“Actually,” Bobby said, “I have one more.”
“Bobby,” Winter cut in. “Are you sure you want to—”
“I can’t keep secrets from you,” Bobby said. “It feels wrong, after everything. And you may need to know.”
Winter paused. “From me?”
Bobby nodded. “It’s Lieutenant Marsh. He knows . . . about me.”
“What? How did he find out? Has he told anyone?”
“It’s not like that,” Bobby said. “He’s a good person, honestly. He and I . . . I mean, we’re . . .”
“You’re what?”
Jane rolled her eyes and put one arm around Winter’s shoulders, pulling her close enough to speak into her ear.
“They’re fucking,” she stage-whispered, turning Bobby’s face instantly beet-red. “You know. Like men and women do, at times?”
Winter blinked. Oh. Several conflicting emotions assailed her at once. Fear, for Bobby and for herself, the old terror of being discovered. Irritation that Bobby had exposed them like this. And, she realized, just a hint of jealousy.
She bit her lip and shook her head. Don’t be ridiculous. She had Jane now, and that was all she’d ever wanted. Besides, if she and Marsh are . . . I mean, she’s not . . . like me.
“He’s not blackmailing you, or anything like that?” Jane said while Winter fought through her confusion.
“No, no.” Bobby’s blush deepened. “I told him myself. It was a stupid thing to do, but we were in a storm at sea, and there was something . . .”
“It’s all right,” Winter said. “I don’t need the details.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jane said.
“The point is, you think you can trust him?” Winter badly wanted to ask about the naath and the traces it had left on Bobby’s skin—which Marsh must have seen, obviously—but didn’t want to bring it up in Jane’s presence unless Bobby mentioned it first. She felt a burst of frustration. Jane’s right. We do have too many damned secrets.
“I’m sure I can. And I haven’t told him anything about you.”
“All right.” Winter shook her head. “See if you can clue him in to the fact that I know. That might make things a bit less awkward.”
“Right.” Bobby gave a little sigh of relief. “God, I’ve been so worried what you would say.”
“It’s hardly my place to disapprove,” Winter said.
Jane laughed again. “I can’t tell if you’re the father or the mother in this little allegory. Maybe both.”
Winter managed a chuckle, and a little bit of the tension seeped out of the tent. She settled herself more comfortably on the cushion. “Bobby was at Mrs. Wilmore’s, too, you know. I think she ran away just before you came back.”
“You went back?” Bobby said. “I wouldn’t have thought anyone would go back there on purpose.”
“It took me a while to nerve myself up to it,” Jane admitted.
“She marched the girls out of there!” Winter said. “Right under the old hag’s nose, too.”
Jane looked embarrassed. “Something like that.”
“Wow.” Bobby gave Jane an admiring stare. “How did you manage that?”
“It’s not actually all that much of a story,” Jane said. “The really interesting parts happened afterward.”
Winter sat back while Jane told the story of what had happened to her exodus after leaving the Prison—their time in the swamps, and then with the Leatherbacks. By the time she got to a considerably exaggerated version of Winter’s storming of the Vendre, Bobby was clapping her hands in delight. Winter retaliated with stories of the fighting in Khandar, which Bobby embellished with lurid details. Before Winter knew it, the sky had darkened entirely and the torches outside were faint glows through the tent walls.
The only awkward moment came when Bobby was filling in what had happened after they left Ashe-Katarion. She and Folsom had been promoted to sergeant as Fitz worked to fill out the ranks of the junior officers, while Graff, because of his long experience and against his fervent objections, had been made a lieutenant. Of their little circle, that left only Feor, and here Bobby hesitated.
“She was on the ship with us,” she said. “I even saw her, once or twice. But I think Fitz kept her under guard. There were a couple of cabins none of us were ever allowed to visit, with sentries on every watch, and she slept in one of those. I didn’t see her again after we transferred to the riverboats.” Catching Winter’s expression, she tried to be reassuring. “I’m sure she’s here, though. You can ask Fitz when you see him.”
Winter nodded. She had a pretty good idea of where Feor was, and what had been in that guarded cabin. Janus would not have left the steel plates bearing his precious Thousand Names in Khandar without the Colonials to guard them. Feor was certainly here, but whether the colonel would ever let her out again was uncertain. He has to let me in, at least. He owes me that much.
Eventually Folsom arrived, huge and taciturn as always, and Winter made another round of introductions. The big sergeant was happy to see Winter, but curiously shy in the presence of Jane, and the fact that he wasn’t privy to the secret made the conversation a bit more circumspect. Shortly thereafter, Winter and Jane excused themselves, and Bobby promised to send Graff over to visit when she tracked him down.
More shouted greetings followed them away from the row of tents, and Winter turned to wave over her shoulder to the rankers. She and Jane walked together in silence for a while, through the rest of the Colonial encampment and out past the line of sentries, on to the darkened lawn that separated the palace from the Ministry of War.
“They all love you,” Jane said, after a while.
Winter winced. “It took me a while to get used to it. It’s not even about anything I’ve done. Just that we went into battle together, and they survived. I’m like a . . . a lucky charm.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“Not everyone survived.” Winter bit her lip. “They tend to forget about that. I can’t blame them, but . . .”
Jane snaked her arm through Winter’s and crooked it at the elbow. Winter went stiff.
“Don’t,” she said. “Someone might see.”
“It’s dark,” Jane said. “Besides, you think you’re the only lieutenant who keeps a girl?” She laughed. “We know Marsh does.”
“Marsh.” Winter sighed but left their arms linked. “I don’t know what Bobby was thinking.”
“She was thinking that he was handsome, and she was lonely. How old is she—sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Seventeen, probably.”
“You must remember what it was like to be seventeen and have your head turned by a pretty face.” Jane’s fingers found her hand and squeezed it. “I know I do.”
“Is he handsome, then?” Winter said, glad the darkness hid her flushed face. “I’ve never been able to tell.”
“Sure. At least, I thought so, and Bobby seems to agree. But there’s no accounting for taste.”
“I suppose he does look a bit like those old paintings of Mithradacii gods, with that hair. Do you remember those old storybooks we found in the Prison library? They were always turning into boars or swans to get women to fall in love with them.”
“I never quite understood how that worked,” Jane said. “But I recall you being very interested in the woodcuts of nymphs and dryads without any clothes on.”
Winter rolled her eyes and gave Jane’s arm a tug. “Come on. We had better make sure your girls haven’t killed anybody.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RAESINIA
“My queen,” said Count Vertue, bowing low. “I beg you. We have one last opportunity to avert this bloodshed. Let us act, before it is too late.”
Raesinia stood on a hillock beside the north road from Ohnlei. It was another beautiful August day, though a breath of cooler a
ir carried the hint that summer would not last forever. Count Vertue, dressed in a “simple” riding outfit embroidered with silver and gold thread, stood beside his mount with two blue-uniformed soldiers at his side. Raesinia stood alone, but there was a squad of Colonials waiting at a discreet distance, in case Orlanko’s emissary tried something desperate.
“I agree,” Raesinia said. “Let me extend you one final offer. Tell your master that if he orders his troops to return to their camps, his noble followers to disperse, and offers himself into our care, I personally guarantee that he will receive no punishment, and will be free to live out his days in the duchy. You may assure your fellows that none of them will be punished, either. Only members of the Ministry of Information who directly participated in the plot against the Crown will be brought to trial.”
“It grieves me to hear you say that, Your Majesty. I have no ‘master,’ as you put it, only a good friend in His Grace the duke, around whom all the right-thinking gentry of the kingdom have come together. He does everything in Your Majesty’s interests, whatever these traitors may have told you.” Vertue glanced scornfully at the Colonials. “If you would only appeal to them yourself, I feel sure they would throw off the orders of Vhalnich and the so-called deputies and return you to your proper place. How can you ally yourself with a pack of rabble-rousers and treasonous thinkers who have disgraced the sacred halls of the cathedral and Ohnlei both?”
“I am the queen, Count Vertue. It is for me to say who is a traitor, and who is not, and I tell you the traitors are in your own camp.”
“If you will not think of the nation,” the count said, “at least consider the men who will die to no purpose if you throw this mass of beggars and frontier soldiers against the pride of the Royal Army. You must know they cannot stand the test of battle.”
“Whatever deaths there have been”—Raesinia gritted her teeth—“and whatever deaths are still to come, all of them fall on Orlanko’s conscience, not mine. Not that I imagine it bothers him. His hands are well stained already.”
“I see that you have been led completely astray.” Vertue sighed. “So it must be. God sends us these trials to prove we are worthy of His continued grace. When the slaughter begins, remember that you hold it in your power to end it at any time.” His eyes narrowed. “And when you do choose to surrender, seek me out. I will make certain you and your companions are well treated.”
“Allow me to extend you the same courtesy, my lord,” Raesinia said.
Vertue snorted and turned to his horse. His guards mounted up as well, and the trio wheeled about and rode away, down the slope of the hill and north along the road. The cavalry pickets parted, reluctantly, to let them through.
Somewhere up that road—not far up it, if the latest reports they’d received were correct—was Orlanko’s army. Not a large army, by historical standards. Not even larger than Raesinia’s, if every last pike-wielding teenager was counted. But of course the point was that the pikes and the teenagers didn’t count for much, in the eyes of men like Vertue. Rabble, he says. They certainly met the description. Janus had done wonders to gather and arm so many in a week, but it was still only a week, which didn’t allow for much in the way of training.
Another horse climbed the slope. Janus bet Vhalnich himself dismounted and stood beside his queen, looking south down the road instead of north after the retreating emissaries. He was head-and-shoulders taller than her, but that was something Raesinia was used to ignoring.
“They’ve gone,” she said. “Vertue and his minders.” Janus had been certain that the “soldiers” had been Concordat spies in Royal Army uniforms.
“I saw,” Janus said, without looking back at her.
“Was it really wise to let them leave? They’ll tell Orlanko we’ve marched.”
“We can’t expect to keep that information from him. Frankly, I expect he has a complete picture of our forces by now. The city is too big and too open to keep anything secret for long, and we don’t have enough men to post a screen and intercept his couriers. Surprise is not where our advantage lies.”
“Where does our advantage lie?”
“Numbers and will,” Janus said. “And the faith that comes with fighting on the right side.”
“And superior generalship?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, modesty would require me to deny that. But since the opposition is commanded by either Duke Orlanko or Count Torahn, ‘superior’ is a low bar.”
“I thought you respected Orlanko,” Raesinia said.
“In certain arenas. He has a genius for analyzing information and organizational structures, and a crude but instinctive feel for human nature. None of that translates into battlefield competence, however, and his chief defect is his overconfidence. He does not know enough to leave things in the hands of more capable men.” Janus shrugged. “On the other hand, he has a great many cannon. That can make up for quite a few character flaws.”
“You don’t think we can win?”
Janus was looking at the road again. “If I didn’t think there was a chance, I would never have given the order to march. But as to how much of a chance . . . we shall see.” He smiled briefly. “Here they come.”
A rising cloud of dust had been visible around the curve of the road for some time, but now Raesinia could see the first blue-coated ranks coming into view. The First Battalion of the Colonials had the lead, behind the wide-flung cavalry screen, marching in a long, thin column to the cheerful accompaniment of drums, flutes, and fifes. Janus had ransacked the city’s theaters for any man who could play and walk at the same time to provide bands for the troops. Whether anyone could hear anything among the clatter of boots on the dusty road and the creaks of the wagons, Raesinia was uncertain, but she hadn’t argued.
After the First Battalion came the Second, its head marked by its pair of battle flags. Alongside the steady river of blue-coated troops were the wagons, a motley collection of farmers’ wains, two-wheeled carts, and even converted cabs and carriages. At intervals among the slow-plodding vehicles were batteries of artillery, hitched to their limbers, muzzles pointing backward and down toward the dusty ground.
Behind the Second Battalion was the endless river of new recruits, still in their civilian clothes. For the most part they were a drab mass of gray and brown, but here and there a nobleman who’d thrown in his lot with the deputies stood out as a splash of color. Blue specks at regular intervals were the sergeants borrowed from the Colonials to try to impose order. Each man had some kind of weapon, but for every musket there was a long-handled spear or pike, fashioned in haste or dragged out of Grandfather’s closet.
It did Raesinia good to see them marching. She’d spent the week at the Twin Turrets, and while Janus had brought her regular reports, she hadn’t been up to Ohnlei to see it with her own eyes. It was too dangerous, the colonel had argued; among so many men, Orlanko had no doubt inserted a few of his own agents. She’d had an odd fantasy that all the volunteer soldiers were a myth, that Janus was only humoring her, and that when the day finally came to face the duke, she’d find herself alone.
Militarily, though, she had to admit they did not inspire confidence. The only hint that they were soldiers instead of a mob was that every man sported a black armband, a nod to the so-called rules of war that prescribed reasonable treatment for “uniformed troops.” It couldn’t hurt, though Raesinia had her doubts that any rules would constrain Orlanko if he won. They’d chosen black to respect the passing of her father, or to show their allegiance to the deputies, or—she thought this the most likely—because, with Ohnlei still decked out in mourning, black cloth had been readily available in unlimited quantities.
The column marched slowly, and an hour later they were still coming. Raesinia had moved to the edge of the hill, where they could see her easily, and she waved her hand at the recruits as they came by. For the most part they didn’t recognize her, but
whenever someone did, they raised a cheer. I should be closer, she thought. If they’re going to die for me, they should at least know what I look like.
The sound of a horse approaching at speed brought her attention back to the hilltop, where Janus was conferring quietly with the Colonial officers. The rider, a cavalry trooper in weather-beaten blues, trotted up the slope, reined his mount around, and saluted. Raesinia drifted over.
“Sir!” the trooper said. “Give-Em-H—” He noticed the queen standing nearby, paused, and went on. “Captain Stokes sends to say that he has located the enemy. We’ve sighted their main body, and engaged their outriders.”
He dug in his saddlebag and produced a folded note. Janus took it, read it gravely, and nodded.
“As expected. It’s the logical place, from his point of view.” He turned to the captains standing nearby. The only one Raesinia recognized was Marcus, in Royal Army blue now instead of Armsmen green. She couldn’t catch his eye.
“You may proceed as we’ve discussed, gentleman,” the colonel said. “Good luck!”
They saluted and headed for their own horses.
Janus turned to Raesinia. “Your Majesty. You know what I advise.”
“I’m not going back, if that’s what you mean.” Raesinia set her jaw. “I started all this, and now I feel so helpless. The least I can do is watch.” She lowered her voice. “Besides. You know the danger is . . . not entirely relevant.”
“I am, of course, Your Majesty’s humble servant. Lieutenant Uhlan and his men will accompany you.” Janus matched her whisper. “If we lose, Your Majesty—”
“Don’t.”
“If we lose,” the colonel continued remorselessly, “I have given Lieutenant Uhlan orders to place his entire complement at your disposal. I trust them implicitly. While I don’t anticipate being in a position to offer further advice, I might suggest that you allow him to conduct you to Mieran County. It is a remote place, and you would find it easy to disappear, even from the likes of Orlanko.” He smiled, briefly. “Of course, that is only a contingency plan.”
The Shadow Throne: Book Two of the Shadow Campaigns Page 58