“I see,” Raesinia said, keeping her expression carefully bland. She wasn’t sure if he was beating around the bush for a reason, or if d’Andorre was one of those politicians constitutionally incapable of coming directly to a point. “By all means, then, ask your questions.”
“They concern the nature of the authority of the Ministry of War. I understand that in the late campaign you undertook to issue orders directly to the commanders of the Grand Army?”
“In an emergency,” Raesinia said. “The army was on the point of starvation, and both the First Consul and Column-?General d’Ivoire were missing.”
“The army has a chain of command for a reason,” d’Andorre said. “We—?my colleagues and I—?feel that this sets a dangerous precedent. Do you, at the present moment, consider yourself still in command of the Grand Army?”
“Of course not,” Raesinia said. “And I’d be happy to say so officially to the Minister of War, but as I understand it, you still haven’t managed to decide on one.”
“Negotiations on that point are proceeding,” d’Andorre said. “But I’m glad to hear your answer. Some of my colleagues intend to propose legislation more precisely defining the monarch’s role with respect to the army, and strengthening the principle of civil control over the military. Soldiers must, in the end, answer to the people, as embodied in the Deputies-?General. Would you oppose such legislation?”
Raesinia, who’d been waiting patiently for the actual question, decided that d’Andorre couldn’t be putting her on—?he was just intrinsically boring. “I’d have to read it, of course,” she said carefully. “But not in principle, no.”
“And where do you stand on a reduction in the size of the army, now that the war has been concluded? I believe it has become a considerable drain on the public purse.”
“I think it may be a little premature,” Raesinia said. “Once the final peace with Borel is signed, it might be worth investigating.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” D’Andorre got to his feet. “It’s been an honor to meet with you.”
That’s it? Raesinia suppressed a sigh. This is going to be my life, isn’t it? Listening to d’Andorre or someone like him blather on. Until it wasn’t her life anymore, of course. And maybe that won’t be such a bad thing after all.
“Thank you, Deputy d’Andorre,” she said, standing to acknowledge his bow. “I am eager to work with the Deputies, now that we have peace.”
When the deputy was gone, Raesinia turned to Eric. “Is he always such a bore?”
Her assistant swallowed, looking uncomfortable. “He’s considered an excellent speaker in the Deputies. His most famous speech kept the chamber spellbound for nearly four hours.”
“I bet it did.” Raesinia shook her head. “I need to change before Marcus arrives. Is there anything else?”
To her surprise, Barely spoke up from the doorway. She had a lilting Deslandai accent, which gave her a musical tone at odds with her hard-?edged attitude.
“There’s a Colonel Giforte who wants to see you, Your Highness,” she said. “He’s waiting in the hall. Says it can’t wait.”
“Alek?” Raesinia frowned. “Bring him in.”
Alek Giforte had been Vice Captain of Armsmen before the revolution. He’d served in various capacities since then, most recently as chief of staff for Marcus during the Murnskai campaign. Now that they were settled back in Vordan, Raesinia had put him in charge of the Armsmen again and unofficially given him the task of rebuilding the intelligence apparatus that the revolution had smashed.
The Murnskai campaign had aged him, Raesinia thought as he came in. His salt-?and-?pepper beard had gone fully white, and his hairline was receding. At the moment he looked as serious as she’d ever seen him, even when they’d been surrounded by hostile armies. Something is very wrong.
“Colonel?” Raesinia said.
“You need to see this,” he said, gesturing with a single sheet of folded paper. “Alone.”
Raesinia hesitated, then nodded at Eric and her guards. They filed out, and she took the page from Giforte. It was only a few lines, but she read it three times over, just to be certain.
“This is reliable?” she said, her voice carefully controlled.
“We’ve gotten it from three different sources,” Giforte said.
“Find Marcus.” She handed the note back to him. “Tell him I want to see him in my apartments. Now.”
2
Marcus
Marcus stared at the page, written in a neat, dispassionate hand. He wondered what clerk had copied it somewhere and whether he’d known what it portended.
Janus bet Vhalnich is in Yatterny, with one division of the Grand Army and several battalions of Murnskai soldiers. He has given a speech announcing that the Queen of Vordan has betrayed him and in so doing she has forfeited her right to rule, as he is the true embodiment of the people’s will. Prince Cesha Dzurk is with him, and says that his father the emperor is dead, leaving Murnsk in chaos. Janus claims he has no choice, at the urging of those around him, but to assume the title of Emperor of Vordan and Murnsk. He calls on all loyal citizens of both countries to support him and all true soldiers of either crown to follow his orders.
He appears to have the complete support of the forces here and considerable popularity among the Murnskai civilians. He is already preparing to march on Talbonn, and from there declares his intention to move south.
“Madness,” Marcus said. “Utter nonsense.”
“It’s been confirmed in every way we can think of,” Raesinia said. “And rumors are already spreading. In six hours everyone in the city will know.”
“Then there has to be some kind of mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because Janus would never do such a thing!”
Raesinia squared her shoulders and faced him. “Are you certain? Absolutely certain?”
Just for a moment Marcus was back in the barn that had been Janus’ makeshift prison, watching the rage grow in those huge gray eyes when the general realized that Marcus, too, had turned away from him. It had been one of the hardest moments of Marcus’ life. But Janus had calmed quickly, as he always did. Too quickly? Could he have already been planning this?
“I’m certain,” Marcus grated, “because it doesn’t make any sense. What can he possibly gain?”
“Aside from the throne? The mob still considers him a hero, and the soldiers worship him. If he walked in here tomorrow, could we stop him?”
“We could stop him,” Marcus said, more confidently than he felt. “And why would he call himself Emperor of Murnsk as well?”
“Cesha Dzurk has obviously thrown in his lot with Janus. Maybe he’s popular enough to make that stick.” Raesinia tapped the note. “It seems to be working so far.”
Marcus sat down. They were in Raesinia’s private apartments, not yet restored to the lavishness of the prerevolution royal chambers but still comfortably furnished. The crushed-velvet sofa was absurdly soft and enveloping, but he hardly noticed. Raesinia stood by the table. Her expression was the forced calm she wore when she would rather be screaming.
“I still don’t believe it,” Marcus said. “Janus doesn’t want the throne. He told me himself.”