she indicated he should rise. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

“Thank you, Captain. And you have my gratitude for what you accomplished at the Vendre.”

Marcus looked rueful. “I’m afraid I didn’t accomplish much, Your Majesty. We surrendered the fortress, after all. And I spent most of the time locked in a cell.”

“From what I have heard, you prevented a bloodbath. I was most gratified to hear of your escape.”

“Some of the. . revolutionaries,” Marcus said carefully, “appear to have shared your gratitude. They gave me to understand that my further presence might cause difficulties. So I would not call it an escape, precisely.”

“You’re too modest for your own good, Captain.”

“Only honest, Your Majesty.”

Sothe came back in, with shoes, a shawl, and an assortment of delicate confections of gems and gold. Raesinia stood up and allowed these to be attached, and in the meantime studied Marcus’ broad, patient face.

I would not mind marrying him, she thought, idly. He seems like he would be kind. And I think he would make a good king. Not that such a thing could ever come to pass, even if she’d been madly in love with the captain. He was a commoner, to start with, and the same gentle patience that she thought would be a useful trait in a ruler would see him eaten alive by the likes of Orlanko. Where can I find a man who is both capable of ruling and good enough to do a decent job?

When the fitting-out was finished, Marcus bowed again. “I’ll go and alert your escort, Your Majesty.”

“My queen,” Sothe whispered, as soon as Marcus had gone out into the foyer. “Something is wrong.”

“What?” Raesinia turned too quickly, setting her ornaments to clicking. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not certain.” Sothe licked her lips, like a snake tasting the air. “Something isn’t right. I can’t-”

She quieted as Marcus reentered. He, too, looked perturbed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Raesinia said, fighting a rising tide of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

“Who usually guards your door?”

Raesinia blinked. “The Grays are charged with the security of the grounds. But the royal family is guarded by a company of Royal Grenadier Guards, and some of your Armsmen. There should be a few of each out there.” She’d walked past them a thousand times.

“There’s an escort forming up in the corridor,” Marcus said. “But it seems to be only Grays. And when I looked out, I didn’t see any Armsmen or Royals.”

“That is odd,” Raesinia said. “Perhaps they’ll be joining us later on?”

Someone rapped at the door. A voice came from outside. “Your Majesty? Open the door, if you please. There’s an emergency.”

“Don’t,” Sothe said. Raesinia hadn’t seen her move, but she was reemerging from her own room, a pistol in either hand, her long dress tied up above her knees to give her freedom of movement. “It’s Orlanko.”

“What?” Raesinia’s anxiety was shot through with rage. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“We’ve overestimated his caution,” Sothe said, positioning herself in the doorway. “Or his intelligence. But I’m certain those are his people.”

“Get behind me, Your Majesty,” Marcus said, surprisingly unfazed by this news. His saber rasped from its scabbard.

“Wait.” Raesinia scrambled to her feet. “We can’t be certain. Don’t shoot anybody-”

There was a thud and a crunch of wood. Someone had rammed his shoulder hard against the corridor door. It was a light, decorative thing, not designed to endure that kind of abuse, and splinters flew from around the bolt.

“-oh.” Raesinia’s mind went blank. There was no excuse for doing that to the queen’s chambers, even if the building was on fire. “Go ahead, then.”

They were in the main room of her suite, with a couch and table providing the only cover. A door separated this room from the foyer, but it was no sturdier than the one in the corridor and would provide only a few seconds’ respite. Instead of closing it, Sothe squared off in the doorway, staring across the open space of the foyer as though she were on a target range.

Another blow brought a great crash from the outer door, tearing the bolt out of the wood and sending splinters pinwheeling across the room. A man in a Noreldrai Grays uniform stumbled through it, and as he took a moment to straighten up and get his bearings Sothe shot him neatly in the head. He toppled backward against the doorframe, blocking the path of a second Gray who was struggling to get into the room. Sothe tossed her smoking pistol aside, switched the second one from left hand to right, and shot him, too, just as he was beginning to shout a warning. Then she drew a vicious, thick-bladed long knife into either hand, settled back on the balls of her feet, and waited.

“Your Majesty,” Marcus said urgently. “We have to get out of here.”

“Stay put,” Sothe snapped. “We don’t have a chance if they catch us in the open.”

“There isn’t time to explain.” Marcus grabbed Raesinia’s sleeve, but she yanked it away from him and set her jaw.

“I’m not leaving without her,” she said.

“But-”

Marcus was interrupted by the ring of steel on steel. At least a half dozen Grays had cleared the two bodies and rushed across the foyer, only to pile up again at the inner door. They’d left their muskets behind and drawn their straight-bladed swords, but these weapons were still long enough that the narrow confines of the doorway offered no room to swing. The first one charged with his sword lowered point-first, like a lance, but Sothe’s blade licked out and diverted the thrust so that it crashed into the decorative wainscoting and stuck there. Her off hand came up in an almost casual motion and drew a line across the guard’s throat, which opened in a spray of gore. He gave a bubbling shriek and stumbled backward, clutching the wound, until one of his companions shoved him roughly aside and came at Sothe with leveled blade.

“You can’t kill them all!” Marcus shouted, over the shouts of the attackers and the screech of blade against blade as Sothe blocked another thrust.

Yes, she can. Raesinia had never really had the opportunity to watch Sothe fight before. It was. . graceful was not the word, precisely, or elegant, though the latter was closer. Efficient, possibly. Sothe fought like a master butcher carving a pig, no unnecessary flourishes or brutality, just the minimum number of strokes necessary to reduce her opponents to piles of quivering meat. The second Gray fared no better than the first, going down with a long gash in his inner thigh that fountained a quite astonishing amount of blood. Two more tried to come at her together, but she simply retreated a step, letting them tangle each other up in the doorway. One of them managed a clumsy thrust, which she sidestepped neatly as she lopped off his hand at the wrist.

“We just need to hold until help arrives,” Sothe said, as this opponent fell back, screaming. She wasn’t even breathing hard. “Orlanko can’t have all the guards in the palace on his side-”

She checked an overhand swing from another Gray on one of her knives, falling back a step as he tried to force her down by main strength. Her other blade came up to gut him, but before it got there a pistol shot sounded from the foyer. Sothe’s opponent stiffened for a moment, then went limp, sword dropping from his slack fingers. He fell forward, collapsing on top of her, and she had to catch him under the armpits to avoid being bowled over. As she tossed him aside and looked up, a second shot sounded, and Sothe grunted and spun as if she’d been kicked in the shoulder by a mule. The deadweight of the guard bore them both to the floor in a heap.

Raesinia screamed and tried to dart forward, but Marcus grabbed her with his free hand and shoved her back against the wall. Four Grays surged through the doorway, spreading out with drawn swords. Standing in the foyer, smoking pistol still in hand, was a young man in a long dark coat. He tossed the weapon aside and strode forward, black leather fluttering around his ankles.

He spared only a cursory glance for Raesinia and Marcus. Instead he went to where the dead Gray lay atop Sothe and rolled the guard off with the toe of his boot. Sothe was on her back, completely still, and from where she stood Raesinia couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

“So,” the man said. “The Gray Rose, run to ground at last.” He glanced at the scattered corpses. “And with some teeth, after all. I commend you on a well-run chase.”

He drove his boot into her stomach with sudden violence, and Sothe gasped and rolled on her side, curling into a ball. Blood squelched on the floor under her shoulder.

“And still a bit of life in you,” he said. “Excellent. If you survive, His Grace will be very interested to hear what you have to say.”

As he spoke, the four Grays had spread out into a loose semicircle around Marcus. He kept his saber moving and backed away until he and Raesinia were pressed against the wall. The Concordat agent gave Sothe another kick, almost playfully, and was rewarded with another gasp of pain. Then, with the air of someone attending to an unpleasant but necessary matter, he came to stand behind the ring of guards.

“She was wrong, as it happens,” he said. “The Grays have been in the service of His Grace for some time, and the Grenadier Guards have orders not to interfere. Captain d’Ivoire’s handful of Armsmen have already been rounded up. Ohnlei is ours, Your Majesty.” He sketched a bow. “My name is Andreas. At your service.”

“Orlanko has finally gone mad,” Raesinia said. “This is treason.”

“He’ll hang for certain,” Marcus said. “But you don’t have to join him.”

“Treason is a slippery thing,” Andreas said. “It is, as they say, in the eye of the beholder, which means it depends on what people believe. And His Grace is an expert in that field.”

“The deputies are convening as we speak,” Raesinia said. “When I don’t turn up-”

“The Deputies-General, as they so quaintly style themselves, are also being taken in hand.” Andreas smiled. “Put down your sword, Captain, before you get hurt. I promise you, no harm will come to Her Majesty.”

There was a long pause. The tips of five swords hovered in the air, twitching with nervous tension.

If she asked him to, Raesinia was reasonably certain that Marcus would fight and, in all probability, die. Ben had done the same. Even Sothe-she couldn’t finish the thought. Why are they all so eager to sacrifice themselves for me? She wondered if she would do the same, if the circumstances were reversed, but of course the circumstances never could be reversed. Not for me.

I won’t let him die. There’s no point. She met Andreas’ eyes, opened her mouth to speak, and hesitated. Behind the Concordat agent, one of the Grays was grimly winding a cloth around the stump of his severed hand, while another was checking on his fallen comrades in the foyer. And Sothe-

One of Sothe’s hands was creeping across the floor, toward the hilt of one of her knives. It was only six inches away. Four. Her fingers twitched.

“I’ll go quietly,” Raesinia said, a little too loudly, “if you’ll let the captain go.”

Andreas shrugged. “We’ll have to take him into custody for the moment, but I see no reason he could not be released once matters are settled.”

“Your Majesty. .,” Marcus began. His voice was thick.

“Captain. Please.” She put her hand on his shoulder and went up on her toes, putting her lips as close to his ear as she dared. “Head left. The first door.”

Marcus, she had to admit, knew how to play a role. His shoulders slumped, as though acknowledging defeat, and he let his sword point fall. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent,” Andreas said, though he sounded a little disappointed. “Take them.” He turned away from Raesinia, as if she didn’t matter, and back toward Sothe-

Who was no longer there. The knife was a quicksilver blur, flashing across the room and burying itself to the hilt in the skull of one of the Grays on Raesinia’s left, pinning his peaked cap to his head. Sothe herself was rolling toward the doorway and came up on her feet, graceful in spite of the spreading stain on her shoulder and the deathly pallor in her face. She’d already drawn another knife and flicked it at a second Gray, who had half turned at the uproar and took the blade in the meat of his cheek. He screamed and dropped his sword.

Raesinia ran. There were two doors leading deeper into her suite, but only one that made sense as an escape route. It led to the sitting room at the base of the tower, against the outer wall, with its wide leaded-glass windows. Sothe obviously had come to the same conclusion, since she’d taken care of the two guards in that direction. There was a ring of steel from behind her, and Raesinia risked a look over her shoulder to see Marcus parrying a halfhearted stroke from one of the two remaining Grays, backpedaling rapidly in her wake. Raesinia reached the doorway, grabbed the frame with one hand, and let momentum swing her into the room.

Andreas had drawn his own sword, but for a moment he seemed unsure what to do. Sothe took advantage of the confusion to vault the injured Gray in the foyer door, picking up a dropped sword as she went. A wild slash scattered the two confused guards near the outer door, and then she was through.

“Tell the Last Duke,” she shouted over her shoulder, “that if he wants to catch the Gray Rose, he should send someone who will make a proper job of it!”

Andreas’ lip twisted into a snarl. “I’ll handle her,” he snapped at the nearest Gray. “Kill the damned Armsman, and bring the queen to the Cobweb.” Sothe was running down the corridor, and Andreas sprinted after her, well behind but gaining ground with every stride.

Marcus backed through the doorway, thrusting to drive back the Gray who tried to follow. Raesinia slammed the door in the guard’s face before he could close back in, and shot the bolt, for all the good it would do.

“Sothe will be fine,” she muttered. “I knew she would be fine. She’s-”

“We may want to attend to our own problems,” Marcus said. “We have to get to the gardens.”

“The gardens? Why?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.” He grinned tightly. “Or if not me, then my lord Count Mieran.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Raesinia nodded. “All right. There’ll be men on the path outside, but they may not be expecting us. You go through as soon as I’ve cleared the way.”

“Your Majesty?”

There was a thud from the door. They didn’t have more than a few seconds. Raesinia grabbed a heavy brass candelabra from the corner, hefted it thoughtfully, and looked at the windows. She’d often cursed those windows-if they’d only been proper modern windows, with a sash and a latch, she wouldn’t have had to begin every night by throwing herself off the roof. She’d fantasized about this exact moment, if not under these precise circumstances.

Raesinia pivoted on the ball of her foot and brought the end of the candelabra around in a whistling arc. The delicate repeating pattern of colored glass shattered into thousands of razor-edged shards as the web of lead struts that contained it bent and splayed outward. She was surprised to see that it didn’t give way entirely; a curtain of leadwork hung from the edges of the frame, like torn and tattered lace, with bits of glass still clinging to the edges. She brought the candelabra around again, and the second blow ripped through the soft metal and tore the whole thing away.

Marcus hurled himself through as soon as the frame was clear. It was a short drop to the gravel path outside, and he absorbed the fall with a crouch, then popped to his feet before the musket-armed Gray standing in his way could do more than raise his weapon. Marcus’ saber caught him in the stomach and doubled him over, and a kick sent him sprawling. Raesinia dropped the candelabra and jumped through, her stupid court shoes twisting under her weight as she landed in the gravel. She kicked them off and started running, and Marcus lumbered into motion after her, the medals and ornamentation on his dress uniform clinking gently. Behind them, a shout had gone up, and she could hear gravel crunching under the feet of more Grays as they took up the chase.

The path curved around the back of the palace and cut up toward the edge of the gardens. Continuing on would bring them to the vast lawns that flanked the Ministry buildings, which she assumed was Marcus’ intention. Instead he grabbed her hand as they passed a stone arch, which marked the edge of a set of walled and hedged gardens called the Bower of Queen Anne, planted by one of Raesinia’s illustrious ancestors in honor of his deceased wife. These were a set of narrow walkways, planted round with hedges, connecting several little clearings set with garden furniture and wound through with carefully manicured streams and beds of flowers. There was another arch at the far end, near the main drive, and one more that led directly into the building. But-

“He’ll have men out front for certain,” Raesinia said. “We’ll be trapped in there.” She tugged her hand free of his and pointed out toward the lawn. “That way-”

“The Grays have a cavalry company,” Marcus said. “We can’t risk open fields. You said you would trust me, Your Majesty.”

She grabbed his hand and followed him into the shadows of the walled garden.

Raesinia had not spent much time in the Bower of Queen Anne, but evidently Marcus had, or at least he’d done a thorough job of memorizing the layout. It wasn’t exactly a hedge maze, but it had been designed to let small groups have private garden parties in little out-of-the-way spaces, and the hedged-in paths were always going through unexpected switchbacks and right-angle turns and branching at intersections marked with trellises of climbing roses. The hedges were tall enough to cut off the morning sun, so they ran through shadows except when the path curved to the east and Raesinia had to shade her eyes against sudden brilliance.

Marcus pounded through the first two intersections without even slowing down, and broke out through an archway onto an open section. Raesinia followed, working hard to match the captain’s longer strides. For all his impression of stolidity, Marcus kept up a fair turn of speed once he got going, and it was only the binding’s soothing passes through her overworked legs that let her keep up with him. Something went pop in her ankle-she’d rolled it jumping out the window-but the muscles and tendons reknotted before her foot came down again.

The Grays were not far behind them. A half dozen of them burst into the clearing when she and Marcus were halfway across, dodging through the garden furniture. Four of the guards kept running, but two dropped to their knees and leveled their bayoneted muskets.

“Halt!” one of them shouted, with a heavy Noreldrai accent. “Or we fire!”

“Bluffing,” Raesinia gasped. “No good. To them. Dead.”

Marcus nodded, swerved around an errant chair, and ducked through the arch at the other end of the clearing. Raesinia flinched at a shattering crack of musketry from behind them, but the shots had been aimed well over her head, and she heard the balls zing merrily past. Someone swore in Noreldrai before the curve of the hedgerow cut them off again.

It was hard to keep track of directions, but Marcus seemed to be leading them deeper into the Bower. She’d thought they would try to pass straight through, perhaps commandeer a carriage out on the main drive, but he kept turning back toward the palace. There was another exit there, but it would surely be guarded. In fact, they could go around that way and cut us off-

No sooner had she had the thought than they reached another triangular intersection as a trio of Grays turned up from the opposite direction. The guards were as surprised as Raesinia was, and pulled up short, but Marcus let his momentum carry him into them, narrowly avoiding being skewered on a protruding bayonet. He lowered his shoulder and knocked one Gray off his feet and into the man behind him, then came around with a wild swing of his saber that opened a long cut across the stomach of the third.

“That way!” Marcus gestured with his free hand toward the third branch of the intersection. “Get to the fountain!”

That seemed to be the only available direction, and Raesinia was already headed toward it. The word “fountain” filled her with an unexpected chill, though, and she struggled to remember why. Sparkling lights danced in front of her eyes-the binding was working hard to keep her legs functioning, and had no energy to spare for small matters like a lack of blood to the brain.

The two unwounded Grays disentangled themselves, retreating a bit from Marcus’ furious swings, and were caught off guard when he turned his back on them and ran. Both raised their muskets, trying to get a shot off before he disappeared around a corner, but only one went off-the captain’s bull rush must have knocked the second hard enough to spill the powder from the pan. Raesinia heard the ball zip by and crash noisily into the hedges.

She rounded the corner and felt flagstones under her feet instead of dirt. Ahead was one of the fountains in the classical style with which Ohnlei was so generously supplied. A broad, low pool, contained by a stone lip, fired jets of water against a stone pedestal that supported an equestrian statue of Raesinia’s great-great-grandfather, Farus V. It was ringed by a circle of flagstones, already cracked and uneven in places where underground roots had wreaked havoc on the builders’ perfect order. A low stone wall, backed by a more imposing hedge, cut the little clearing off entirely from the rest of the Bower.

The fountain. Raesinia realized, belatedly, what she’d been trying to remember. There’s only one entrance. She skidded to a halt against the lip, and Marcus clomped and jingled his way to a stop beside her, panting hard. Raesinia had to remind herself to breathe, for verisimilitude.

“We’re. Stuck,” she managed. Marcus, bent over with his hands on his knees, was too out of breath to reply.

A few moments later, Grays started pouring into the clearing. They were disheveled from the long chase, sweating into their tailored uniforms, and most of them had lost their neat little caps. Half still had muskets, while the others had drawn their swords.

“That’s about enough, alvaunt,” gasped one, who had a sergeant’s stripes on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and straightened up. “We got you, yes? Sword down, hands up. You come with us.”

“Captain. .,” Raesinia began.

“Marcus,” he said, “under the circumstances.”

“I appreciate what you’ve done. But this is enough, don’t you think?”

Marcus let his sword fall. The clang of steel on stone echoed over the quiet babble of the fountain.

“I think you’re right,” he said. He was smiling.

The sound of boots on the flagstones behind them made a couple of the Noreldrai turn. The sergeant gestured angrily for them to keep their eyes on their prisoners, then spun to face the man who’d just sauntered through the archway.

“What in volse do you think you’re doing?” he barked.

Janus, wearing his dress blues in place of the civilian costume of the Minister of Justice, put on an innocent expression.

“Going for a walk?” he said.

The sergeant snorted. “You can explain that to His Grace.”

“I think it would be best,” Janus said, “if you and your men would stack your arms and sit quietly against the wall.”

“Excuse me?” The sergeant looked from Janus to his men. “Perhaps I speak your kishkasse language not as well as I thought.”

“I just thought I would warn you.”

The sergeant ran out of patience. He gestured with his sword, and the Grays advanced on Marcus and Raesinia. Two sword-wielding men sauntered over to deal with Janus, who wasn’t even armed.

Janus sighed, and raised his voice. “In your own time, Lieutenant Uhlan.”

Everyone froze, looking around to see whom he was addressing. In the same instant, two dozen long rifle barrels slid over the wall that edged the clearing.

Something hit Raesinia hard in the small of the back. It was Marcus, bearing her to the ground. He courteously put his other arm underneath her to cushion her fall against the flagstones, so she ended up pulled tight into a kind of embrace. The staccato crack of rifles at close range split the air, and billows of smoke filled the clearing with the scent of gun smoke. One or two blasts, closer to them, indicated that a few of the Grays had gotten a shot off, but in less than a half minute the burbling fountain was again audible.

“Very good, Lieutenant,” Janus said, in a conversational tone. “Captain?”

Marcus relaxed his grip on Raesinia’s shoulders. Raesinia took a deep breath-it had been like being hugged by a bear-and got a lungful of smoke, mixed with the scent of his sweat. She coughed, and wiped her eyes.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

“Fine,” Raesinia said, automatically. She’d skinned an elbow in the fall, but the cuts were already closing.

“No injuries, sir,” Marcus said aloud.

“Nobody hit here, sir,” said another voice, in a harsh accent Raesinia didn’t recognize.

“Good shooting,” Janus said.

There was another shot, not so close, but still loud enough to make Raesinia flinch. Marcus rolled off her, climbed to his feet, and offered her his hand. She took it, feeling a little unsteady. Another couple of shots drifted over the Bower, like distant handclaps. The clearing was wreathed in floating wisps of gun smoke, but she could see men in red uniforms climbing over the wall, long weapons in hand. The Grays were all down, either dead or keeping silent. The red-clad soldiers began to move among them while one bearing a lieutenant’s bars hurried over, saluted Janus, then bowed deeply in Raesinia’s direction.

“Your Majesty,” Janus said, “may I present Lieutenant Medio bet Uhlan, of the First Mierantai Volunteers. His family has been in the service of the counts of Mieran for four generations.”

“It’s an honor, Your Majesty,” Uhlan said, in what Raesinia assumed was a Mierantai accent. It sounded as if he spent his days gargling rocks.

“I owe you my life, sir,” Raesinia said, a slight exaggeration for dramatic effect. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Another couple of shots made both Uhlan and Janus cock their heads, listening carefully.

“Still just ours,” Uhlan said, and Janus nodded.

“Quite a few Grays got shaken loose in the chase,” he said to Raesinia. “They ended up wandering around the Bower, and the rest of Lieutenant Uhlan’s men are rounding them up. We should give them a couple of minutes.” He sighed. “I hope a few of them decide to surrender.”

“We got the bulk of them at their barracks, when Orlanko’s orders arrived,” Uhlan said. “They were ready to fight their way out, but it turned out that some absolute bastard had soaked all the powder in the armory the night before.” His grin was concealed behind a thick woodsman’s beard, but his eyes twinkled.

Raesinia looked at Janus. “You knew?”

“Not for certain, but it’s always wise to plan for contingencies.” He frowned. “Though I must admit this seemed a fairly probable contingency. What our friend the duke does not understand is that a perfect record of treachery is just as predictable as one of impeccable loyalty. You simply must always expect to be stabbed in the back, and you’ll never be surprised. Keeping faith occasionally would make him much harder to anticipate.”

“Orlanko.” Raesinia’s hand twisted into the fabric of her dress, fingers tightening. “Do you have enough men to storm the Cobweb?”

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” Janus said. “We have it blockaded, but there are too many tunnels and bolt-holes to cut him off completely. It’s possible the duke has already fled.”

“He’ll hang for this, I swear.” Her breath caught. “What about Sothe? Have you found her?”

“Her Majesty’s maidservant,” Marcus supplied. “She helped hold off the Grays. Last I saw her, she was running for it with a Concordat agent in hot pursuit.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Janus said. “But affairs are very confused at the moment. And, unfortunately, we have larger problems.”

It was hard for Raesinia to tear her mind away from Sothe, but once she did she jumped to the obvious conclusion. “The deputies. Andreas-the Concordat agent who came to arrest us-said they were going to be taken in hand.”

“It would be a foolish play to take the palace, only to lose it to the mob,” Janus agreed. “And Orlanko is not entirely a fool. I suggest we proceed to the cathedral at once. Lieutenant?”

Uhlan was consulting with a pair of red-uniformed Mierantai who’d just entered the clearing. He looked up. “We’re clear, sir. Got about thirty prisoners. Carriages are waiting in the main drive, and the sergeant commanding the Armsmen says he’s with us.”

“He’d damned well better be,” Marcus growled.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Janus said. “On days like this, it’s never easy to know which way to jump.” He and Marcus shared a look that spoke of some shared memory, and Marcus grunted. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

Uhlan barked orders in his harsh, nearly unintelligible dialect, and the Mierantai formed up around them. Marcus drifted back as the column set off, until he was walking beside Raesinia.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I could have told you earlier that this might happen.” He nodded at Janus. “He insisted that I not say anything until Orlanko tipped his hand. I think he was worried you might panic. But if I’d said something, Sothe might”-he hesitated-“might not have gotten hurt. I can see she’s. . important to you.”

Raesinia nodded, walking for a moment in silence. “I can hardly blame you for following orders.”

“Still. I’m sorry.” Marcus squared his shoulders, as though facing something unpleasant. “Whatever Orlanko had planned for the deputies may have happened already. Giforte is there with as many Armsmen as I could spare, but. .”

“I know.” Raesinia was thinking of Maurisk, Cora, and Sarton. Danton, Jane, Cyte, and all the rest.

“I hope we get there in time to do some good.”

Raesinia nodded grimly. “So do I.”