The Shadow Throne

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MARCUS

The greatest challenge the new government had faced so far was staging the victory parade. The military officers had wanted to hold it in the traditional spot, on the main drive at Ohnlei, while the Deputies-General had insisted it wind through Cathedral Square on the Island to pay proper respect to the representatives of the people. In the end the queen had arranged a compromise-the procession would begin at the palace and make its way through miles of countryside, to finally enter the city and finish at the cathedral. A reviewing stand was hastily erected by the side of the Ohnlei Road, roughly halfway along the route.

Marcus thought it was a bit hard on the soldiers, who had done all the marching and fighting and would now be required to march a few miles more. When he’d mounted the reviewing stand, however, he began to perceive the wisdom of Raesinia’s solution. The side of the road was lined with people, cheering and waving blue-and-silver flags. They stretched in an unbroken line toward the city as far as he could see, as though the entire population of Vordan had turned out to bear witness to their triumph. Trying to cram all of the spectators onto either the palace grounds or into the square would have been a disaster.

He was used to thinking of the queen as a passive participant in the plans of the likes of Janus or Orlanko. But she’s smarter than we give her credit for, isn’t she?

At the moment, Raesinia sat at the front of the stand, in a dress that, while elaborately laced and ruffled, was nonetheless black. Recent events might have blotted out the memory of the king’s death for some, but not for her. The officers present had added black armbands to their uniforms, which served a nicely doubled symbolic duty of representing their mourning and expressing solidarity with the volunteers who’d fought and died only a few miles north of here.

She was surrounded by a mixed flock of courtiers and army officers, the former in brightly colored finery and the latter in dress blues trimmed with silver and gold. It was, as yet, a small flock. Proclamations had gone out immediately following the victory, calling on the great nobles and the colonels of all the army regiments to come and swear loyalty to the new queen and the Deputies-General, but so far only a few had answered. Some noblemen and — women, younger sons and daughters for the most part, had arrived bearing excuses for their families, but few of the counts and almost none of the colonels had turned up. They were frightened by the Deputies-General and its rhetoric, and in spite of the queen’s triumph they were hedging their bets. An aristocrat’s first allegiance was always to survival. The officers who had come were younger men, captains and lieutenants who’d come up through the college and were eager to spit in the eyes of their higher-born colleagues.

No one came to dance attendance on the new Minister of War. They’d offered perfunctory congratulations, but Marcus suspected that most of the officers hoped to persuade the queen to reject the country nobleman in favor of one of their own. After all, they told each other, he’d only gotten lucky, and happened to have his men on the spot in the moment of crisis. And Khandar, well, whipping a troop of gray-skins wasn’t such a great feat when it came down to it, was it?

Marcus almost felt sorry for them. The queen was definitely a great deal smarter, and more stubborn, than they gave her credit for. And, having worked with Janus for the past week on drafting his plans for a reorganization of the Royal Army, he knew that these men were about to have their world turned upside down.

“May I ask a question, sir?” Marcus said.

“Certainly, Colonel.”

For a moment Marcus nearly looked over his shoulder to see who Janus was speaking to. He fingered the silver eagles on his shoulders uneasily, as if to confirm they were still there.

“I think I’ve puzzled out most of what you did during the battle. Using the volunteers as a skirmish screen was inspired.”

“I guessed it would confuse the enemy,” Janus said. “The Desoltai used similar tactics, if you recall, and they certainly caused problems for me.”

“And you knew they would eventually have to commit their cavalry.”

“Indeed. It was Orlanko’s misfortune that he had only a regiment of heavies available. A few squadrons of hussars or dragoons would have been better suited to the task.”

“I even,” Marcus said, “understand why you launched the final attack when you did. The enemy were still in disorder from their own charges.”

A smile flickered across Janus’ face. “None of this amounts to a ‘question,’ Colonel.”

“Why did you send in the volunteer pike? Why not the Colonials? It seemed to me that a charge by regular troops would have made success more certain.”

“Ah,” Janus said. “Truthfully, there were a number of reasons. The Colonial formations were still tied up with the fleeing skirmishers, and it would have taken time to get them shaken out and moving. I judged that a single concerted assault, delivered promptly, would be more likely to succeed than a more traditional attack by lines. There was also the matter of keeping something in reserve-if the attack had failed, the Colonials could be relied on to hold their ground, whereas the volunteers would likely have panicked. The proper use of reserves is crucial. If the Last Duke had kept a few of his battalions in reserve to launch a counterattack, things might have gone very differently.”

“I think I understand that, sir.”

“Also,” Janus said, lowering his voice slightly, “there’s the matter of replacement.”

“Sir?”

“Casualties among the volunteers will be easy to replace.” He waved a hand at the crowds. “A call from the queen would no doubt produce a groundswell of support. Whereas well-trained, reliable troops are in very short supply. It seemed prudent to preserve the Colonials, as much as it was practicable.”

There was a long pause. Marcus looked away from Janus’ face, following his gaze down to the passing lines of volunteers. One company, marching with a slightly larger gap ahead and behind than usual, was just passing in front of the reviewing stand. Marcus recognized the slim figure of Lieutenant Ihernglass in the lead, and though the soldiers behind him wore trousers instead of skirts, there was no concealing their true identity. A mutter ran through the gathered officers, and the crowds on either side of the road fell silent for a moment as they passed.

Then the queen, rising from her seat, offered the female soldiers a wave. Cheers rose again, louder than before, and the company marched on.

“Then,” Marcus said, “you don’t think this is over?”

“It’s a long way from over, Colonel. This may only be the beginning. Given time, we may be able to bring the army and the nobles into line, but. .” Janus sat back in his chair, eyes hooded. “Don’t forget the matter of our prisoner.”

Marcus winced. The Guardhouse had been critically undermanned since the fall of the Vendre, a skeleton of a skeleton crew, and no one had even noticed that Adam Ionkovo was gone until long after it had happened. Gone, from inside a locked cell, with no evidence of violence.

“One of the guards is missing as well,” Marcus said. “It’s quite possible that Ionkovo or his allies got to him, and now he’s either gone to ground or been disposed of.”

“It’s possible,” Janus said. “But I doubt it. Ionkovo let himself be captured because he knew he could escape. My guess is he was the one who shot Danton, and he pulled the same disappearing act there.”

“Then you think he’s one of them. The ignahta.” The Elysian word felt alien on Marcus’ tongue. “Like Jen.”

Janus nodded. “That is the true face of our enemy, Captain. Don’t forget it.”

Marcus shook his head, but said nothing. The enemy that he cared about was still out there. Orlanko. The duke had fled north after the defeat, to meet with his Borelgai allies. He’ll tell me the truth about what he did to my family. Even if I have to choke it out of him.

“You intend to press the issue?” Marcus asked, after a moment.

“I have no choice.” Janus tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “Even if I have to lead an army to the gates of Elysium itself.”

WINTER

Marcus had given Winter’s company a hall in the former barracks of the imprisoned Noreldrai Grays, now that the Ministry of War was gradually being reopened for its proper function. It was considerably more luxurious accommodations than they’d enjoyed before the battle, or even back at Jane’s building in the Docks. The girls had to bunk four to a room, but they were big rooms with proper beds, glass windows, and clean linen. Winter, somewhat to her embarrassment, had the suite that had belonged to the mercenary captain, which was closer to a nobleman’s apartments than a soldier’s barracks.

It was the morning after the great victory celebration, and the hall outside was quiet. After the parade, the volunteers had returned to their chaotic encampment at Ohnlei, and a great crowd of citizens had accompanied them. At the queen’s order, the cellars of the palace had been thrown open and barrel after barrel of wine rolled out for the grateful, thirsty crowds. Vendors from the city sold food, with special discounts for anyone wearing a black armband, and enthusiastic entrepreneurs hawked keepsakes, souvenirs, and celebratory woodcuts. One image in particular was everywhere-an artist’s impression of the queen’s surrender, with Raesinia bowing her head in submission to the triumphant Deputies-General while her guards and officers looked on, aghast. Until the small hours of the morning, Winter heard cheers and shouts of “One eagle and the Deputies-General!”

She’d posted sentries around the hall, as before, to protect her soldiers’ notional virtue, but they were to keep people out, not in. Small groups of girls kept slipping away to join the fun, and while Winter was certain some of them were going to do things they might regret in the morning, she didn’t feel she had the moral standing to try to stop them.

For herself, she’d stayed in the great bed with Jane. Any carnal desire could be satisfied out there, she was sure, for at best a nominal fee, but it held no attraction for Winter.

She awoke, naked and warm under the sheets, with Jane clinging to her arm like a limpet. Winter kissed her on the forehead, and Jane’s brilliant green eyes flickered open. She let out a low groan.

“I am not getting out of bed today,” Jane said. “And neither should you.”

“I have to,” Winter said. “And so do you. They’re coming back from the hospital today, remember?”

Winter rolled out of bed, went to the basin to wash, and started buckling herself into her uniform. She caught a raised eyebrow and a lewd look from Jane as she did so, and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“What?” Jane pulled on her own trousers, trying to look innocent.

At the outer door of their apartment, Winter could hear shouts of happiness and cheering from outside. They must have arrived. As she reached for the latch, Jane caught her sleeve.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Her eyes were glued to the inlaid woodwork, refusing to meet Winter’s.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, ‘Sorry about leaving you to die, glad you didn’t!’ That sort of thing?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Winter said, putting an arm around Jane’s shoulder. “You know that, and so does she. So does everyone out there.”

“I was the one who got them into this in the first place,” Jane said. “It’s my responsibility.”

“You know that’s not true, either. You told me yourself it was their idea.”

“I know.”

Winter moved her hand to the back of Jane’s head, pulled her down, and kissed her thoroughly. When they finally broke apart, Jane let out a long breath.

“I love you,” she said.

Winter smiled, cheeks only a little pink. “Likewise. Now, I think we have work to do.”

The newly released patients were gathered in the barracks’ small dining room, along with the girls who were sufficiently clearheaded to leave their beds. The half dozen bandage-wearing wounded were led by Abby, who had a strip of clean white linen wound around her skull but seemed otherwise unhurt.

These were the lightly injured, of course. There were more who were still under the surgeon’s care. After the horrors of the hospital and the bone saw had taken their toll, some few of those would return, and some of them would do so on crutches or with an empty sleeve pinned up. And then, of course, there were those who had never returned from the battlefield at all. For a moment, looking at the happy, laughing girls, Winter felt a flash of anger and was tempted to remind them of what they’d lost.

The thought passed quickly. They knew. Of course they knew. It was in every embrace, every shared glance. They were happy to see Abby and the others in part because they all knew who hadn’t come back. Winter remembered the Seventh Company, cheering for her after she’d brought them out of d’Vries’ horrible mistake at the Battle of the Road. At the time, she’d thought it ghoulish to cheer, dwelling on all the men she hadn’t been able to save. But a proper soldier’s attitude was the other way around, and somehow, over the course of the past week, these girls had become proper soldiers.

Jane came in, and Abby ran to her at once, wrapping her in a fierce hug. As it turned out, no words were necessary, on either side.

After a while, things settled down enough that breakfast could be served. Jane sat at the head of the table, as always, with Winter on her right hand and Abby on her left. Winter caught Abby’s eye when Jane leaned forward to shout something, and they both smiled.

I wonder if she knows what happened. Probably not, Winter decided. Abby had said she’d only awoken the next day, in the cutter’s tents, where they told her that she’d been very lucky. A ricocheting ball had creased her forehead, but without enough force to shatter bone. Anyway, Winter thought, we only did what we had to.

A girl in a black armband came in, one of the sentries. She had a musket under her arm and wore a puzzled expression.

“Sir?” she said, looking at Winter. “There’s someone who wants to see you.”

“Who is it?” Winter said.

“I don’t know her,” the sentry said. “She said she heard that this is where they were keeping ‘Mad Jane’s Army’ and that she wanted to join up.”

“To join up?” Jane chuckled. “And they called me mad.”

“You can tell her,” Winter said gently, “that we’re not recruiting at present.”

“Yes, sir. Should I say the same thing to the others?”

“Others? What others?”

“There’s quite a few more saying the same thing,” the sentry said, glancing back toward the front door. “We’re trying to get them to form a queue.”

Winter met Jane’s eyes. One corner of Jane’s lip quirked, in her familiar, maddening smile.

RAESINIA

Raesinia had been expecting to return to her old rooms in the Prince’s Tower, but after the parade and the interminable audiences, the servants had conducted her to the royal apartments instead. It was impossible to fight the feeling that she was being taken to see her father, and she had a brief fantasy that he would be standing there when she opened the door, waiting to tell her that she’d passed an elaborately contrived test.

Or else his ghost, telling me that I’ve disappointed him with my failure and now he’s going to haunt me for the rest of my days. It was hard to say what he would have thought of recent events. She’d beaten Orlanko, fair enough, but much of the country was still beyond her grasp, and the Deputies-General was issuing orders in the name of the people.

God only knows what happens next. She had Janus, and that redressed the balance of power enough that she was no longer actually a prisoner, but now that the crisis had passed the deputies were clamoring that Janus was more of a threat to the government than a protection. She’d named him interim Minister of War as a stopgap solution, so he would still be around but with no official capacity to command troops. But that was a fig leaf, and both sides knew it. If Janus gave orders, the Colonials would obey, regardless of his official role, and so would many of the volunteers.

She ghosted through the anteroom, the presence chamber where her father had received important guests, the private dining room where he’d entertained his friends. There was very little of him left in the place. Some kings had worked hard to put their stamp on Ohnlei, but Farus VIII had been willing to let the unfathomable palace bureaucracy have its head. His rooms were richly furnished, but somehow anonymous, without a soul, a place where someone had stayed but not really lived, like the world’s most expensive hotel.

Liveried servants waited beside every doorway, bowing as she approached. Raesinia passed into the bedroom, told the footman inside to get out, and shut the door behind him.

At least the week’s interval had given them a chance to freshen the place up. When her father was well, Raesinia had met him in the outer chambers, so her only memories of this place were from when it had smelled of sickness and death. The sick-sweet stench of the doctor’s concoctions, the reek of the royal bedpan, and the too-strong perfume the servants sprayed to cover it up. Now it smelled of starch and fresh linen, and the four-posted bed was decked with a different canopy and set of covers than she remembered. Hell, I bet they had to burn the mattress.

Paintings stared down at her from the walls. There was her father’s favorite family portrait from when Dominic had been twelve and she herself had been an infant. Her mother, Elizabeth, a pale, dark-haired woman of whom Raesinia had no memory, stood holding the baby by her father’s side. The next portrait over was her grandfather, Farus VII, and on the other wall was one of the slender, sickly Farus VI. More women she didn’t recognize, great-aunts and great-great-aunts, clustered around the great golden-framed portraits of the kings.

How did Father sleep with all of them staring down at him? Raesinia shook her head. It’s a good thing I don’t sleep, I suppose.

She went to the bed and tossed herself into it, sinking deep into the feathery morass. Her dress wasn’t designed for lying down, and she could feel it tugging and pinching her skin, but the pain barely registered.

What happens next? She hadn’t really devoted any thought to it. For all that she’d worked and schemed to get here-because it was the right thing to do, because it was what her father would have wanted, because she couldn’t stand to let Orlanko win-now that she’d made it, she wasn’t at all sure what to do. If she let it, Ohnlei would devour her, sinking her days in mindless ritual and spectacle designed to give a sense of purpose to an essentially purposeless existence. Some of Vordan’s kings had delighted in it, and given themselves completely to the Court; others, like her father, had resisted, and applied themselves to the business of the state. Raesinia wanted to be one of the latter, but she didn’t know how to start, or whether they would let her.

It’s been a long day, is all. She couldn’t sleep, but there were other ways to rest the mind. A hot bath, a book, and out of this damned dress. Raesinia sat up, ready to call for the maids-she couldn’t even get out of the dress herself-and froze.

There was a figure in one dark corner of the room, away from the braziers. As Raesinia’s eyes fell on it, it bowed low.

“Your Majesty.” A familiar voice. Very familiar-

“Sothe!” Raesinia crossed the room at a run, heedless of her dress and her dignity. When she was nearly there, she tripped on a trailing flounce and stumbled forward, but Sothe caught her one-handed before she hit the floor. Raesinia threw her arms around the woman and hugged her tight.

“Your Majesty,” Sothe murmured, “please mind the arm.”

Raesinia blinked and let go. Looking more closely, she could see that one of Sothe’s arms was bound in a sling, and belatedly remembered the pistol ball the maidservant had taken in the shoulder during their escape from the Grays.

“Sorry!”

“It’s all right,” Sothe said, straightening her sleeves fastidiously and wincing slightly. “It’s healing, but slowly.”

“That’s good,” Raesinia said, then shook her head wildly. “But where have you been? I thought you were dead. When you didn’t come back after that night. .”

“I was able to lure the Concordat agent into an ambush and kill him,” Sothe said, as though this were as simple as going down to the bakery for morning bread. “Afterward, though, I was very weak, and my wound needed tending. I spent several days in the company of a doctor of my acquaintance, fighting off a fever.” She gave a little shudder. “Thank God the wound was too high in the shoulder for him to amputate, or I would certainly have awoken without the arm. By the time I was able to move about, you were in the Vendre.”

Raesinia nodded. “But once Janus let me go. .”

“I must apologize for not coming to you then, Your Majesty. But it would have been difficult while you were surrounded by Vhalnich’s Mierantai. I wanted to keep him unaware of my presence.”

“Marcus met you,” Raesinia said, feeling puzzled. “He may have said something to Janus.”

“If the subject arises, you should tell them I died at Concordat hands that day. It will give me greater freedom of action.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to be living here with me, so I can’t very well tell them you’re dead-”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“What?” Raesinia blinked unbidden tears from her eyes. “What are you talking about? I need you.”

“I know. And, someday, I will be able to stay by your side as long as you wish. For the moment, though, I think it would be better if I remained in the shadows.”

“But why?”

“Because I do not trust Janus bet Vhalnich.”

There was a long pause.

“He did save the city from Orlanko,” Raesinia said. “I don’t know if anyone else could have done it. And just afterward. . if he’d declared the deputies dissolved and himself king, I’m not sure anyone would have been able to stop him.” Raesinia had been half hoping he would. She couldn’t let him, of course, not in good conscience, but at that moment she’d been as helpless as the rest. And then I wouldn’t have to worry about “what next?” “He’s done nothing to draw suspicion.”

“On the contrary,” Sothe said. “If he had made some move to take power for himself, or wealth, or even pressured you to increase his holdings or his title, that would make some sense. But he’s asked for nothing, has he?”

Raesinia shook her head. “Not yet, at any rate.”

“And that is suspicious. What is his motive? He saved the city, he saved the deputies, he saved you, but why?”

“You don’t think he simply wishes to serve his country?”

“If he does, I owe him an apology.” Sothe frowned. “He knows something that very few people know-that there is still magic in the world, if you know where to look. He knows about your. . condition. And I have been investigating what he did in Khandar. I think. .”

“What?”

“I can’t say. Not yet. But I don’t think he’s a simple patriot. He wants something, not wealth or even the throne, but something else. I intend to find out what that is.”

There was a long silence.

“I understand,” Raesinia said. “And you’re right. It would be nice to have someone around here that I could really trust, but you’re right.”

“I will make regular reports,” Sothe said.

“Be sure that you do. I’m certain I’ll have other need of your talents, aside from Janus bet Vhalnich.”

Sothe bowed her head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

She slipped to the doorway, one leading off into a servants’ hall, silent as a shadow. Before she could leave, Raesinia cleared her throat.

“Sothe?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So am I, Your Majesty.” Her lip curved, just slightly, in what was very nearly a smile. “So am I.”