“Take this.” He handed her his coat. “Just until we get upstairs.”
She wrapped it around herself, concealing both her features and the filth that coated her. Marcus led the way into the hotel lobby and directly back to the stairs, with Raesinia hurrying after. She wondered how long it would be before the staff noticed the muddy footprints on their carpet. On the third floor, he brought her to a room and knocked, and the door was opened from within.
“Marcus?” Alek Giforte said. He wore his Armsmen uniform, and his face was pale and harried. “Did you bring— Oh! Your Highness. I didn’t—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Raesinia said, waving a hand and flicking tiny bits of mud on the wall. “But I hope this place has a bath.”
It did, it turned out, with hot and cold running water. That was certainly something she’d missed in her time at sea. She filled the tub once to wash off the mud, then let it empty and filled it again to soak for a few minutes in clean water so hot it made her skin flush pink. It took another few minutes to get her hair into some semblance of order.
Marcus had left her clothes just inside the bathroom door. As she’d requested, the outfit was nothing elaborate, a simple dress in dark blue and white, suggesting the colors of the Vordanai flag. A few pieces of silver jewelry completed the ensemble. Alek has good taste, Raesinia reflected, as she examined herself in the mirror.
She emerged to find the two men waiting nervously. Marcus had changed back into his uniform, complete with the column-general’s stars on his shoulders. Alek got to his feet and bowed gracefully.
“Welcome home, Your Highness,” he said. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”
“Marcus was certain you’d be reliable,” Raesinia said. “I assume he’s explained the situation?”
“Fully,” Alek said. He shook his head. “There had been rumors that the Deputies were going to seek terms from Janus, but I had no idea they’d actually sent a messenger.”
“How do the people feel about it?” At his slight hesitation, she added, “Be honest, please.”
“People are... worried,” Alek said. “Surrendering goes against the grain, obviously. But after the Battle of Alves, there’s not a lot of confidence that Janus can be stopped. And of course there are some—a minority, but not an insignificant one—who support him. They’re not open about it, but they’re there.” He grimaced. “We’ve had a hell of a time keeping a lid on things.”
“And are we going to get a crowd today?”
“For a certainty,” Alek said. “I only worry that we may get more than we bargained for. If enough Janus supporters turn up, we could have a riot on our hands.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Marcus said.
Raesinia nodded. “Let’s get moving.”
*
It had been a little more than a year since Raesinia had come to Farus’ Triumph with Danton, though it felt more like half a lifetime. The huge square looked the same as it always had, with four small fountains framing a single enormous one and the pillar supporting the equestrian statue of Farus IV rising up behind it like a stone tree trunk. Halfway up that pillar was a disk-shaped stone platform, the traditional speaker’s rostrum for anyone who wanted to address the crowds of Vordan City.
And the crowds were there in force. There was still time before Raesinia had planned to begin, but people thronged the square, pressing around the fountain into a tight mass that was slowly expanding toward the ring of shops and hotels that edged the open space. They came from all walks of life—neat, modest tradesmen; merchants from the north bank in suits that reminded her of her time in Borel; and swarms of laborers from the south bank in shabby linens and leathers. Armsmen were scattered throughout, creating small islands of calm, but the rest of the crowd surged and shoved, trying to get closer. A babble of voices made hearing all but impossible.
To get Raesinia to the platform, Alek had arranged a flying wedge of Armsmen, who pushed their way through the crowd with their staves. Inside the cordon, Raesinia walked slowly, feeling the stares of everyone they passed. Marcus was on one side, his posture stiff and correct, one hand on the butt of his saber. Alek Giforte was on the other, barking orders to his men as they advanced.
When they neared the base of the stairs leading up to the platform, Raesinia saw they were blocked off from the crowd by another cordon, this one of blue-uniformed soldiers. Behind them, sitting on the steps, was Chief Minister d’Andorre. He got to his feet and spoke to a nervous-looking lieutenant as the wedge of Armsmen got closer.
Raesinia grabbed Giforte’s arm and dragged his ear close. “No violence!”
He nodded fervently and hurried forward to speak to his Armsmen. As the two groups came into contact, the soldiers closed ranks to keep the Armsmen out, and both sides began screaming at each other. Since the general racket made them impossible to understand, this produced very little result.
“Stay close,” Marcus said, pushing forward himself. Raesinia followed just behind him. The soldiers stiffened as he came through the press, the insignia of his rank gleaming.
“What the hell is going on?” he said, his parade-ground voice loud enough to make himself understood.
“Sir!” The other soldiers quieted enough for the lieutenant to be heard. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have orders to keep the rostrum clear.”
“Whose orders?” Marcus said. “Do they apply to the queen?”
“The chief minister’s, sir.” The lieutenant’s face was very pale. “And they do.”
“D’Andorre!” Raesinia shouted, into the tense pause that followed. “Can I have a word?”
The chief minister got to his feet, apparently heedless of the shouting, shoving tumult of humanity all around him. He came forward to stand beside the nervous lieutenant, and looked down at Raesinia.
“I wish you’d taken my advice,” d’Andorre said.
“I’ll bet you do,” Raesinia growled. “Get your men out of the way before they get hurt.”
“Are you willing to order Armsmen to attack Vordanai soldiers? Will they obey, do you think?”
“The Armsmen haven’t got anything to do with it. What do you think will happen if I start shouting that the queen is here and the chief minister won’t let her speak?”
D’Andorre’s face paled. “You wouldn’t.”
“I was here during the revolution, Chief Minister. On the ground. I’ve seen the power of the mob. Have you?”
“I...” He shook his head. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“Do what? Give the people what they want?”
“They don’t know what’s good for them!” d’Andorre said. Despair was written all over his face. “Your Highness, I beg you. At least wait until we’ve received Janus’ terms. They may be more lenient than we expect. Afterward—”
“Get out of my way.”
Pushing past Marcus, Raesinia shoved between two Armsmen and pressed past the soldiers. One of them reached out to grab her, and she gave him her best glare. He faltered, looking back at d’Andorre, who only stared at her blankly. Raesinia shook the soldier off and went to d’Andorre’s side.
“I’m only going to offer them a choice,” she said. “If they choose you, I’ll go quietly. You have my word.”
“Your Highness...” D’Andorre shook his head. “If they choose you, then God help us all.”
Raesinia turned away from him and climbed the rostrum. The steps seemed endless, winding around the pillar twice before they came to the speaker’s platform. As she ascended, the noise of the crowd rose, shouts and exclamations merging into an enormous roar like that of a stormy sea crashing against the rocks. Raesinia reached the top step and walked out onto the small circle of stone. It felt a thousand miles high, high enough that the faces in the crowd were only dots in a pattern, a vast fabric of humanity that went on forever. Small flashes of blue and silver were everywhere, Vordanai flags in all sizes, waving wildly like a school of strange fish.
&
nbsp; Her heart slammed in her chest, as though it were about to burst, and the air felt too thin. She’d spoken to her people like this once before, and it hadn’t gone well. Only the arrival of the Colonials, the sudden restoration of hope, had turned the tide of opinion in her direction.
Last time she’d spent hours on her speech, reading classic texts, consulting books of rhetoric. This time she had a few lines she’d scrawled in haste the night before. There would be no last-minute arrival. She didn’t have Danton’s magic voice. Just me. She breathed in until her lungs creaked, let the air out in a rush, and held up her arms. Gradually, the crowd’s shouts subsided, the noise level falling until it reached, not silence, but the closest equivalent a mob of ten thousand people could manage.
Raesinia stepped forward. She could feel the eyes on her, so many eyes, as though the concentration of attention was a physical force.
“People of Vordan,” she said. In her own ears, her voice sounded wrong, thready and weak. Do I always sound like that? “I am Queen Raesinia Orboan, daughter of Farus VIII. This morning I returned to our city from Viadre, aboard the fleet that now waits outside the harbor.
“I went to Borel to look for help.” A scattering of boos, quickly shushed. “I have as much reason for anger at the Borelgai as anyone. My beloved brother, Prince Dominic, was killed in the War of the Princes, and their pawn Duke Orlanko tried to remove me from the throne. But a queen must, above all, be practical, and trust others to do the same. I trusted that the Borelgai did not want to see Vhalnich on the throne, and my trust was rewarded.” After a fashion.
A few cheers of “Vhalnich! Vhalnich!” broke out, mixed with “The queen! Long live the queen!” For the most part, the crowd was quiet. Raesinia felt sweat beading on her brow.
“The Borelgai have sent this fleet to return General d’Ivoire to Vordan City, and an army will soon follow. With their aid, I believe we can defeat the traitor who calls himself Emperor of Murnsk and Vordan. But on my arrival, I was informed by the chief minister that the war was over. The Deputies-General have asked Vhalnich for terms.”
She paused to let that sink in. A wave of murmurs swept the crowd, punctuated by cheers for Vhalnich.
“What we’ve done here, since the revolution, isn’t perfect,” Raesinia said. “It’s only just beginning. But I, for one, am interested to see where it goes. If we give in, it will all be swept away. The power of the people will be replaced by the power of the sword.
“The Deputies-General have offered to surrender their power. They say they are acting in the best interests of Vordan, and I believe them. Chief Minister d’Andorre is not an evil man.” Raesinia took a deep breath and raised her voice. “But that power is not theirs to surrender. Nor is it mine. It’s yours. It belongs to the people.
“If you are willing to give that up, to become part of Vhalnich’s empire, then I will not stand in your way. I told Chief Minister d’Andorre as much. I do not want to ask anyone to fight, to die, for me.” She stopped for a moment, turning in a slow circle. “But if you want to fight for Vordan, then I will fight beside you, to the bitter end. Believe me, it would be an honor.”
She let her arms fall to her sides and then tipped her head in a bow. The quiet of the crowd took on a startled quality, as though they couldn’t believe she was finished. People coughed. Clothes rustled.
“Vhalnich!” someone shouted. “Emperor Vhalnich!”
Raesinia swallowed.
“Fight!” A woman’s voice. “Fight! Fight!”
“No surrender!” a man roared. When he said it again, there were a dozen voices alongside his. “No surrender!”
“Fight!” The shouting spread, deepened into a chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Feet began to stomp in rhythm. It began as a clatter, like a spray of rain pattering onto dry ground. As more and more people joined in, the sound grew louder, shaking the square, making Raesinia’s teeth buzz in sympathy.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Raesinia straightened up, sweat running freely down her face, mixing with tears. She raised her arms, and the crowd shouted its approval. Cries of her name mixed with shouts of “Vordan! Vordan!” and “No surrender!” The chant went on, like a heartbeat.
She turned around and walked to the stairs, concentrating on making a dignified exit. As soon as she’d left the platform, though, her legs went wobbly, and she stumbled forward, throwing out an arm to catch herself. Before she could fall, strong hands were on her shoulders, holding her up.
“You did it,” Marcus said, barely audible over the chanting. “D’Andorre’s run off with his tail between his legs.”
Raesinia leaned into him, eyes closed. “I knew they would fight,” she said. “Vordanai don’t give up easily.”
May God help us all.
“Now,” she murmured, too quiet for anyone to hear, “all we have to do is win.”
26
Winter
The Swallow slipped into the Vordan City harbor as quietly as its namesake; it was one more small merchantman, unnoticed in the chaos. And chaos was certainly the order of the day. Six Borelgai men-of-war rode at anchor in the center of the harbor, under the cliff-like face of the Vendre, while smaller craft and transports were moored at every available north-bank dock.
The Swallow turned away from them and headed for the south bank. There, the docks were mostly empty. Commercial traffic, it seemed, was keeping its distance from Vordan City.
Alex, Abraham, and Winter watched the approach from the bow, while Sothe and Captain Kerrak conferred farther aft. Abraham looked eager and a little shocked, staring at the skyline in wonder.
“You’ve never been to Vordan City?” Winter said.
He shook his head. “I’ve never been to a city. Not since I can remember, anyway. I grew up in a village, and I stayed there until the Black Priests came for me.” He glanced at Alex. “After we escaped, we went through a few towns, but nothing like this.”
“It’s certainly a far cry from the Mountain,” Alex said, but there was a tension in her voice. Winter caught her eye questioningly, and Alex gave an irritated shrug. “Bad memories. I haven’t been back here since they caught me and killed my mentor.”
“Ah,” Winter said. “Sorry to drag you through old pain.”
Alex shook her head, then looked over her shoulder at Sothe. “Orlanko’s dead. Andreas is dead. The Priests of the Black are smashed. And I’m still here.” She forced a smile. “Why shouldn’t I go where I like?”
“I’d say I’d give you a tour,” Winter said. “But honestly, I feel like a stranger myself. If we could track Abby down, she’d be the one to show you the sights.” She watched the empty docks slide past. “Though I suspect we won’t have much time to spare.”
“Afterward,” Abraham said, laying a hand on her shoulder. Infernivore bridled at the contact, but Winter kept it in check, a practiced reflex by now. She smiled.
“Afterward,” she agreed.
The Swallow was tied up at a sagging wooden dock in the shadow of the Grand Span, in front of a block of seedy warehouses. The crew secured the ship with quick efficiency, and ran out a gangplank. Sothe was talking quietly to Goltov, Alex’s handsome sailor. He nodded, giving Alex a quick glance, then hurried down the dock and up the street.
“I’m arranging transport,” Sothe said to Winter. “That will get you into the palace to see Raesinia. She’ll be able to take care of things from there.”
“You’re not coming?” Alex said.
“Not... immediately.” Sothe exchanged a look with Winter. “I have business to resolve first. But I’ll see you soon enough.”
“What about Ennika?” Abraham said.
“I’d be obliged if you’d take her with you,” Sothe said. “When I first found her, I thought of her as a captive, but...”
“She doesn’t seem to be much of a threat,” Winter said. “And she’s helped us.”
“Exactly. I was hoping Feor might know a way to make her more
comfortable, at least.”
“Feor is the priestess you brought from Khandar?” Abraham said. “The one whose group held the Thousand Names?”
Winter nodded. “The Eldest thought they were the descendants of a group of Mages.”
“Yes,” Abraham said. “I suspect we will have a great deal to talk about. I wish the Eldest were here.”
“He can come and visit,” Alex said. “Afterward.”
Afterward. Such an easy phrase. If we win. If the Beast doesn’t destroy humanity. Even given all those ifs, it seemed unlikely that she would be around to see it. That’s why it’s easy to make promises.
After a few more minutes, a battered two-horse carriage came around to the base of the dock. Goltov got out, exchanged a few words with the driver, and jogged back toward the ship. Winter looked back at Sothe.
“Thank you,” she said. “For helping me get here, and... everything else.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find you sooner,” Sothe said. “You remember what to tell Raesinia?”
“I remember.”
Abraham bowed respectfully to Sothe, and Alex waved. When Goltov arrived, Alex grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, which attracted whistles and cheers from the watching crew. A crewman walked Ennika up from below, and Abraham took her arm, helping her down the gangplank and toward the waiting carriage. Alex and Winter followed.
The carriage driver, a burly, leather-coated man with a wide-brimmed hat, nodded respectfully to Winter as she opened the door.
“You know where we’re going?”
“Oh, yes, miss,” the man said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry.”
Inside the carriage, shades on the windows cut the glare from the afternoon sun. Ennika sat and ran her fingers over her nearly blank copy of the Wisdoms, while Alex and Abraham stared together out one window, Alex pointing out the landmarks as they passed by. They rattled over the Grand Span and through Farus’ Triumph, the traffic in the great square not nearly what Winter remembered. From there they took the smaller Saint Vallax Bridge and followed the street through the wider, tree-lined thoroughfares of the north bank.
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