The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER TWENTY

RAESINIA

The setting sun painted a pale crimson line through the gun slit in Raesinia’s chamber on the top floor of the Vendre. It was a spacious room, and some effort had been made in the way of hangings and furniture to make it into a fit habitation for a queen. No amount of carpets or tapestries could conceal the thickness of the stone walls, though, or the fact that the door was locked from the outside and watched by the Patriot Guard day and night. The gun slit was not large enough to squeeze through, even for a prisoner like Raesinia who was willing to chance the four-story fall.

It was from just above here, after all, that she’d fallen with Faro.

She wondered if she could have avoided that, somehow. Was there some point on the twisting path where she could have taken a different turn, so that Ben wouldn’t have been killed, Faro wouldn’t have turned traitor? So that it wouldn’t have come to this, waiting in a cell barely a week after her father’s death. Some history the reign of Queen Raesinia will make.

Still. Better the Deputies-General than Orlanko. Better the mob than the Church and its demons. It was a small comfort, but it was all she had. If that wasn’t true, if the people weren’t better off, then everything she’d done was both monumentally selfish and ultimately pointless, given how it had ended up. She wasn’t sure she could live with that.

Not that I have a choice in the matter.

There was a knock at the door. Raesinia sat up in bed. Servants came and went all the time, but they didn’t knock. She’d had no other visitors.

“Yes?”

“I wonder if you have a moment to see me, Your Majesty,” came a voice from outside. It took Raesinia a moment to recognize it as Maurisk’s. He sounded hoarse.

“Of course,” she said. “Come in.”

She stood up and crossed to the table as he entered. There was a crystal pitcher of water there, and a bowl of fruit.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer much in the way of hospitality,” she said. “But help yourself.”

Maurisk didn’t smile. His thin face didn’t seem made for smiles, and since she’d last seen him it had grown even less cheerful. His eyes were sunken and dark, almost bruised, and his cheekbones stood out sharply through his thin, pale flesh.

He was dressed more respectably than in their Blue Mask days, complete with the black sash of a deputy, trimmed with a band of cloth-of-gold. One hand tugged at the sash constantly, adjusting it this way and that. His lips were tight and cold.

He said nothing while the guard shut the door behind him, only stared hard at Raesinia’s face. She felt herself flush under the scrutiny, and put on her haughtiest expression.

“Is something wrong?” she said.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said flatly. “Raesinia Smith. It was you all along. I got a look at you on the bridge, and I thought. . But I wasn’t sure.”

Raesinia put a hand on the table to steady herself, and said nothing.

“I can see how you thought no one would notice,” Maurisk said. He started to pace, as he had done a thousand times in the back room of the Mask. “After all, who actually meets the princess? Only courtiers at Ohnlei. So you sneak out in the middle of the night for-what, a bit of fun?”

“Fun?” Raesinia’s cheeks colored. “You think I did this for fun?”

“Why, then?”

“For all the reasons I told you! Because if someone didn’t stop him, Duke Orlanko was going to take the throne and end up selling the country to the Borels. Because my father was dying and there was nobody at Ohnlei I could trust.” Except Sothe, she added silently, and felt her throat thicken. Sothe, where are you?

“But you couldn’t trust us with who you really were?” He shook his head. “No, of course not. You never really trusted us. If you’d let us in on your plans, things might have gone differently.”

“I did the best I could.”

Maurisk laughed mirthlessly. “The world’s most popular epitaph.”

Raesinia glared at him, her fingers tightening on the tabletop. Maurisk reached the wall, turned around, and started back toward her.

“What happened, that night on the wall?” He stopped just in front of her and brushed the hair back from her temple. “I saw Faro shoot you. I know I did. And yet-”

“I had a. . double.” Raesinia had had plenty of time to think about her story. “Lauren. A girl who looked like me. We used her at court, sometimes, when I needed to get away. That last night, when Rose planned to unmask Faro, she told me I should stay behind and Lauren should go in my place. I didn’t want to, but. .”

“I guessed it would be something like that,” Maurisk said. “So it’s just another body to lay at your door. Along with Ben, and Faro, and poor, stupid Danton.”

“We did what we needed to do. You know that.” Raesinia waved a hand at the door and the Patriot Guard beyond. “All this was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe that is why it vexes me,” Maurisk said. “You. . you used us. But, in the end, it came out right.”

“Perhaps God has a sense of irony.”

“Perhaps.” Maurisk put his hand in his pocket, and she heard the crinkle of paper. “Or perhaps not. Orlanko is on his way back, you see, with seven thousand Royal Army regulars. A group of our men went off to try to stop them, and we’ve just heard the results of the battle.” He shook his head. “If you can call it a battle. The deputies are terrified.”

“What are they going to do?”

“I have no idea.” He sighed. “That’s why I came to see you. Tomorrow morning the deputies will meet, perhaps for the last time. They may want you to come out and take charge of the city yourself. Or they may decide we ought to hand you over to Orlanko and save our skins. Either way, I thought this might be our last chance to. . talk.”

“What do you want from me?” Raesinia said. “An apology?”

“You know, I have no idea. I thought I would come here, confront you, force you to break down and admit the truth. After that. .” He shrugged.

“Are you going to tell everyone, now that you’ve got it?”

“I suppose I can’t, can I? What good would it do now?” Maurisk stalked back and forth. “You ought to pay for treating people like they were. . like they were game pieces, but the truth is we still need you for our game.”

“Will you tell me something?”

He turned, eyes burning. “What?”

“Are the others all right? I know Danton died at the cathedral. What about Sarton, and Cora?”

Maurisk snorted. “You expect me to believe that you care?”

“Please,” Raesinia said, quietly.

He paused, then shook his head. “They’re all right. Sarton is working with the Guard on some secret project. Cora sits in the Deputies and doesn’t say much.” He scowled. “She loved you like you were her own sister, you know. If I told her what you’d done. .”

Raesinia privately thought that Cora would be happy she was alive, rather than angry at being fooled. But for Maurisk, finding out that Raesinia had been putting up a false front all this time was only one more example of the base treachery of the people in power. Out of all the cabal, he had burned the hottest with the ideological fire of rebellion.

“Thank you,” she said.

He gave a curt nod. “As you say. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

MARCUS

Marcus guessed their plan was working when his guards delivered a freshly laundered uniform, soap, and a razor. He spent an hour making himself as presentable as he could with a basin and a hand mirror, stripping off his old, sweaty things with considerable relief. The new uniform-that of a captain in the army, not the green of the Armsmen-didn’t quite fit, but it was close, and when Marcus looked in the mirror and saw a neatly trimmed beard and white stripes on his shoulders, he felt closer to being himself than he had in a long time.

Not long after, a polite young Patriot Guardsman came to fetch him. Accompanied by a squad of a half dozen men, they left the Vendre and made their way to the cathedral. But not directly, Marcus noticed. That would have taken them through Farus’ Triumph and Cathedral Square. Instead they circled around via Water Street and approached the cathedral from the rear, slipping in through an entrance to the long-disused kitchens. Marcus thought he could hear the roar of a mob, somewhere nearby, and he smiled.

The Deputies-General reminded him of his visit with the Prince of Khandar at Fort Valor-a desperate attempt to recreate the trappings of something important, but assembled in such haste that it was little more than a lick of whitewash over rotten wood. They clustered on half-built bleachers, carrying on a dozen arguments at once, while overhead crude blue-and-silver banners covered up the Sworn Church emblems carved into the walls. The altar was screened behind a curtain.

No one seemed to take any notice of him until the man at the rostrum called for silence. The guards on either side of him beat their muskets against the floor until everyone quieted down, but that only made the shouts of the crowd audible. They were muffled by the walls, but he could make out a rhythmic chant, repeated by thousands of voices.

“Captain d’Ivoire,” said the president, a hollow-faced young man Marcus remembered vaguely from the fall of the Vendre. “I’m glad you could join us, and I apologize for the circumstances, and for your own confinement. I hope you understand.”

“Of course.” Marcus inclined his head. “I am always prepared to serve Vordan.”

He scanned the rows of anxious faces on the bleachers until he found Ihernglass. He was still in his feminine disguise-honestly, Marcus thought it wasn’t terribly convincing, but he hadn’t had the heart to say so-wearing a dark coat and the black sash of a deputy. When he caught Marcus’ eye, he nodded, very slightly. Marcus worked hard to keep a straight face.

“It is good to see such loyalty in a military man,” the president said. “I regret to say that many of your colleagues have chosen to betray this assembly, proclaimed by the queen herself and chosen by the people. You may have heard that several regiments of the Royal Army are on their way to the city as we speak.”

“I have heard that,” Marcus admitted.

“One of our own, the valiant Deputy Peddoc, took it on his own initiative to try to stop them. This assembly did not give its approval”-here the president glared at a cluster of deputies on the left-“and his actions were therefore illegal, but no one can question his courage, or that of those who marched with him. Unfortunately, it appears that they have been. .” He searched for a word.

“Crushed?” Marcus said. The president winced but nodded. Marcus shrugged. “I’m not surprised. As a military man, I could have told you that taking an untrained militia into the field against heavy cavalry was foolish in the extreme. I imagine they broke at the first charge of the cuirassiers.”

“So it would seem,” the president said. “Captain, I hope you can see our dilemma. It is our charge to protect the people of this country, this city, against the foreigners who would usurp the throne and impose their taxes and religion on us. Those most capable of doing this are obviously the officers of Her Majesty’s Royal Army. And yet-”

“You don’t trust us,” Marcus said.

“I would rather say-”

“Say what you mean. I don’t fault you, because you’re right. When it comes down to it, I suspect most officers would obey an order from the Minister of War over one from a self-appointed ‘assembly’ holding the queen hostage.”

Someone stood up on the right side of the bleachers. “Her Majesty is not a hostage!”

“Is she free to leave, then?” Marcus said.

“She will be,” the deputy said, “once our new constitution is written and the status of the deputies is confirmed. But ‘hostage’ implies that we might bring her harm, and I for one would resign from this assembly if that were even suggested!”

“That’s how we can get rid of you, then!” said a voice from the left, followed by chuckles and shouts of disapproval.

“The status of the queen,” the president cut in, “has yet to be determined. But I remind you that she sanctioned the deputies, voluntarily ceding power to the representatives of the people-”

“You can explain that to the colonels of those regiments, then,” Marcus said. “I’m sure the Last Duke won’t mind.”

More laughter. The Guards slammed their muskets for quiet.

“And what about you, Captain d’Ivoire?” said the president, once the tumult had calmed. “Where do your loyalties lie?”

“With the queen and the nation, of course,” Marcus said. “And the men under my command.”

“That’s a nicely elliptical response.”

“Look,” Marcus said. “We all know that’s not the question you brought me here to answer. Why don’t you come out and ask it?”

The president snorted. “As you wish. The suggestion has been put to this assembly that there is an officer of exceptional ability in the city, and that we ought to place our defense in his hands.”

“And?”

“You served with him, I understand. In your opinion, is he all he is said to be?”

“That, and more,” Marcus said. “I haven’t read everything that’s been written on the Khandarai campaign, but what I’ve seen in the papers if anything understates the case. Anyone who was there could tell you.”

“People who were there are hard to come by,” the president said dryly. “So you think he would be up to the task?”

“I would be willing to try it, under him,” Marcus said. “And that’s more than I can say for anyone else.”

“But the more important question, Captain, is can we trust him?” The president waved toward the main doors. “He is. . a hero. Beloved of the people. Will he accept the authority of the deputies? Or would he be another Orlanko, and seize power for himself?”

“I believe he is loyal to his queen and his country.”

“That’s not good enough!” said a deputy from the right.

“If he serves only the queen,” said one from the left, “she might have the power to overturn everything we’ve accomplished-”

“Gentlemen!” Marcus said. “Could I ask you to open those doors?”

The Guardsmen looked at the president, who looked at Marcus for a long moment, then nodded. Two Guardsmen by the main doors pulled them open, and the sound of the crowd outside redoubled.

“You claim to represent the people,” Marcus said, shouting to be heard over the noise. “Well, there they are! I think they’ve made their wishes clear.” He looked up at the president. “Unless one of you would like to go out there and explain it to them?”

The president’s sunken eyes met Marcus’. His lips tightened until they were white.

“It seems,” he said, “that we have no choice.”

“Vhalnich!” The roar of the crowd crashed through the cathedral like ocean waves. “Vhal-nich, Vhal-nich, Vhal-nich!”

“No,” Marcus said. “I don’t think you do.”

On the way back to the Vendre, the Patriot Guard walked behind him, an escort instead of a prisoner detail. It was a subtle difference, but one that Marcus could appreciate. They left in the same roundabout manner they’d arrived, so as not to get bogged down, but Marcus could hear the cheers of the crowd as the good news was announced.

The look the president had given him before sending him off had been pure poison, though. I’ll have to tell Janus to watch out for that one.

The Guards at the Vendre had gotten the news, too, and they stood aside as Marcus entered. Some of them even saluted inexpertly as he passed. He went directly to the third floor of the tower, where a large room directly underneath the queen’s had been given over to the Vendre’s second most important prisoner.

The guard by the door unlocked it and stepped formally out of the way. Marcus put his hand on the latch, hesitated, then knocked.

“Come in,” Janus said.

Marcus opened the door. The cell was much like his own, though larger and slightly better furnished. Janus was sitting at a round table with a stack of letters. He signed the page under his hand with a flourish, set his pen aside, and sprinkled the ink with fine sand from a dish. Only then did he look up and favor Marcus with one of his there-and-gone-again smiles.

“Ah, Captain. It’s good to see you.”

“And you, sir.”

Marcus felt as though it had been ages since he’d laid eyes on the colonel, but Janus behaved as though he’d stepped out of the room only moments earlier. He, also, was clean-shaven and in a fresh uniform, not the fancy courtier’s getup but the plain blue field uniform of an army colonel. The silver eagles on his shoulders gleamed.

Janus put his letter carefully on top of the others. “You’re here, I assume, to tell me that the deputies have decided to put me in charge of the city’s defense?”

Marcus felt his mouth hang open for a moment. He closed it, firmly. “Someone’s already told you, sir?”

“Not at all. The guards are very careful when they speak to me.”

“Then-” Marcus gritted his teeth. “Don’t tell me this was part of the plan all along.”

Janus looked up at him, surprised. After a moment, he laughed. “Oh no, Captain. No, only simple logic. After the arrests, there were only two logical courses for the deputies to take, and one of them was to put me in charge.”

“What was the other?”

“To have me executed, obviously. But if they were going to do that, they’d hardly send you to bring the news.” He tidied the edge of the stack of letters, picked it up, and got to his feet. “Shall we go?”

In the corridor outside, they waited while the Guard fetched Janus’ sword, and Marcus explained what he knew of what had been happening, including Peddoc’s march and Orlanko’s subsequent victory.

“It’s too bad they didn’t send for you sooner,” Marcus said. “After what happened to Peddoc, it’s not going to be easy to get people to fight.”

“True,” Janus said. “On the other hand, it buys us time.”

“How so? There’s nothing stopping Orlanko from marching on the city.”

“He won’t do that if he can possibly avoid it. Fighting in the city itself could lead to a long battle, and give his troops the chance to change their minds about their allegiance, not to mention causing considerable damage. Peddoc gave him exactly what he wanted, a nice quick victory in the open field. Now that he has it, he’ll try to convince the deputies to surrender.”

Marcus nodded. “That makes sense. Quite a few of them looked a little queasy with the way things are going. If Orlanko gave them an out, they’d probably take it.”

“And end up on the scaffold just as soon as he got things under control. We need to make it clear to them that the Last Duke is not to be trusted, whatever he offers.”

The guard returned, carrying not only Janus’ thin sword but Marcus’ battered old saber. He buckled it on and was surprised at how much better he felt with the familiar weight on his hip.

“Incidentally,” Janus said, “I’m impressed that you managed to persuade the deputies to order my release so quickly. I was worried they might wait until it was too late.”

“I had help with that, sir. Lieutenant Ihernglass is still on assignment”-he waggled his eyebrows suggestively-“and he’s made some very useful contacts. They were able to spread the notion that putting the hero of Khandar in charge would be just the thing.”

“I. . see.” Janus had an odd expression for a moment, then shook his head. “You’ll have to bring me up to date on the lieutenant’s activities, but some other time. Are Lieutenant Uhlan and his men being held here at the Vendre?”

Marcus glanced at one of the guards, who gave an awed nod. Janus fixed the man with those huge gray eyes.

“Bring them down to the common room, if you would, and find me a candle and a stick of sealing wax.” He flourished the stack of papers. “I have messages that need delivering.”

“You wrote all those out on the assumption they were going to put you in charge, rather than execute you?” Marcus said, as they went downstairs.

“Indeed. I had time on my hands, so I thought I might as well get something accomplished. If they decided the other way, well, no harm done.”

“No harm done.” Marcus shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sir, but you can be very odd at times.”

Janus cocked his head. “Really, Captain? It seems perfectly logical to me.”

An hour later, about a dozen of the Mierantai had been mounted on horses from the prison stables and sent riding in various directions, though to what end Marcus had no idea. The rest-almost a hundred men-had been returned their red-and-blue uniforms and their long hunting rifles. Lieutenant Uhlan led them out in a double column through the front gate, with Janus and Marcus strolling between them.

“The deputies asked me to bring you to the cathedral,” Marcus said. “I imagine they want you to swear eternal loyalty and listen to speeches.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint them,” Janus said. “There is a great deal to be done, and time may be very short. Can I rely on you for a few of the more sensitive tasks?”

Marcus instinctively straightened to attention. “Of course, sir.”

“First, you must deliver my regrets to the deputies. Tell them I would be honored if they would join me in Farus’ Triumph tomorrow, an hour before noon, and that I will be more than happy to swear any required oaths there in public.”

Marcus nodded. “They may not like that.”

“If we survive the next few days, I’ll happily take up the issue with them. For now, time is of the essence.”

“Yessir.”

“After that, get in touch with Lieutenant Ihernglass. Ask him to spread the word among his Southside contacts that the new commander will be giving a speech in the Triumph tomorrow. We’ll want a crowd.”

Marcus nodded. Privately he wondered what, exactly, Janus had in mind, but he knew better than to ask. The colonel would share his plans when he thought it was important, but he had a taste for the theatrical, and he loved to whip away the bedsheet at the last minute to show that the lady had vanished. It was a failing in a senior officer, Marcus thought, but as such things went, a fairly minor one.

“After that,” Janus went on, “I need you to fetch the queen from the Vendre.”

Marcus blinked. “The queen, sir? I mean. . I’m not sure. .”

“Lieutenant Uhlan will assign you a squad, but if the Guards give you any trouble, please direct them to me. And I would think you would be on familiar terms with Her Majesty after your adventure in the palace garden.”

“That’s true, sir. I’m sorry. It caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Marcus had a space in his mind labeled “Queen,” and he couldn’t quite make the waifish young woman he’d escorted from the palace fit into it. “Where would you like me to take her?”

“There’s a manor house called the Twin Turrets on Saint Vallax’s, not far from Bridge Street, that I happen to own. I’ll send another squad there to make sure it’s secure, and we’ll use that as our headquarters. You can take Her Majesty there, and bring her to the Triumph in the morning.”

“Understood, sir.”

“After that. .” Janus paused. “Your vice captain of Armsmen. Giforte, was it?”

“Yessir. Alek Giforte.”

“What did you think of him?”

“He’s. . a good man, I think. Cautious. The men have-had-a great deal of respect for him. He’s been vice captain a long time, and quite a few captains have come and gone. He more or less ran the place. But. .”

Janus quirked an eyebrow. Marcus hesitated.

“He’s been doing jobs for Orlanko. ‘Fixing’ things.”

“Logical, I suppose,” Janus said. “He’d need someone in the organization. I assume Orlanko had some hold over him?”

Marcus nodded. “Debt.”

“Ah, the old standard.” Janus fixed Marcus with a curious stare. “His credibility with the Armsmen would be an asset. Do you think we can use him?”

“I. .” Marcus paused again. “I think his loyalty is in the right place, sir. But the Armsmen don’t really exist anymore. Some of them joined up with the Greens, and they’re probably Orlanko’s prisoners. The rest are lying low, I would think.”

“We’re going to need them, Captain. Along with every other man in the city with any kind of military training. Track down Giforte and sound him out, see if he’d be willing to serve the queen against the duke. If you think he’s trustworthy, have him start rounding up Armsmen. Not just the current ones, either. Any retired men who can still hold a musket would be welcome.”

“I’ll see if he’s willing, sir. If he is, I think we can trust him. His daughter is part of the group associated with Lieutenant Ihernglass’ contact.”

“I see. Excellent.” Janus clapped Marcus on the shoulder and smiled. “Off with you, then, Captain. We both have a great deal to do.”

It was, indeed, a busy day.

Giforte was nowhere to be found. According to the servants at the vice captain’s house, he hadn’t returned since the day the queen had surrendered to the deputies. Apart from that, though, his errands went swimmingly. The deputies had been a good deal more polite than Marcus had anticipated, which he suspected had a lot to do with the twenty armed Mierantai who accompanied him. Their uniforms were a bit rumpled, but they were well disciplined and made a sharp contrast to the sloppy Patriot Guard. Afterward, he’d managed to pass the word to Ihernglass before hurrying back to the Vendre to retrieve the queen.

Retrieve the queen. Marcus shook his head. Wouldn’t Mother be proud? Me, escorting the queen. Sleeping under the same roof as the queen, even!

The Twin Turrets occupied a very fine address, south of First Avenue and on the west side of Saint Vallax Street. It was a three-story stone manor set on a round, flat green, which was surrounded by a dense belt of colorful trees that mostly screened it from the view of its neighbors. The turrets that gave it its name were round and open-topped, rising from either end of the house and giving it a vaguely horned appearance. There had been surprisingly little looting and disorder on this side of the river, and along the front of the house the gardens were in full bloom.

It had obviously been locked up until recently, but by the time Marcus arrived the dust sheets had been taken off the furniture and a small squadron of staff was busy mopping the floors, hauling the art out of the attic, and generally making things presentable. Marcus recognized some of them from the Ohnlei cottage, more Mierantai imported by Janus from his home county. If they were intimidated at having the queen in the house, they didn’t show it.

Now it was morning. Marcus’ uniform had been thoroughly washed, dried, and folded overnight, and several of his shoddier pieces of kit, including his boots, had been replaced. His sword, old leather scabbard industriously buffed to a sheen it hadn’t had in years, lay on top of the pile. It was the kind of quiet efficiency that reminded him of Fitz Warus, or for that matter of Janus’ manservant Augustin. I wonder if all servants are like that in Mieran County. Or maybe, he thought, this was what it was like to be a noble-everything just happened, without your intervention or even your knowledge. It made him feel odd, as though the house were inhabited by helpful, invisible elves.

He came down from his bedroom-directly beneath one of the turrets, with a fine east view-and found the queen breakfasting in the dining room, attended by a servant and a pair of Mierantai guards. The table had been laid with an impressive meal, with a great river trout as the centerpiece, its head sitting in front of it on a separate plate and staring at Marcus with a resentful, fishy eye. It was buttressed by ham and bacon, buttered potatoes, diced eggs, and loaves of bread so steaming hot they could only have come from the house’s own ovens. Marcus’ stomach gave a growl at the sight of the food. The queen, he noticed, was only sipping at a glass of water and nibbling a heel of bread.

She was dressed plainly, in a sleeveless black dress with no jewels or ornamentation, her brown hair tied in a simple braid. Her pretty brown eyes were vague, focused on the middle distance, and Marcus could almost hear the brass wheels turning behind them. She looked for all the world like somebody’s younger sister, a skinny girl in her late teens, perhaps a touch too serious for her own good.

As opposed to a woman of twenty, and ruler in her own right of one of the most powerful nations in the world. He shook his head, bemused. Assuming that nation doesn’t fall down around her ears in the next couple of weeks.

“Are you going to join me, Captain?” she said.

They hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other on the way over, and Marcus was at a loss for how to begin. He cleared his throat. “Would that be proper, Your Majesty?”

“Seeing as we’re not at Ohnlei, I think we can dispense with formal precedence. Besides, proper is whatever I say it is, isn’t it?”

“As you wish.” He bowed and pulled out a chair to sit beside her.

“And eat something, please. I don’t eat much, and I would hate for the chef to feel like his work had gone unappreciated.”

Marcus needed no urging on that score. His rations in the Vendre hadn’t been a prisoner’s bread and water, but they hadn’t been much better. He helped himself to a slice of the trout-what’s the point of leaving the head there-are we supposed to eat it? — and filled his plate with samples of the rest. Then he engaged in silent contemplation for some time while the queen watched, amused.

“Do all soldiers eat like that?” she said, when he’d cleaned his plate and started on a second round.

“Only when they’ve been locked up for a week,” Marcus said, and then added hastily, “Your Majesty.”

She smiled, took a small bite of her bread, and set it back.

“You’re not hungry?” he said.

“I never eat much,” she said. “Doctor-Professor Indergast says it may be an aftereffect of my illness, along with”-she gestured at herself and grinned ruefully-“my stature.”

“I didn’t know you were ailing, Your Majesty.”

“I was ill. This was four years ago-you would have already been in Khandar, I think. For a while they were certain I would die, but by the grace of God”-she had an odd look-“I survived. I suppose a diminished appetite is a small price to pay.” She waved at his plate. “Don’t let me put you off your food, of course.”

Marcus nodded, uncertainly, and looked down at this plate. It was still half-full, but his appetite had gone. He cut a bit more fish, for the look of the thing.

“They tell me that you’re to escort me to some sort of gathering Count Mieran has planned for this morning,” the queen said while he ate.

“Yes, Your Majesty. He asked for us an hour before noon.”

“The last time you came to escort me somewhere, we ended up jumping out a window.” She looked around the dining room, which was windowless and candlelit. “I hope that’s not the usual procedure, with you.”

“Ah. . no, Your Majesty.”

There was a pause.

“That was an attempt at humor, Captain. A poor one, I admit, but you might at least smile.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m not accustomed to such lofty company.”

She shrugged. “You needn’t be so formal. Being shot at together creates a certain amount of familiarity, I think.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Do you have any idea what the count might have planned for us?”

“He mentioned that he was going to make a speech to the deputies, and that you might make one as well.”

“I know. Fortunately, I’ve been composing one in my head ever since they locked me up. I spent last night writing it out.”

“I hope you got some sleep as well.”

“Enough for my needs,” she said. “You don’t know anything else about the count’s plan?”

“The colonel,” Marcus said, “that is, Count Mieran, is not in the habit of letting anyone know the whole of his plans.”

“That must be irritating,” the queen said, smiling very slightly.

“Sometimes. But it makes serving under him more interesting.” Not to mention dangerous, but he didn’t need to tell her that.

“Well. We’d best go find out, then.”

Marcus pushed his plate back and got to his feet. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“I wonder. .” She hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have you heard from Sothe?” The queen set her jaw. “I’m certain she’s alive, somewhere. But she might need help. I thought you might know something.”

Marcus shook his head. “I’ve only been out of prison for a day and a half myself, Your Majesty, and the Armsmen have more or less disbanded. I don’t have any information, but there’s no reason I should. If you like, I can inquire with Count Mieran.”

“Please do.” The queen pushed herself back from the table and got to her feet. “Let’s be off.”

RAESINIA

A string of three carriages took them the short distance from the Twin Turrets to the edge of Farus’ Triumph, across Saint Vallax Bridge. Raesinia sat in the center one with Marcus and a pair of guards, while the rest of the squad rode in and on top of the other two. Janus clearly remembered what had happened last time, and he’d ordered the escort to take no chances.

Perhaps he has a specific reason to be worried. Raesinia had heard a dozen versions of the story of Danton’s assassination, but all agreed that the killer had worn a strange, glittering black mask. Most people assumed this was only the odd affectation of a lunatic-a man who had vanished in the midst of the crowd moments later-but Raesinia knew better. A mask like that figured in her darkest memories, reflecting the light of dozens of candles ringing her deathbed. The man who’d worn it had led her through an incomprehensible incantation, pausing every few moments as she coughed a little bit more of her life away. Raesinia, terrified and in pain, had done as she was told, even as she felt the binding trying to tear her soul to pieces. And when she’d finished. .

The masks belonged to the Priests of the Black, the inquisitors of the Church, supposedly extinct for a hundred years. Where they’d struck once, they could strike again.

Of course, it would take more than a pistol for them to assassinate me. But getting shot in public would be extremely inconvenient, and it made her glad of Janus’ precautions.

The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun beat down with all the force of late summer. Farus’ Triumph was crowded, as it had been when Danton made his speeches, but something in the air had changed. Those assemblies had possessed a palpable, crackling energy, leaping from man to man, cresting in wild waves whenever the great orator reached a crescendo. Today the people looked tired and suspicious, wilting in the heat. The enthusiasm had been replaced by fear.

They’d demanded Vhalnich, and now they had him. But, each man asked his neighbor, what could even Vhalnich really do? They had no troops, no weapons, just a few hundred fools in black sashes and a lot of empty promises, and bread was more expensive than ever. Wouldn’t it be safer to hand the whole lot over to Orlanko? Hadn’t things, some might say, been better under the Last Duke? Say what you like, he’d made things work. The Concordat might have been brutal, but they were certainly efficient.

With the windows closed, Raesinia could hear none of this, of course. It was only a story she constructed in her mind, watching the sour faces as the carriages rolled past and imagining the whispers that followed in her wake. Marcus was staring out the windows, too, though she guessed he was more focused on potential threats. She felt better, having him along. There was something very solid and reliable about the captain, although she still missed the comforting knowledge that Sothe was out there watching.

The crowd was densest around the central fountain with its speaker’s rostrum. At Marcus’ suggestion, they halted the carriages and disembarked, the Mierantai guard forming around the pair of them in a tight cordon. People drew back from the unfamiliar uniforms, and protected by this flying wedge of soldiers Raesinia and Marcus made their way to the base of the fountain, where a clear space had been carved out by a ring of Patriot Guards. There was a moment of tension as the Mierantai and the Patriots faced off, but Janus’ orders had been specific. Most of the Mierantai peeled off, reinforcing the outer cordon, but four of the soldiers stayed with the queen and the captain as they passed beyond the ring of Patriots.

Inside the cordon of Guardsmen, the Deputies-General were milling around, staring up at the still-empty rostrum and fingering their black sashes. Raesinia saw Maurisk, his sash edged with gold, in the center of a knot of deputies. Winter and Cyte would be in there, too, she thought, but this wasn’t the time to seek them out. Let’s see how the speech goes over first.

A few eyes were turned in her direction, but for the most part people took little notice of her. There was nothing to mark out this girl in mourning dress as the queen. No great nobles or retinue attended her, just a few of Janus’ men and one blue-uniformed captain. Marcus drew more stares than she did; Royal Army uniforms were an uncommon sight in the city.

The agitation of the crowd warned her of Janus’ approach, accompanied by another wedge of Mierantai. There were even a few cheers, though these died quickly, like sparks falling on damp tinder. Janus himself strode ahead of his men, stopped in front of Raesinia, and bowed low.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

“It seemed polite,” she said, “after your men rescued me from the Vendre.”

His lip quirked. “Do you have your speech ready?”

“I do.” It was written out on a few folded pages in her pocket. “Would you like me to start?”

“Please.” Janus clicked open his pocket watch, frowned, and returned it to his pocket. “A reasonably brief address would be best.”

“Why?”

He smiled again but said nothing. Raesinia exchanged a knowing look with Marcus, and shook her head.

“Captain,” she said, “would you do me the honor of introducing me, and asking for quiet?”

Marcus bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

They started up the circular staircase that led to the platform halfway up Farus V’s fantastic monument. It was, Raesinia noted inanely, quite high off the ground. For someone who had jumped from a tower roof on a regular basis, the little thrill in the pit of her stomach seemed ridiculous, but she felt it anyway. Two of the Mierantai stationed themselves at the base of the stairs, while the other pair followed her and Marcus up to the rostrum and waited just out of sight.

A startled, unsteady cheer rose from the crowd when she appeared, and people finally realized who they were looking at. For most of the people, she knew, this would be their initial look at the new queen. For the first time in her life, she wished that she were wearing something more impressive.

Marcus stepped to the edge of the rostrum and held up his hands, waiting for the cheers to die away. A hush fell over the square, a silence full of murmurs and rustles. When Marcus spoke, his words dropped into it like pebbles tossed into a bottomless pit.

“Welcome,” the captain said, then cleared his throat. “I have the honor to present Her Majesty Raesinia Orboan, Queen of Vordan. May God grace her and Karis’ favor protect her.”

The archaic form was echoed, first by the deputies, then by the crowd, in a ripple of muttered words spreading out from the fountain. Marcus bowed low to Raesinia and stepped out of the way. She squared her shoulders and walked to the edge of the platform.

She’d never done this. Arguing in the back of the Blue Mask was one thing, with a few friends who were half-drunk and wouldn’t hesitate to shout you down if they thought you were being a bore. Trying to convince the crowd in its gathered thousands, while they stared up in respectful, quizzical silence, was quite another. Raesinia felt her heart flutter, and she thrust one hand in her pocket and closed it into a fist around the folded copy of her speech. Down below, lined up at the edge of the fountain, the deputies waited. Maurisk’s piercing eyes were in the front row, glittering with rancor.

“The Kingdom of Vordan,” she said. She hated the sound of her voice, a little-girl voice, not the voice of a queen. At the moment, she would gladly have parted with her right arm for Danton’s effortless, rolling baritone. Concentrate on the words, she thought. Those, at least, had always been hers.

“The Kingdom of Vordan is the only nation in the world that came into being through the will of its own people. In the year nine hundred ninety-two, the year of the Great Flood, the people of Vordan became fed up with the petty barons who liked playing at war better than serving their people. They elected the Deputies-General to speak for them. Those deputies went to the one baron whom the people trusted, the one ruler whose land had prospered, the man who had defended his people in times of war and cared for them in times of trouble. To this man, they gave the crown, and said, ‘Please rule over us. Care for all the people, as you have cared for your own.’

“That man was Farus Orboan. Farus the Conqueror, we call him now, but it is important to remember that the deputies chose him before he won his fame on the battlefield. They chose him because they trusted him with the crown, in the name of the people. He would care for them, as a father cared for his children.

“The Sworn Church tells the King of Borel and the Emperor of Murnsk that they rule by divine right, that they are appointed by God and answer to no earthly authority. In Hamvelt and the League cities, rule is by the strongest or the richest, who think of nothing but lining their own pockets at the expense of others. Only here, in Vordan, do we understand that the Crown belongs to the people. My father understood that, and his father before him, and his father, all the way back to Farus the Conqueror. It is what has given us our strength in our most desperate hours. And my father taught me well. .”

It wasn’t a bad speech, Raesinia thought, as she worked her way through it. She’d written most of it in preparation for her appearance at the opening of the Deputies-General, which the Last Duke had so rudely cut short. Some of the facts might not have stood up in the cut and thrust of debate at the Blue Mask-for example, the deputies of Farus I’s day had been the wealthy landowners, and their main complaint had been that the barons were infringing their ancient rights of rent and taxation. But it carried everything Raesinia believed, everything she and her friends had worked for, everything Ben and poor Danton had died for.

And it wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t make it work. As she went on, the deputies kept watching, but she could feel the attention of the crowd wandering. Danton could have fired those words with the force of cannonballs, sent them flying out to smash everyone in the square right between the eyes and leave them dumb in wonder. Her father in his prime, though no Danton, could still have made the flagstones ring with lofty sentiments. But coming from her own lips, the words sounded weak, uncertain, pedantic. She closed her eyes for a moment, still speaking, trying to hold back tears of frustration.

We worked so long for this moment. I pushed them into it-Ben, Danton, Faro, all the rest. To get me here. And it isn’t working. She took a deep breath, and began the peroration.

“When the people of Vordan once again called for the Deputies-General, Duke Orlanko and his allies saw it as a crime, an inducement to revolution. But how can that be? The people are sovereign. We rule in their name. How can a ruler revolt against himself? How can a call for the ancient representatives of the people be anything but the exercise of a God-given right?

“This is why I come before you today, as Queen of Vordan, in the humble acceptance of the right of the people to express their will through their gathered representatives. .”

Something was happening, out at the south end of the square. The crowd swirled, some moving toward the disturbance, others fighting to get away. Raesinia could hear cheers, shouts, even screams, but nothing that made any sense. She trailed off, shading her eyes to see what was going on, and caught the glitter of steel.

Saints and martyrs. Are we under attack? She looked over her shoulder at Janus. He was standing at the back of the platform, in the shadow of the statue, looking down at his pocket watch. After a moment, he snapped it closed and looked up.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “your timing is impeccable.”

The crowd was parting, drawing back, but the cheers started to outnumber the shouts of alarm. Men in blue uniforms, a thousand strong, marched in a battalion column across the square. There was another column behind them, and another behind that, and between them came the great gray shapes of guns and their caissons. At their head snapped the Vordanai flag, silver eagle brilliant on a royal blue field, and beside it the battle flag of the First Colonial Infantry.

When the first rank reached the center of the square, just below the podium, the column halted. At a shout from their officers, a thousand men slammed the butts of their muskets against the flagstones of the square with an almighty clatter, then brought their free hands up to salute. A thousand voices spoke at once.

“God grace the queen!” they chorused, in the ancient formula. “And Karis’ favor protect her!”

Janus smiled, just for a moment, and gestured at the crowd. Raesinia spun around and stepped to the edge of the platform, shouting the last lines of her speech.

“I, for one, do not plan to surrender these sovereign rights without a fight! Will you join me?” Looking down at the soldiers, she spread her arms and added, “Will you join us?”

The people began to shout. Here and there, she could distinguish a few words-“God grace Vordan!” or “God grace the queen!” The noise of the crowd grew and grew, from a murmur to a tumult to a full-throated roar that shook the square, rattling the windows in the shops and startling the pigeons from the rooftops. The soldiers joined in, until it seemed that the noise would shake the great podium to pieces. Raesinia closed her eyes and risked a smile.