The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WINTER

The halls under the Vendre were dark and nearly silent. Up above, the courtyard was ablaze with lanterns and torches, as the celebrations which had been put briefly on hold by the daylong rain got back under way. Down here, no one had been relighting the candles as they flickered out, and the roar of humanity outside was reduced to a faint buzz.

All the cells but one were empty. There had been some argument over this-in addition to seditious printers and disloyal merchants, the prison had held plenty of ordinary thieves, housebreakers, smugglers, and other scoundrels. In the end, though, there had been no way to tell them apart, so the newly enlarged council had voted to throw all the doors open.

Winter led the way toward that last cell, marked by the single lantern that hung in front of it. Abby, padding behind her, carried their own lantern, and raised it in greeting to the guard on duty. “Guard,” in this case, was a generous term; it was one of Jane’s Leatherbacks, a pimply girl of fifteen, who went goggle-eyed when she recognized her two visitors.

“Uh. .,” she said, looking from Winter to Abby and back again. “Is something going on?”

“Jane wants them,” Winter said, hooking a finger at the cell and trying to look casual.

“Of course!” She blinked. “I mean. . nobody told me. .”

Abby leaned closer. “Principa. I’m telling you, all right?”

“Right.” The girl swallowed. “Let me get the door open.”

They waited while Principa fumbled with the key and dragged the cell open with a screech of rusty iron. The cells up here were clean, Winter noticed, and lacked the sludgy pools of standing water of the makeshift pens on the lower level. I suppose Orlanko believes in keeping a tidy dungeon.

The two men who emerged both wore Armsmen green, though their uniforms were somewhat the worse for wear after the long siege. They stood blinking in the lantern light. Abby raised an eyebrow, glanced at Principa, and beckoned, and the men shuffled silently past her and back toward the stairs.

“Um. .,” the guard said, standing in front of the now-empty cell. “What about me?”

“Stay here,” Winter said. “I’ll come and fetch you directly.”

–

“Make sure Jane doesn’t punish her,” Winter said, once they were out of earshot.

“I’d punish her,” said Giforte, “if she were in one of my prisons. Everyone knows you don’t release a prisoner without written authorization, and never without a signature. That way everyone knows who’ll catch hell if someone goes missing.”

Abby laughed and touched her father’s arm. “We’ll have to bring you in to train all our jailers.”

“Is this a prison break, then?” said Captain d’Ivoire. “Or has the council decided something?”

“The council can’t decide what to have for breakfast,” Winter said. “Jane feels you two would be safer elsewhere.”

“She can’t exactly let you walk out into the mob,” Abby said. “They’re ready to throw stones at anything in green.”

Giforte winced. “What about the rest of my men?”

“Most of them have already gone home,” Abby said. “The rest changed out of their uniforms and joined up with the riot.”

“Danton has that effect on people, apparently,” Winter muttered.

“In any event,” Abby said, “it would be better for all concerned if you. . slipped away. We’ve got a boat waiting down below.”

Giforte frowned but said nothing. They walked in silence for a while, down the spiraling central staircase and past the landing where Winter and Cyte had fought the night before. The light of the lantern showed wide brown splotches on the stones, and Winter’s gorge rose.

When they reached the bottom level, the gentle lap of water at the little dock became audible. Captain d’Ivoire stopped suddenly and caught Winter’s eye.

“I think,” he said, “we should give the two of them a moment alone.”

Winter looked at Abby, who shrugged. She and Giforte continued on a short distance, while Winter and Marcus retreated to the stairwell. There was only one lantern, which faded to an almost invisible glow as soon as the other pair had gone around a corner. Winter put her back to the cold stone wall and waited. The captain was only the vaguest of shadows.

Shit. She’d known this was a bad idea. He hadn’t recognized her the night of the raid, but since then he’d had plenty of time to think it over. I should have sent someone else. Stupid, stupid-

“Ihernglass,” Marcus whispered. “It is you, isn’t it?”

And there it was, stark as a skull. She took a deep breath. What the hell do I do now?

“I knew the colonel sent you on some secret mission,” he continued, “but I hadn’t imagined it would be anything like this. I don’t want to blow your cover, so we don’t have long.”

Winter let her breath out and blinked. This was not how she’d imagined this conversation going. If he tells me that he’s always known I was a girl, I swear to God I’m going to scream.

“I just thought,” Marcus went on, oblivious of Winter’s expression in the darkness, “that this might be a good opportunity. If there’s anything you want to pass along to the colonel, I mean. It can’t be easy to get messages to him.”

There was a long pause. Eventually Winter shook her head, realized he couldn’t see it, and said, “No message in particular. Just tell him what happened here, and make sure he knows I’m all right. I’ll be here with Jane if he wants me.”

“Right. I can’t speak for the colonel, but you can take it from me you’re doing a hell of a job.” Marcus sighed. “Better than me, certainly. He sent me to guard a prison and I end up locked inside it. Twice.”

“I think we made the best of a bad situation,” Winter said. “And thank you. Sir.”

Marcus’ shadow nodded. “I know it can’t be easy, even if being with Jane’s lot means you get to wear trousers.”

Winter paused, then ventured, “Sir?”

“Passing for female. Damned convincing. You’d have fooled me for certain, if I hadn’t known better.”

There was another long silence, this time while Winter tried desperately to fight down a spasm of mad laughter that seemed determined to burrow its way out from her lungs. She’d almost lost the battle when a frustrated shout from down the corridor brought their heads around.

“I think we’ve left them alone for long enough,” Marcus said. “Come on, before they kill one another.”

“Did you know about Abby and the vice captain?” Winter said. She covered her mouth; the laughter had transformed into hiccups. “Her being his daughter, I mean.”

“I hadn’t the faintest,” Marcus said. “But he filled me in while we were in the cell. Apparently they don’t get along.”

“I will not.” Abby’s voice came to them at a volume usually reserved for opera sopranos playing to a full house. “Will you get in the damned boat?”

“That may have been understatement on his part,” Marcus said.

As it turned out, no intervention was necessary. Abby stalked past them, lantern in hand, sending wildly swinging shadows up the walls of the corridor. She rounded the corner and, to judge by the light, stayed there. Winter and Marcus glanced at each other and continued on to the dock, where Giforte was already sitting in the little two-man rowboat.

“Let’s get out of here,” the vice captain muttered. He caught Winter’s eye as Marcus carefully stepped from the dock, making the little craft sway alarmingly. “Please try to take care of her?”

“I’ll do my best,” Winter said. “Don’t worry. Jane takes good care of all her people.”

Giforte nodded, reluctantly, and took hold of the oars. Once Marcus had settled himself, Winter undid the line, and the little boat splashed and bumped its way out into the tunnel, bound for the friendlier docks on the North Shore.

Abby was waiting in the corridor, just out of sight of the dock. It was hard to tell in the bad light, but it looked as though she had been crying.

“Are you all right?” Winter said.

“Just furious.” Abby dragged a hand across her face. “He always makes me that way.”

“What did he want?”

“To go back with him, of course.” She waved a hand. “It was all well and good my slumming it for a while-that’s what he says now, though at the time he threatened to disown me-but things are getting dangerous. So I need to come home and be locked in a tower behind barred windows.”

“I’m not sure I blame him,” Winter said. “If I had a daughter, I don’t think I’d want her out here. Hell, I’m not sure I want to be here myself, sometimes.”

“He’s a thickheaded old fossil,” Abby said. “And I told him so. If anyone should be locked away, it’s him. At his age he should be sitting behind a desk signing papers, not trying to hold a fortress wall against the notorious Mad Jane and her mob-what?”

Winter had started to chuckle, mixed with the occasional hiccup. She shook her head until she got control of herself again.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m in a strange mood, that’s all.”

“Come on,” Abby said. “I need a drink.”

Now, Winter reflected as they climbed the stairs, I’m a girl pretending to be a boy pretending to be a girl. At least as far as Marcus is concerned. Just the thought made her giggle. Janus probably planned it this way. She still hadn’t figured out why he’d put her with Jane in the first place, unless it was purely to fulfill the request she’d made to him on the shores of Khandar. I very much doubt that. Not that Janus wasn’t the sort of man to keep his promises, but she was certain he would find a way to arrange matters so that he himself derived some benefit. I suppose I’m just too simple to see it. Though it would help if I knew what he wanted.

On the first floor, they became aware of a new sound. At first Winter thought there had been some new attack, and that a melee was in progress. The crowd that occupied the Vendre courtyard had erupted, all at once, in a single vast roar that seemed to shake the castle to its foundations.

“What the hell is going on now?” Abby said.

“I have no idea,” Winter said. “Let’s find out.”

No one ever claimed to have been the one who first delivered the tidings from Ohnlei, as if rumor had broken free of human constraints and flown free on shadowy wings.

Any story repeated so often was bound to be warped and distorted by the time it reached the end of the line, and a thousand lesser rumors swarmed in the wake of the great news. On two things, however, all the stories agreed. King Farus Orboan VIII was dead, and Queen Raesinia Orboan had assumed the crown. And, practically as her first act, she had called for the convocation of the Deputies-General to be held in the Sworn Cathedral.

Beyond that, the stories broke down, depending on whether the teller tended toward manic cheer or black pessimism. That night, there seemed to be no middle ground. No one could agree on what the Last Duke was doing, but everyone was happy to say what they’d heard: Orlanko was dead, killed by Count Torahn in single combat when he’d challenged the queen. Orlanko was locked in his own cells, where he’d killed himself in shame, or was being tortured with his own implements. He was gone, fled to his country estates, or had left the country entirely, to live like a prince on his ill-gotten gains in Hamvelt or Viadre.

Or he was gone, all right, but only as far as the nearest Royal Army base, to return with troops who would crush the upstart queen and her backers. Worse-they weren’t even Vordanai troops, but an army of Borelgai mercenaries on the northern border and Hamveltai levies in the east, ready to break Vordan between them as they’d done in the War of the Princes. The legions of Murnsk were on the march, the uncounted horde of the holy emperor ready to destroy the Free Church stronghold once and for all.

Winter heard all these versions, and more besides. The queen had agreed to stand for election. The queen would marry Vhalnich, hero of Khandar, and give Vordan a new king. Prince Dominic had spent all the years since Vansfeldt pretending to be dead, but now he had returned to lead his people. The deputies would force the Borelgai profiteers and speculators to give up their villainous ways, and bread would be an eagle a loaf once again.

In the wake of the news came the crowds. The queen’s pronouncement had turned the riot on its head; instead of thieves and murderers, the rioters were heroes who had taken the law into their own hands after sinister interests had tried to exploit the weakness of the dying king. People who hours earlier had been barring their doors and hiding the silver now flooded into the street themselves. Half the population of the South Bank seemed to be out, in spite of the late hour, and so many people tried to join the celebration on the Island that they ended up backed up onto the Grand Span. Before long the bridge was bright with bonfires and packed from edge to edge with shouting, happy people.

The Vendre itself remained under the control of the council, guarded by the Leatherbacks and others Jane thought she could trust not to run off and join the parties. It seemed oddly quiet compared to the roar from outside, like a cemetery in the middle of a bustling city. With her errand completed, Winter did not quite know what to do with herself. In spite of her exhaustion, there was no question of sleep, not until the celebration burned itself out. She went in search of Jane, and found her closeted with the council and some of the students from the Dregs. Winter settled for catching Jane’s eye and giving her a little wave to indicate the prisoners were free, then wandered back downstairs.

The Vendre’s main door was half-open, with a couple of Docksiders keeping watch. One of the pair recognized her and stood at attention, or at least a reasonable parody thereof. Winter almost burst out laughing again, but she bit it back and snapped a textbook salute before slipping out into the courtyard.

If there had been a carnival atmosphere before, things were now positively ebullient. One reason for this quickly became obvious: Now that the fighting was done, Vordan’s merchants and vendors were taking up the challenge of supplying the crowd with all the food, and more important, all the drink, that it might be require. Bottles were everywhere, passing freely from hand to hand, and as she watched, a man pulling a handcart loaded with wine was mobbed by customers and relieved of his burden in a few minutes. He turned the cart around, pockets jingling with coin, and headed back for another load.

It seemed as though the entire city had decided to drink itself into an oblivious stupor. In the courtyard, some of Jane’s Leatherbacks had formed a circle and were playing some kind of game, which involved a repeating chant and frequent pulls from any of several circulating bottles. Some of the girls, Winter thought, were too young for that sort of thing, but she was hardly in a position to complain. She spotted Cyte among them, dark makeup finally washed away, looking relaxed and comfortable and roaring with laughter. When she saw Winter, she beckoned her over, but Winter only shook her head and pointed out the gate, as though she had somewhere to go.

The street outside was a continuation of the same madness. Portable stoves had been hauled in, or improvised from boxes and wooden scraps, and a dozen enterprising vendors were hawking hot meals. It was far too loud for any shouts to be heard more than a few feet away, so they stood on boxes and raised what they had for sale above the heads of the crowd.

It reminded Winter of the markets of Ashe-Katarion. There she’d tasted roasted imhallyt beetle on the half shell (bitter and gooey), fried dhakar (a kind of centipede, spiced and crunchy) along with thick black bread, cornmeal cakes flavored with honey, and every conceivable product that could be made from any part of a dead sheep. The thought made her stomach rumble, but what was on offer felt strangely alien. Staring at the steaming sugar chestnuts, pork buns, and sizzling bacon sandwiches, she felt a pang of homesickness. Not for Ashe-Katarion, exactly, but for the camp outside it, for stale crackers and “army stew.”

She felt as though she had spent half her life as a stranger among a strange people, only to return to the city of her birth and find herself a stranger there as well. In the middle of the jubilant crowd, Winter felt more alone than she had since. .

Since Fort Valor. Since Captain d’Ivoire made me a sergeant, and I met Bobby and the others. She’d been alone before that, of course, when she wasn’t being tormented by Davis and his thugs, but she hadn’t really believed there was any other way she could be. The Seventh Company had changed that. But Bobby, Feor, and the others were still at sea, far away from here.

She suddenly wanted very badly to run back into the Vendre, pull Jane out of her meeting, and stay wrapped in her arms until the tumult in her head settled down. When she was with Jane, everything was simple.

Don’t be silly, she instructed herself, sternly. Jane had been forced into quasi-leadership of this weird, leaderless coalition, and the last thing she needed was for Winter to have a breakdown and demand comfort. There’ll be time for that later. She marched over to the closest vendor and bought a paper bag of sugar chestnuts, inhaling the sweet steam and popping one into her mouth as soon as they were cool enough to stand. It was crunchy and sweet, and she had to admit that as a snack it was an improvement on centipedes.

A large group had gathered in one of the nearby squares, and Winter drifted in that direction out of curiosity. She couldn’t get close enough to get a view, but it sounded as though someone was giving a speech, and when she managed to catch a few words she realized it was Danton.

“The fourth duty of a citizen,” he was saying, “is to at all times keep in mind the condition of the implements of labor given into his care-the land and its improvements, the seed stock and herds, the tools of his trade, and everything else that tends to the increase of his prosperity. It is his duty to his country to maintain and improve these tools, both for the sake of his own descendents and so that the nation as a whole shall progress toward a greater prosperity in accordance with God’s design. However, this duty shall not conflict with the first, second, or third duties, and a citizen shall not. .”

There was more in that vein, a great deal more. Winter wasn’t sure she could have struggled through more than a page if it had been laid out in text. In Danton’s great, booming voice, it had a certain ring to it, but it was still not exactly passionate stuff. And yet the crowd all around Winter showed every sign of being enthralled, standing in total silence so as not to miss a word of the great man’s explanation of why, for example, potatoes were a superior crop to turnips and encouraging their growth was in the national interest.

Probably at this point he could be reading out of a dictionary and people would stand at rapt attention. Danton was certainly capable of a good turn of phrase-his speech to the prisoners on the night the Vendre had fallen had been stirring, even to Winter-but he clearly had not exerted his rhetorical talents here. She wondered idly which was the real Danton, the man of action beloved by the crowd or this intellectual with his obsession with potatoes.

Something tingled at the base of her spine. The Infernivore was restless, like an anxious child rolling over in its sleep. Ever since her near contact with Raesinia had roused the thing, she’d been more aware of its moods. Danton, apparently, made it nervous, and Winter slipped away from the crowd and back toward the prison.

Raesinia. Winter had wanted to get a message to Janus about her, telling him about the Infernivore’s strange reaction, but the girl had been assassinated before she had a chance. According to those who’d been on the parapet, she’d been shot in the head by a Concordat spy, who had subsequently fallen to his own demise on the rocks below. After what she’d seen from Jen Alhundt in the Desoltai temple, Winter wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. If Raesinia really was some kind of wild talent, maybe the Black Priests sent someone to eliminate her. She decided she would have to tell Janus after all, if they ever had the chance to meet in private.

Behind her, Danton droned on. Ahead were the walls of the Vendre, where Jane would still be engaged in oh-so-important business. In between, the street was full of happy people, drinking toasts, singing traditional café songs, and even gathering round for impromptu dances. Someone had hauled out a fiddle and was playing it with more enthusiasm than skill, which suited the caliber of the singers perfectly.

Winter popped the last of the chestnuts into her mouth, balled up the bag, and wandered.

RAESINIA

At the door of Lady Farnese’s Cottage, now surrounded by Janus’ red-and-blue-uniformed guardsmen, Raesinia turned to address the small horde of servants and courtiers who had followed her from the palace proper. She took a deep breath, or tried to. The mourning dress was simple by court standards, but still uncomfortably stiff.

“I need to speak to Count Mieran on a number of important matters,” she said. “I must ask you all to excuse me.”

She jerked her head at Sothe, who stepped up to her side. Janus opened the front door, and a cordon of Mierantai stepped between the new queen and her followers. A babble of protest rose immediately, and Raesinia turned again.

“My lords, please. There will be time later for formalities, but the affairs of state will not wait. I thank you all for your concern.”

Once she was inside, with the door shut behind her, she let out a sigh. Is the rest of my life going to be like this? It seemed depressingly likely.

“I’m sorry to impose on Your Majesty by asking you to come here,” Janus said. “But I imagine you are no more eager to have our conversation reported to His Grace than I am.”

“You think we’re safe here?” Raesinia looked around. No guards or servants were in evidence, but that didn’t mean much. Ohnlei was a labyrinth full of hidden doors and back corridors, ideal for eavesdroppers.

“As safe as I can make us,” Janus said. “Miss Sothe has looked over my arrangements.”

Sothe nodded. “Unless Orlanko has gotten a lot smarter since I left, I think we should be secure.”

“Good.” Raesinia paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Then how about the two of you tell me what the hell is going on?” She glared at Sothe. “You never mentioned a word about knowing Count Mieran.”

She was surprised how much that stung. Sothe was the one person Raesinia had placed her full trust in, unreservedly, and finding out that she’d been keeping secrets hurt badly. I should have expected it, though. Sothe came from a world of secrets.

“I assure you,” Janus said, “our acquaintance is recent. After I heard about your. . fall, I contacted her to offer my assistance.”

“Then you knew-” Raesinia blinked. Everything. “How?”

“It would be best,” Janus said, “if I began at the beginning. Please, have a seat.”

He gestured. They were in the cottage hall, and beyond was an entertaining room with a sofa and chairs. Raesinia followed the count’s gesture and sat down, carefully, on the sofa, the black dress folding and crinkling around her. Janus took the chair opposite, and Sothe remained standing.

“I would offer some refreshment, after what has been a very long night,” he said. “But in Your Majesty’s case, I gather that there would not be much point, and in any event I have banished the servants so we may speak in secrecy even from my own people.”

Raesinia gave a curt nod. “Thank you. Now-”

“What the hell is going on?” Janus leaned back and smiled, just for a moment. “A fair question. For the sake of brevity, I will leave aside my own history and simply state that I am a scholar of the arcane and the occult. The dark arts, as some would have it. Demonology. Magic.”

“That’s a dangerous line of work,” Raesinia said, determined not to let any surprise show on her face.

“Indeed. There are places where it flourishes, however. In the eastern League cities, chiefly, where the grip of Elysium is at its weakest. It was there that I went to further my studies, and it was there, three years ago, that your father’s agents found me.”

“My father’s agents? Do you mean the Concordat?”

“Emphatically not. While the duke was, of course, a part of His Majesty’s government, in this matter the king and the Minister of Information had. . differing views. The man who contacted me had been well paid, through a very indirect route, to seek out someone with knowledge of the arcane arts and bring them before the king. Enormous precautions were taken to ensure that the Last Duke remained in ignorance.”

“Why? What would my father want with a magician?” As far as Raesinia knew, her father had never believed in magic, like any sensible person of the modern age. If not for her own unique experiences, Raesinia doubted she would have believed in it, either.

“His Majesty wished to consult me on a very delicate matter.” Janus coughed. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but he wanted to talk about you.”

“About me? That doesn’t make-” Raesinia shook her head, then froze. Her voice came out as a whisper. “He knew?”

“He did.”

Raesinia’s chest felt tight, as though the black dress had suddenly shrunk several sizes. He knew.

She had always been afraid of what would happen, should her father find out the truth of what had happened to her. She’d even constructed scenes in her mind, usually in the dead of night when her inability to sleep grated the worst. She pictured him having her dragged away in chains, to be imprisoned in some dark oubliette. Even executed, if he could figure out how. Burned at the stake. After all, his daughter is dead. I’m something else. A demon.

She swallowed hard. “He wanted you to. . get rid of me?”

Janus shook his head. “He wanted a. . cure, for lack of a better word. A way to reverse what Orlanko had done to you. In such a way that you remained alive afterward, of course.”

Raesinia felt tears sting her eyes. She let her head fall forward into her hands, elbows on her knees.

He knew. She didn’t want to sob in front of Janus. That was easy enough; she just stopped breathing. He knew all along, and he wanted to help me. Oh God. Father. I thought. . how could I have thought. .

He tried to tell me. “Count Mieran is more than he seems. You’ll need all the allies you can get.” He couldn’t come out and say it, not with Concordat spies everywhere, but now the meaning was clear. Oh, Father. .

“Your Majesty,” Janus said, after a long silence. “If you like, perhaps we could-”

Raesinia squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the tears, and sucked in a long breath. The binding tingled across her, repairing the damage from her brief asphyxiation. She raised her head. “My apologies. Please continue.”

Janus regarded her carefully for a moment, then nodded. “As you say. For some time, His Majesty and I carried on a correspondence, and I regret to say I was not able to be of much assistance. The Priests of the Black have been astonishingly effective at removing all traces of magic wherever their writ runs, and what remains is a pitiful remnant of what was once known. If the knowledge to do what His Majesty wanted existed, I told him, it was locked in the dungeons under Elysium.” He steepled his fingers. “Then a bit of unexpected news opened up a new possibility.”

Raesinia was starting to put the pieces together. “The rebellion in Khandar.”

“Indeed. There have always been legends of the Demon King, who fled across the sea with his treasure trove, but nothing concrete. When I discovered that the Black Priests had tried several times to actually retrieve something from Khandar, though, I started to dig deeper. I became convinced that the treasure actually existed. The names-the bindings-of all the creatures captured by the Demon King. The Thousand Names of legend.”

“And my father sent you there to find it.”

“His Majesty took some convincing, as did his advisers,” Janus said, with another flash of a smile. “The duke, for one, was deeply suspicious. But ultimately, yes.”

“And?”

“The Names are real. We found them.” Janus tossed the statement off, as though it were of no great importance. “By the time we did, however, we received word that the situation here had become critical. So I hurried back as soon as I could, and His Majesty named me to the empty seat on the Cabinet to assist you as best I could. I am honored to say that I believe he had come to trust me.”

And will the Names work? Raesinia wanted to scream. Janus caught her expression and gave a little shrug.

“I do not know, yet, whether we’ll be able to do anything for your condition. The Names must be deciphered and studied to see if something useful to you is among their powers, and I only had the chance to make a cursory inspection before I left Khandar. Once our current crisis is resolved, I will devote myself to it. But for the moment. .”

Raesinia nodded. Somewhere deep in her chest, though, something had taken hold. A tiny mote of hope, that there might, somehow, be a way out. Back to a normal life.

“All right,” Raesinia said. “I follow you so far. How did you end up talking to Sothe?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Janus said. “After your father gave me Justice, I began looking into the disturbances in the city. I got descriptions of all the potential leaders, and once I saw yours it wasn’t hard to put the facts together.”

There had to be more to it than that-the all-knowing Concordat hadn’t been able to find her, after all! — but Raesinia didn’t care about the details. “And Sothe?”

“Even easier. She’s so close to you on the Ohnlei side that it was inconceivable that she not be a party to the deception, though I didn’t understand the full extent of her involvement until she told me herself. I sent her a note, indicating what I knew and expressing a desire to help.”

“It was waiting for me when I got back to Ohnlei, after you ‘died,’” Sothe said. “I was frantic. I had to keep up appearances here, intercept Orlanko’s watchers, and figure out how to retrieve you at the same time. When I saw this. .” She shrugged.

“You just decided to trust him?” Raesinia was surprised. To say that Sothe was not a trusting person was a significant understatement of the facts.

“I went to talk to him,” Sothe said, “since he knew the secret. I thought that either he’d end up on our side or I’d have to kill him, and in the latter case I wanted to get it over with.”

There was a flash of surprise-not much, but definitely there-on Janus’ face. “Well,” he said after a moment, “I’m glad I was able to convince you.”

“So, what happens now?” Raesinia asked, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.

“I think we’re almost through it,” Janus said. “The announcement has gone out that you’ve accepted the Deputies-General, and the mob is ecstatic. When they present their lists of demands, one of them is certain to be a new Minister of Information and the elimination of the Concordat. All we have to do is be ‘persuaded.’”

“Just like that?” Raesinia shook her head. “It’s too easy.”

“He has a fearsome reputation,” Janus said. “But I must say he’s proven to be only a mediocre opponent. He’s badly overplayed his hand, and now he’ll have to pay for it.”

“He won’t give up,” Sothe said. “Not Orlanko. If there’s a card left in his hand, he’ll play it, and be damned to the consequences.”

“That’s what worries me,” Janus agreed. “The Last Duke is finished. But now that he has nothing to lose. .” He trailed off, staring past Raesinia and Sothe into the middle distance, then shook his head. “We will have to take precautions.”

MARCUS

“The vice captain is here,” Staff Eisen said from outside the door to Marcus’ office.

“Send him in,” Marcus said. His desk was clear of paperwork. He looked below it, to make sure the stack of files from the archives were still there. Evidence, in case he needed it.

The door stuck, as usual, then shuddered open. Giforte pulled it shut behind him, turned, and saluted.

“Vice Captain,” Marcus said.

“Sir!” Giforte relaxed a fraction. “People have been trickling in, sir. We’re still well below strength, but I think by tomorrow morning I should have at least-”

“I have a question for you, Vice Captain,” Marcus said. “I want you to answer it honestly, if you can.”

“Sir?” Giforte’s face became a frozen mask.

He knows, Marcus thought. He knows that I know. Time to cut through all the secrets. He took a deep breath. “What is it that Duke Orlanko has over you?”

A long moment passed in total stillness. Marcus kept his eyes on Giforte, watching the man’s face. His control was good, but not perfect. If he tries to brazen it out. .

Then, all at once, his expression relaxed and his shoulders slumped. There was defeat there, but also relief, as though a great weight had been lifted.

I was right. Marcus had to restrain himself from pumping his fist in triumph. I wonder if this is how Janus feels all the time.

“I should have known I couldn’t hide it,” Giforte said. “I should have offered my resignation the day you took command.”

“Now, that would have been a disaster,” Marcus said. “It is the Last Duke, then?”

Giforte nodded, looking resigned. “He. . it was my wife, to begin with. You’ve met my daughter. My wife never really recovered from the birth. Our local surgeons threw up their hands, so I wrote to doctors from Hamvelt, the best there are. One man said he could help, but the price he asked. .” He shook his head. “I borrowed from a moneylender, but it was all for nothing. My Gwendolyn died before the doctor even arrived, and he refused to refund his fee. I was broken and penniless. I would have killed myself, if not for Abigail.”

“And then Orlanko offered to help with the debt,” Marcus guessed.

Giforte nodded. “I was too desperate to care what strings were attached. It wasn’t long before he started making. . requests. Certain investigations he wanted stopped, suspects he wanted released without further questions. Your family. . that was one of the first.”

“You didn’t know about it beforehand?” Marcus said. “You weren’t involved?”

The vice captain drew himself up. “Of course not! You. .” He paused, and sagged again. “You have no reason to believe me, of course. But I’m not a murderer. I would never have done anything like that, whatever Orlanko told me. All he wanted was. . no questions.” Giforte shook his head. “When I heard you had been named as captain, I came close to panic. None of the other captains ever paid much attention, but you. .”

Marcus exhaled slowly and leaned back in the squeaky old chair. “I went looking.” Though I might not have, if not for Adam Ionkovo.

Giforte straightened up again. “Sir. I will draft my letter of resignation immediately. If the Minister of Justice wishes to offer charges, I am at his disposal.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve been reading up on you,” Marcus said. “Your tenure with the Armsmen has been excellent. I don’t think there’s anyone else I would want for the post.”

“But. .” Giforte swallowed. “What about Orlanko? He holds my debts. If he comes calling, and I don’t obey-”

“The Minister of Justice will handle your debts,” Marcus said. They hadn’t discussed any such thing, but he was certain Janus would come up with a good solution. This is too good a man to lose. “And I don’t think the Last Duke will be a problem for much longer. In confidence, I can tell you that the new queen is not a friend of his.”

“She’s going to unseat him? The Last Duke?” Giforte shook his head. “That’s going to mean plenty of trouble. He’s had three decades to dig in.”

“That’s why I need you,” Marcus said. “We’ve got to get the Armsmen back together and providing some kind of order. And I suspect the Minister of Justice may have need of me, so a lot of that work is going to fall on you. I trust you’ll be up to it.”

Slowly, Giforte saluted, fighting a smile. “Sir. Absolutely, sir.”

“Good. You’d better get to it.”

And once this is over, Marcus thought, as Giforte saluted again and departed, once the Last Duke has fallen, I’m going to dig through the Cobweb until I find the truth. And then he’s going to pay for it.

WINTER

The sun was lighting the eastern horizon by the time Winter returned to the fortress, at least half-drunk and feeling more maudlin than ever. She’d fallen in with a mixed band of Docksiders and University students, who were passing several bottles of middling-to-awful wine around a circle and debating the significance of the fact that the deputies had been summoned to the Sworn Cathedral. One faction held this to be a bad sign, indicating that the queen intended to continue Orlanko’s policy of accommodation of the Sworn Church. Another group thought that it was a deliberate gesture in the opposite direction, a statement that the business of the Vordanai state was to be placed above the rights of Elysium and foreigners in general. Winter hadn’t taken a side, and limited her participation to a couple of swallows whenever a bottle went past. They hadn’t resolved the issue by the time she took her leave, and she suspected they’d be there until everyone involved had fallen out into a drunken stupor.

A mix of exhaustion and alcohol had Winter on the verge of that herself, and her steps were heavy as she dragged herself through the Vendre’s courtyard and back to the big, half-open doors. She carried a sealed bottle in one hand, a present for Jane, who hadn’t gotten the opportunity to get out and enjoy herself. The only question, Winter thought muzzily, was whether she would manage to deliver it before she collapsed into some corner. The chamber Jane had taken over had a bed, she seemed to recall. That would be. . convenient.

She was vaguely aware of passing Leatherback guards, at the main doors and again on the stairs, but they all let her through with a wave. Winter answered with a cheery lift of her bottle, trudging up to the floor where the old prison staff had had their quarters and where Jane had made her own accommodations. At the top of the steps, she took a moment to compose herself, standing where a cool breeze came in by a gun slit and trying to shake the muzziness from her head.

Maybe I should just go to bed, and find Jane in the morning. She wasn’t that drunk, but alcohol had formed a dangerous cocktail with the aftermath of too many nights without sleep and the loneliness of being by herself in the midst of the citywide revel. She felt fragile, on edge, and suspected the sight of Jane might bring her to tears. I’ll feel better in the morning.

Good sense warred for a moment with sentimentality, but sentimentality gained the upper hand. Winter shook her head, feeling the world reel slightly. I’ll just see how she’s doing. Jane’s been up all night, too. She might need someone to. . talk to.

The door to Jane’s room stood a few inches open, but there was no sound of conversation from inside. The council had apparently departed. Hell, Winter thought suddenly. She’s probably asleep by now. I’ll just poke my head in and check on her.

Wood creaked, and Winter froze, just beside the doorway. Something scraped against the floor, as though someone had pushed a chair. Listening closely, below the fading roar of the now-exhausted crowd outside, she could make out soft, quiet sounds. Quick breaths, the rustle of cloth, a faint sigh.

Jane?

She ought to have turned around, then and there. Every instinct Winter had was telling her to go back the way she’d come, to write the whole thing off as a drunken, maudlin fantasy. She fought them all and eased forward, setting the wine bottle on the floor so gently it didn’t even make a click. The gap between door and doorframe was only a few inches away, and Winter leaned toward it, hardly daring to breathe.

Someone gasped. Jane said, very quietly, “Don’t.”

“It’s been”-pause-“weeks. Seeing you every day”-pause-“and every night, I. .”

This was Abby’s voice. Winter finally got her eye against the crack in the door. She saw Jane, leaning on the big council table, her red hair damp and spiky with sweat. Abby was pressed up against her, arms wrapped around her waist. Her lips brushed a delicate trail of kisses from Jane’s collarbone up into the hollow of her neck. Jane leaned her head back, like an animal offering its throat in submission, and her hands clenched the edge of the tabletop.

“I told you,” Jane said weakly. “We can’t. I can’t.”

“I know.” Abby kissed the corner of Jane’s jaw, then her cheek. “Just for tonight, all right? Just once. Please.”

“Abby. .”

“Call the guards, if you like. Throw me in the dungeon.”

Abby kissed Jane full on the lips, and after a moment’s resistance Jane’s arms came off the table and wrapped around Abby’s shoulders. Abby’s hands roamed upward, running gently over Jane’s flanks, her fingers tangling in the hem of Jane’s shirt.

Jane moaned, very quietly, but Winter was no longer there to hear. She stalked away down the corridor, leaving her bottle by the doorway, eyes brimming with unwanted tears.