This time, Marcus rode ahead instead of keeping his normal position in the middle of the column. He and Cyte stayed with the cavalry vanguard, to meet with Dorsay and organize the loading. As the day wore on, though, Marcus found himself afflicted with superstitious worry, as though yesterday had been some kind of dream. The haze of the rain didn’t help, rendering everything farther than a few dozen yards away misty and ghostlike. Marching forever toward help that never comes would be a pretty good hell for an entire army, he thought. There were stories in the Wisdoms...
Silliness, of course. But it was still with a sense of relief that Marcus heard the call from the forward scouts that they’d sighted the first masts. A few minutes later he could see for himself, a row of them looming out of the mist like huge, naked trees. The transports, big boxy things that seemed as seaworthy as bathtubs, were anchored just off the bank. Farther out, a sleek frigate prowled, looking like a predator beside its ungainly prey. The muddy red of the Borelgai flag flew from the stern of every vessel.
Marcus sent messengers back to the column, giving more precise directions, then rode ahead with Cyte. They found Dorsay standing with a small group of men in unfamiliar, ornate uniforms, which Marcus guessed were Borelgai navy. At the sight of him, they took off their overlarge hats and inclined their heads.
“General d’Ivoire!” Dorsay said as Marcus dismounted. “Everything went smoothly, I trust?”
“So far,” Marcus said. A Life Guard came forward to take the reins of his horse. “Colonel Cyte has information on how much space we’ll need for the various units. Who should she be talking to?”
“Sub-Captain Gale is handling the logistics.” Dorsay beckoned, and a younger man, less impressively uniformed and hatted, stepped out from behind the others. His superiors were eyeing Cyte with mixed expressions of mirth and horror, and one of them whispered something that set the others to chuckling. Cyte studiously ignored them, but Marcus felt himself going red.
“These gentlemen,” Dorsay went on, “are the captains of our frigates. Captain Neilson, of the Swiftmark, Captain—”
Another chuckle was too much for Marcus.
“Yes,” he said. “My chief of staff is a woman. If you find this difficult to accept, I suggest you get over it quickly.”
“Sir—” Cyte said.
“My apologies, madam,” one of the captains said.
“It’s just a bit... unusual for us,” said another. “Borel has never been quite so desperate that the frailer sex has needed to take up arms.”
Cyte straightened up. “I suggest you not repeat that comment when the rest of the army gets here. We have a couple thousand women with muskets, and they’re quite used to making fools of men who think of them as frail.”
“Quite right,” Dorsay said blandly. “We fought them at Gilphaite, and you’d better believe that was a bloody mess.”
The smiles on the captains’ faces were gone, but they made no further comments. Cyte went off with Sub-Captain Gale to compare lists, and Marcus endured the rest of the introductions, though none of them stuck in his mind. More Vordanai cavalry was starting to arrive, and he set them to marking out an area where the army could stop and erect its tents. We’ll be at least a day getting on board. No sense getting wet until then.
“You’re very thorough, General d’Ivoire,” Dorsay said approvingly. “We’ll have some time on our hands once we set sail. I hope we get the chance to compare notes.” He winked. “And it’s possible a bottle or two of Hamveltai flaghaelan may have come into my possession.”
Marcus grinned. “I think I would like that very much, Your Grace.”
“We can raise a glass to your queen,” Dorsay went on. “She’s due congratulations.”
“Congratulations?”
“On her marriage to Second Prince Matthew.” Dorsay slapped Marcus cheerfully on the shoulder. “The price of the alliance, I imagine. Georg drives a hard bargain, but if she got a fleet and an army out of him in exchange for a marriage, I think he may have got the short end of the stick for once!”
23
Raesinia
“Well,” Raesinia said.
“Well.” The second prince gave a crooked smile. “It was a nice engagement while it lasted.”
“Surprisingly pleasant,” Raesinia agreed, grinning back at him.
They were standing in the same foyer where Raesinia had confronted Georg. Trunks full of Raesinia’s things sat by the door, waiting to be hauled to the docks.
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather come with us?” Raesinia said. “I can’t imagine you want to spend any longer here than you have to.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t simply vanish from the capital on a moment’s notice,” Matthew said. “I have affairs to wind up and friends who need tearful good-byes. It won’t be long before I grace your Ohnlei Palace with my presence, I assure you.”
“If your father tries anything—”
“I’ve got the letters,” Matthew said. Cora had written out instructions for a few different contingencies. “And the duplicates are somewhere safe. My friends know what to do.”
The threat that they could still bring the Borelgai economy down, even once Raesinia and Cora had left the city, should be enough to keep Matthew and his lover safe from the king’s reprisal. Still, Raesinia felt uneasy. “Make sure he knows what will happen. Just in case.”
“I will.” Matthew looked down, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. “Your Highness—”
“Raes,” Raesinia said. “My friends call me Raes.”
“Raes, then.” The prince swallowed. “I don’t know how I can possibly thank you for this.”
“You don’t have to,” Raesinia said. “We couldn’t have done it without your connections.”
“You didn’t have to do it at all. You could have married me, gone back to Vordan, and let me drink myself to death. You didn’t have to... care.”
“Well.” Raesinia’s smile broadened. “I’m sure, as ambassador, you’ll find some way to make it up to me. You can’t be worse than Ihannes. He has a smile like a carnival mask.”
“It does have a mechanical look to it, doesn’t it? Like there was some kind of clockwork inside his head keeping it wound up.” Matthew let out a breath. “For what it’s worth, then. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Prince Matthew.” Raesinia bowed slightly. “I look forward to seeing you at court.”
“Of course you do. I make a stunning addition to any court.” He struck a pose, and Raesinia laughed out loud.
After a carriage ride through the city, shrouded as usual in mist and rain, they were back at the docks. The Prudence, the same courier that had brought Raesinia to Borel, was assigned to bring her home. Eric, Cora, and the other servants followed in her retinue, along with a small packet for the Borelgai embassy in Vordan City. With so few passengers and no cargo, the captain assured her that they would make excellent time.
That turned out to be the case, thanks to a southerly wind that heralded the onset of winter. Prudence sped through choppy seas, rounding the Jaw and down the western coast of Vordan. They were headed, not directly back to Vordan City, but for Enzport at the mouth of the Pale. If nothing had gone terribly wrong, that was where Duke Dorsay’s squadron would be, and the prospect of an early reunion with Marcus was impossible to resist. It’s not far out of the way, in any event, Raesinia told herself. And we need to get the latest news on the war.
Cora kept herself occupied reading—she’d gotten a small crate full of new texts in Borel, which at the rate she was going looked like they’d last until roughly the end of the week—while Eric seemed to enjoy the break from the pressure. But the waiting wore on Raesinia. There was only so long she could spend on deck, watching the foam-flecked waves rise and fall, or down in the chart room staring at the maps. She tried to read, but couldn’t concentrate. There ought to be something I can do to be useful. But the crew certainly didn’t need her help, and without more information there
wasn’t much planning that could be done.
It was with some relief, therefore, that she watched Ecco Island slide into sight. It was a mountainous hump, rising out of the ocean like the domed back of a turtle, with only scattered greenery on its rocky slopes. A few people lived there, she knew, mostly raising sheep, but the only permanent settlement was on the landward side, at the naval base. As they hugged the north coast of the island, she could see the bumpy shapes of brick embrasures at the tops of the cliffs, where the shore guns that had closed this route to enemy vessels were emplaced. Those guns were gone now, dragged away and spiked by the Borelgai when they’d invaded the island during the war and not yet replaced by a revolutionary government that needed every cannon it could manufacture for the army.
Past the island, the southern peninsula swung up like a lower jaw, creating a bay the shape of a long, narrowing funnel. It made for a magnificent harbor, the best in Vordan: shielded from ocean storms by the bulk of the island, deep enough for the largest ships, and big enough to float the navies of the world. Before the War of the Princes, the largest squadron of the Vordanai navy had been based here, as well as their primary shipyard. The Borelgai had smashed the former and burned the latter, and kept the place under very effective siege, though neither city nor island had actually fallen. After Vansfeldt and the peace that followed, Vordan’s navy had been officially disbanded. Enzport was still a center of commercial shipping, but the naval shipyard had never been rebuilt.
For the people who’d lived through that time, looking out their windows must have made for an awful reminder. Once again, Borelgai men-of-war lay at anchor in the Enzport harbor, red flags snapping from their sterncastles in the brisk breeze. They were huge ships, towering over the slender Prudence, their high, slab-sided hulls broken by three horizontal lines of gunports. Men bustled about in their rigging, climbing the ropes and spars.
Behind those behemoths was the rest of the fleet, a flock of wider, lower transports with lean frigates at the edges like sheepdogs. The civilian ships of the harbor gave the whole group a wide berth. Enzport was mostly on the north bank of the Pale, and the docks there were crowded with merchantmen and fishing vessels. If she hadn’t just come from Viadre, Raesinia might have been impressed at the sight.
Colored flags ran up the mast of the closest warship in response to a similar string flying from the Prudence. Sothe, Raesinia reflected, would have been able to decode them.
“Your Highness.” A young crewman, obviously overawed by the rank of his guest, edged up to where she stood against the rail. “With your permission, we’ll tie up to the Dominant, and you can go aboard. Duke Dorsay and General d’Ivoire are waiting for you.”
Marcus. She was so close now. She stared up at the mountainous ship, trying to pick him out along the rail. “Of course. Proceed.”
He saluted and ran off. Prudence tacked expertly to come alongside the larger vessel, then ropes were flying down from Dominant’s deck, and the courier’s crew worked hurriedly to bring the two together. A few minutes later, a long ladder unrolled from the man-of-war. Raesinia waved off any offers of help and grabbed the rungs, pulling herself up the side of the larger ship.
The men at the top of the ladder were clearly not prepared for this, and stepped back in some confusion at the sight of the queen herself awkwardly straddling the rail before she managed to get herself over. They stood stiffly at attention as she brushed herself off, immaculate in their red-and-white navy uniforms. After a polite interval, a tall man in a more elaborate uniform stepped over and bowed, doffing his bicorn.
“Your Highness,” he said. “My name is Captain Charles Brixton. Welcome to the Dominant, flagship of the First Squadron.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“We have your cabin prepared, if you’d like.”
“I was told Duke Dorsay and General d’Ivoire are aboard,” Raesinia said, her heart thumping a little faster. “I’d like to see them.”
“Of course. I believe they’re in the chart room.” He snapped his fingers at a waiting sailor.
“My staff and bags will be coming over as well,” Raesinia said, as she followed the man. “Make sure they get settled.”
Brixton bowed again. Raesinia followed the sailor across the crowded deck, dodging barrels, coils of rope, and assorted tools. Carronades, small, short-barreled cannon, were mounted at intervals along the rail, intended to fire grapeshot onto an enemy deck during a close encounter. A tight spiral stair led belowdecks, into a narrow corridor toward the ship’s stern.
The chart room was larger than any space aboard the Prudence, with a big table and dressers full of maps, notes, and cartographers’ tools. At the moment, the Dominant’s own paper charts had been pushed aside, replaced with the unrolled leather maps that the army used in the field. Standing around the table were Duke Dorsay, General Fitz Warus, and the young woman captain Raesinia recognized as Winter’s second in command.
And Marcus. He looked much as he had when Raesinia had last seen him, beard well trimmed, uniform neat and clean. She realized she’d expected to be charging to the rescue again, as in Murnsk, and to find him battle-worn and exhausted. He must have been here at least a week, if Dorsay kept to the timetable, she told herself. Don’t be silly. He looked up at her, and his eyes widened, but just for a moment. Then he was staring at the map again, and something had gone tight in his face.
“Your Highness,” Dorsay said, stepping around the table with a warm smile. “Welcome. Your journey was clearly swift. I hope it was uneventful as well?”
“Entirely,” Raesinia said. “And I’m glad to see everything has gone according to plan on your side.”
“Not entirely according to plan, but well enough,” Dorsay said. “We had to send the transports a considerable distance up the Pale, which put us a bit behind schedule. But we’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
“And the army?” Raesinia said, looking directly at Marcus. “What’s their condition?”
He looked her in the eye, his face rigid with military discipline. Raesinia’s throat went thick. It’s not just that we’re in front of the others. Something’s wrong.
“We have the First and Second Divisions,” Marcus said. “Along with some stragglers and detached units from the rest of the army, and the cavalry reserve, though we’re very short on horses.”
“The other divisions were destroyed?” The shock of that overcame Raesinia’s worry about Marcus. That’s tens of thousands of soldiers.
“We don’t know,” Marcus said. “When our left flank collapsed at Alves, there was a rout. Some units were probably dispersed, others mostly taken captive. Some may have changed sides.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a great deal of information.”
“And Janus?” she said.
“There the picture has cleared up in the last few days,” Fitz said. “Though I’m afraid it still isn’t good. Reports have reached us that his main force is, indeed, pushing through the Illifen passes. There are some garrisons there, and the positions are strong, so it may take a little time. But there’s no question of stopping him completely. Once he’s on the other side, it’s an easy march down the Marak to the Vor and Vordan City.”
Dorsay cleared his throat. “General d’Ivoire has been very insistent that we make all haste for Vordan City. We were, in fact, planning to weigh anchor tomorrow. But I must repeat to Your Highness what I told the general—I don’t believe that we’ll have the strength to fight a battle when we get there, not without waiting for reinforcements from Borel. My own suggestion was Nordart, but perhaps a rendezvous at Vayenne—”
“Your Highness,” Marcus said. “Before we discuss strategy, I need a moment with you in private.”
“There are decisions that must be made immediately,” Dorsay complained. “If we plan to switch the rendezvous to Vayenne, we should dispatch the Prudence with orders—”
“Please, Your Highness,” Marcus said. “It’s important.
”
“Is there somewhere General d’Ivoire and I could speak alone?” Raesinia said. Her heart started beating faster again, and she felt her cheeks flush. She gritted her teeth. I’m the Queen of Vordan, for God’s sake, not a lovesick schoolgirl.
“Of course,” Dorsay said with a sigh. He gestured to the door. “Follow me.”
Down the hallway from the chart room was a well-appointed cabin—not, in fact, very different from the room Raesinia had occupied at the Keep in Viadre, except with all the furniture bolted to the floor.
“This is the commodore’s quarters,” Dorsay said. “While I’m technically filling that role on this expedition, we thought it best to reserve them for you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Raesinia glared at Dorsay, her expression fixedly polite, while he bowed and backed out of the room.
“Raesinia—” Marcus said, when the duke was gone.
That was all he got out before she was on him, standing on tiptoes to reach his mouth with hers, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. For a moment he went stiff, and then he relaxed slightly, kissing her, his hands sliding up her flanks.
All right, she conceded. Maybe I am a lovesick schoolgirl.
He pulled away, pushing her to arm’s length, and stared as though she’d grown an extra head. Raesinia felt her cheeks flush further, but she stubbornly met his gaze.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to Viadre,” Marcus said.
“The opportunity came up after you left,” Raesinia said, with a twinge of guilt. It was only half-true, since she could have sent him a messenger. She hadn’t wanted to distract him, or deal with his inevitable objections. “I thought it was where I could do the most good.”
“And you were right, clearly.” He waved at the ship around them. “A navy squadron and an army to follow. That’s impressive negotiation.”
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