“You don’t need any of that,” Jane said. “We’ll have each other. When we were at the Prison, that was enough.”
“It wasn’t,” Winter said. “We just didn’t know any better.”
“Please, Winter. Don’t do this.”
“I have to.” Winter shook her head. “I really am sorry, Jane. I wish... things were different.”
Jane threw back her head and screamed, a high, keening note. Lightning crackled from her in all directions, and overhead the red serpent surged forward. When she looked back at Winter, her eyes glowed so bright they were pure white, and her voice was thick with the thunder of the Beast.
“Then I will destroy you,” she said. “I am stronger now. I will rend your mind asunder and scatter it to my winds, and your demon with it.”
Then, like a distant echo, a tiny voice. “Please, Winter.”
The Beast stepped forward, one hand raised. Crimson energy gathered in its palm. When it snapped out, Winter threw up her arms to defend herself, but the strobing bolt of lightning wrapped around her like a lasso. She felt its energy run through her body, thousands of silver needles tearing at her soul.
Overhead, Infernivore was falling back, pressed before the Beast. Winter was gripped by despair.
It’s no good. The Beast is too strong. She’d waited too long, let it absorb too many minds. I can’t stop it. Nothing can stop it now.
Once again they’d put their hopes in her. The Eldest. Alex, Abraham, Sothe. Marcus, Raesinia. Everyone. And they’re all going to die—
No.
Winter gritted her teeth and pushed back. She put everything into it, her soul, her self, meeting the Beast head-on. For a moment she and Jane were face-to-face, power straining against power, mind pushing against mind. And then she saw—
—herself, as a girl. Awkward, uncertain kisses, hidden in a gap in the hedges. Days spent together, happiness bright even in darkness. Nights spent together, clandestine experiments, her own voice giving a soft moan.
Waiting in darkness. For her, for Winter to come to the rescue. As she’d promised.
Ganhide. Bruises, tears, cruel words, and rough hands. Pain, and the feel of the skin of his throat parting under the knife. The kiss of heat as his house took fire.
More images, faster and faster, Jane’s life flowing between Winter’s fingers. And her own, through Jane’s. Winter felt Jane’s spirit, pressed tight against her.
Oh, it said. Oh.
She saw herself seeing Jane, and Jane seeing her seeing Jane, and on and on, the hall of mirrors never-ending.
I didn’t understand, Jane thought, as Winter’s life flickered around her. I couldn’t see what I was doing to you. Winter felt the brush of lips against her own. I’m sorry. For everything.
I forgive you, Winter answered.
They pulled apart. And there were three people on the cloud-swept plain. Jane had stepped away from the Beast, pulling free of the red light, leaving only a dark void surrounded by crimson radiance. She stood between the Beast and Winter, its lightning arcing into her body.
“No.” The Beast’s voice was totally inhuman now. “This is not possible. You are a part of me.”
“Maybe you don’t know yourself as well as you think,” Jane said. “Good-bye, Winter.”
“Good-bye,” Winter whispered.
The arc connecting Jane and the Beast flared even brighter, the power of the demon turned against itself. In the sky overhead, the red serpent fell back, and the green advanced, wrapping around and around its adversary. The Beast screamed, a wordless peal of rage and anguish, as Infernivore devoured its substance, drawing the cloudscape inward to a point. Out of the corner of her eye, Winter saw a single ring of swirling cloud spin away, as though flung outward from the vortex.
Then the red was fading away, and green filled the world. Winter felt Infernivore flowing back into her, returning to its lair in the pit of her soul, as sated as a snake that had devoured an elephant. A moment later a tide of oblivion, as dark and cold as the depths of the ocean, obliterated her.
34
Marcus
A few miles to the northeast of the grounds of Ohnlei Palace, the kings of Vordan had long maintained a hunting lodge. It was small, by royal standards, with only a dozen bedrooms for the king and his immediate circle, plus servants’ quarters, stables, kennels, and everything else that a monarch might need when he wanted to ride out and kill hapless animals. It was called the Rose Lodge, in honor of the curling vines that crawled up and over trellises set into the walls, and which in the spring made the place a riot of red, white, and pink.
Now, of course, the colors were gone, the gardens ready to sleep away the winter. Leaves crunched underfoot as Marcus walked beside Raesinia down the path to the front door. Ahead of them, two sentries—one of the Girls’ Own, another from the Grenadier Guards—saluted Marcus and then bowed deep to the queen.
They were only the innermost ring of a web of security that Vordan hadn’t seen since Duke Orlanko had been toppled from the Concordat. Cavalry patrols rode through the woods, and an outer cordon of sentries—ignorant of what, exactly, they were protecting—challenged visitors before they even came in sight of the house. In addition to the guards at the doors and windows, there were sharpshooters on the roof, and no horses were allowed anywhere closer than the outer ring. Inside, a couple of longtime palace servants provided for the needs of the single occupant and kept surreptitious watch on his every move. And, unbeknownst to nearly everyone, Raesinia had asked the Steel Ghost to keep watch as well, to prevent any supernatural intervention.
There were moments when Marcus thought it was a bit paranoid. But given what the lodge’s occupant had accomplished in the past, at least a little paranoia could be justified. Janus bet Vhalnich, commanding general, First Consul, and arch-traitor, had always been a hard man to pin down.
Raesinia’s two bodyguards, Joanna and Barely, were back at her side after their departure to take part in the battle. Joanna had a bandage wrapped around her head, but otherwise the two seemed to have made it through the fighting unscathed. That was more than could be said for much of the Girls’ Own, or indeed the whole of the Second Division. They’d borne the brunt of the enemy assault, and casualties had been high, among soldiers and volunteers alike. Marcus had heard the stories of Raesinia’s rush forward, how she took the flag when the men started to flee the field. Sometimes I don’t know whether I want to kiss her or lock her in a cell for her own good.
The guards opened the door, and they went inside. The lodge was decorated in a rustic style, heavy on preserved animal heads and ornaments made from antlers and bones. A silent servant directed them through the foyer and into a sitting room. Janus, dressed in a bathrobe, sat on a chaise with his feet propped up on a cushion. He was reading a book, turning the pages with his long, thin fingers. Already he looked improved from the skeletal figure Marcus had met back in the Pale valley; his face was filling out, the dark circles under his huge gray eyes receding.
He looked up as they came in, then carefully marked his place with a bookmark and set the volume aside.
“Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head. “Marcus. I’m glad to finally see you.”
The smile that crossed his face, there and gone again in a moment, was the old Janus to perfection. But there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a distant pain that made the smile feel like more of a mask than it had been.
“We thought it best not to come until things were fully settled,” Marcus said. “Alves surrendered yesterday, and with it the last of the rebel armies. The war is over.”
Janus nodded. “And so passes away the dream of empire, to wait for another generation.” He smiled again. “Or perhaps longer. We can always hope, eh?”
“We all know it was never your dream,” Raesinia said. In her voice there was anger, kept carefully in check. “Why are you alive, Janus? All the others who were taken by the Beast just... colla
psed.”
In some cases that had been midcharge. Marcus’ wavering men on the left flank had watched in stunned amazement as the mass of red-eyes coming at them simply dropped in their tracks, as though some cosmic puppeteer had abandoned his marionettes.
Janus’ eyes were hooded. “I know what happened to me. As to why, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to say. I kept my mind intact inside the Beast, which no one else seemed to manage for long. Perhaps I was simply fortunate.” He shook his head. “Even so, it was a near thing, finding my way back to my body as it all collapsed around me. Would it have been easier for you if I hadn’t?”
“Easier? Maybe.” Raesinia shook her head. “I know you helped us. If not for you, Winter might never have reached Vordan City and Marcus might not have come back to meet her. But...”
“But you can hardly explain that to the public at large.” Janus gave another summer-lightning smile. “I quite understand.”
“They’re going to want your head, Janus.”
He looked up at her, unfazed. “Are you planning to give it to them?”
Raesinia glanced at Marcus. They’d been up late, trying to figure this out between them.
“I don’t think that would be... just,” Raesinia said slowly. “But at the same time, you’ll be seen as a threat if you stay anywhere near Vordan. We thought—”
“Exile,” Janus said. “Probably to the Southern Kingdoms. Perfectly appropriate, and probably better than I deserve.”
He patted the book he’d been reading, which Marcus now saw was titled Journeys Beyond the Great Desol and Through the Kingdoms of the South. Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Do you ever get tired of doing parlor tricks?” he said.
“One takes one’s amusement where one can,” Janus said modestly.
“That’s it?” Raesinia said. “I know it’s unfair to you. I thought...”
“That I would fight?” Janus shrugged. “What would be the point? I know the position you’re in, probably better than you do. If I were in your place, exile would be the best you could possibly hope for. Fairness doesn’t come into it.” He looked down at the book, his spidery fingers spread across the cover. “Besides. I’m... tired. A long trip will be just the thing.”
“I’ll make the arrangements, then,” Raesinia said. “We’ll keep it quiet until you’ve left port. No need to risk riots.”
“Of course. Whatever you think best.”
Raesinia looked up at Marcus again, questioning. Marcus nodded.
“Very well,” the queen said. “I think that’s all.”
“Could we have a moment alone?” Marcus said.
Raesinia nodded slowly. “If you like. I’ll be outside.”
She left the sitting room, closing the door behind her. Marcus lowered himself into the chair opposite Janus, and there was a moment of silence.
“You saved us, again,” Marcus said. “You saved everyone.”
“An exaggeration,” Janus said. “At best, I gave things a bit of a nudge when I found myself able. Winter saved us. And Sothe, and Alex, and you, and everyone who fought at Bear Ridge.”
“Even so. You’re just going to go off to exile?”
“Whatever my... contribution, my name—my body—were used to do terrible things.” Janus shook his head. “I have had my chance at history, Marcus. The time has come for me to sink into well-deserved obscurity.”
“And Mya?” Marcus said quietly. “Are you giving up?”
There was another pause.
“I used to believe in destiny,” Janus said. “It was so obvious, when you looked at her. So clear. And then...”
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“Perhaps. Maybe things are only obvious in hindsight. When I think how much had to go just right in order for us to reach this moment—how easily it could have gone another way...” He smiled again. “Maybe there is no destiny. Maybe things just happen and nobody knows why and none of it means anything. Or maybe the pattern is more complicated than I understood. Either way, I don’t think it needs my help.”
“So what are you going to do?” Marcus said. “Find some king who needs a general?”
“I think not. I’m done with campaigns and armies, Marcus.” Janus settled back in his chaise. “I’ll write, I imagine. There are quite a few monographs I’ve composed over the years that need to be set down properly. And the wildlife of the Southern Kingdoms is vastly underexplored. A real gap in the literature. I’ll be certain to send back my findings.”
Was there a sardonic grin there, at the corner of Janus’ lip? Marcus couldn’t be sure. The big gray eyes seemed so open, but they never truly showed what thoughts lay beneath.
Slowly, Marcus got to his feet. He straightened up and saluted one last time.
“Thank you, sir. For everything.” He paused. “It’s been an honor.”
“Likewise, Marcus,” Janus said. “More than you can imagine.”
RAESINIA
Raesinia found Winter on the roof walk that faced the front of the palace, looking south toward Vordan City. This would once have been the most magnificent view in Vordan, taking in the vast sweep of Ohnlei’s gardens, the stately facades of the Ministry buildings, and the grand drive with its fountains. Now the fountains were turned off and the gardens were a torn-up mess, thanks to the army’s long stay. The Ministry buildings still stood, except for the burned-out Cobweb, but though the sun had barely set, most of the windows were dark. It had been less than a week since the Battle of Bear Ridge, and the functionaries who made the wheels of bureaucracy turn were understandably still nervous.
Winter wore her uniform, stitched and cleaned, with her sword on her hip. She bore little resemblance to the dirty, gory mess cavalry patrols had brought in, covered in blood, one arm out of joint. Alex had been little better, one leg and several ribs broken, coughing blood. It had been Abraham who’d tended to them both, once he’d recovered enough of his own strength, and his power had once again worked miracles.
But not for Sothe. Raesinia swallowed. She didn’t want to think about Sothe.
Winter, leaning on the wrought-iron railing, turned and bowed as Raesinia came in. Raesinia waved away the formality, slouching against the rail herself. She’d left her guards below, and the two of them were alone, far above the bustling life that was slowly returning to the palace. The sky was dark gray, shading to pink at the western horizon.
“How are you feeling?” Raesinia asked.
“All right,” Winter said. She lifted her arm, as though marveling at the absence of pain. “Thank God for Abraham.”
“He’s good at putting people back together,” Raesinia said. “But how are you feeling?”
“Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Winter said, turning back to the view over the palace grounds. “I know it’s over, but somehow I can’t make myself believe it.”
“I know what you mean,” Raesinia said. “Like any minute someone is going to ride in with news of the next war.”
“We’ve fought the Khandarai, the Murnskai, the Borels, the League, and ourselves, twice,” Winter said. “Who else is left? An invasion from the moon?”
Raesinia grinned, but Winter was shaking her head.
“The hell of it is,” she went on, “all that and we’re back where we started. What did we accomplish?”
“We stopped the Beast. You stopped the Beast. That has to count for something.”
“We let it out in the first place, when we marched on Elysium.” Winter waved south, toward the city. “For the people out there, what’s changed? We didn’t forge a new empire or build a utopia. We buried a lot of young men and women and wore out a lot of boot leather.”
“It may not be a utopia,” Raesinia said, “but I think Vordan is better off. We’ve got the Deputies-General—”
“—and what a great help they’ve been—” Winter muttered.
“—and we’re rid of Orlanko. The Priests of the
Black won’t be meddling anymore, or snatching people off to the dungeons under Elysium.” Raesinia looked south, too. The lights of the city were just about visible, a dim glow on the horizon. “And even if they don’t know it, those people are living without a sword hanging over their heads. You did what Karis couldn’t do, Winter.”
“I had a lot of help,” Winter said. She looked back at Raesinia. “I’m sorry about Sothe. She was a good woman.”
“I know that,” Raesinia said, her throat suddenly tight. “I just hope that she did, at the end.”
For a moment they stood together in silence. Winter turned her back on the view, shaking her head, and leaned against the rail.
“So, did you just come up here to ask after my health, Your Highness?”
“No, as it happens,” Raesinia said. “I wanted to talk to you. I’ve made my decision.”
Another silence, this one darker and heavier.
“I’m going to marry Marcus,” Raesinia said after a moment.
“Congratulations.” Winter cocked her head. “Damn. That will make me your sister-in-law, won’t it?”
“I suppose it will.” Raesinia smiled. The revelation of Winter and Marcus being family definitely took getting used to. “We’ll wait a while, after the wedding. Six months, say. Long enough that people get used to the idea of Marcus as king, and so that he and I can put some contingency plans into place. After that...” Raesinia took a deep breath. “I want you to use Infernivore to take my demon.”
“You know that I have no idea what will happen if I do that,” Winter said. “You were nearly dead when you took it on. Removing it might kill you. Or it might destroy your mind, like it did Jen Alhundt’s.”
“I know.” Raesinia paused. “I talked to Ennika.”
“Feor told me she woke up,” Winter said. “She also told me that at first she could barely speak.”
“It did seem to inflict some... damage on her mind,” Raesinia said. “But it’s healing. She’s almost normal now.”
“Still. There’s no guarantee it would work the same way for you.”
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