The Orchid Throne

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Eleven thousand nine hundred and eighty-three,” I corrected, tapping the tally sheet again. “At last count, yesterday.”

  “Eighty-five, then,” Sondra put in very seriously, carefully not letting Kara see her amusement. “Twins were born in the night.”

  I grunted appreciation, picked up the ink pen, and corrected both that number and the overall total. When I glanced up again, Kara had dropped all deference and positively glared at me. “The point is,” he gritted out, “for able-bodied fighters—less the experienced ones out of commission from the taking of Keiost—you have in the neighborhood of eight thousand.”

  My tally had it at slightly less, but I nodded genially. “More than Anure’s possible two thousand.”

  “How are you going to put eight thousand soldiers—”

  “Seven thousand nine hundred and forty-two,” I said helpfully.

  “—on a hundred boats!” Kara finished as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “And thirty-three.”

  He fumed at me. “Split the hairs all you like, that’s still…” He frowned, calculating.

  “About fifty-nine and two-thirds per boat,” I offered.

  “Can we put two-thirds of a soldier in a boat?” Sondra mused.

  Kara ignored her. “Some of these are one-person boats.” He didn’t wave his hands, as Ambrose might, but clenched them by his side. “Pleasure skiffs and fishing boats facing down warships is a recipe for disaster. Not a matter for joking. You weren’t at Soensen. You haven’t seen what—” He broke off, jerking his gaze to the window, throat convulsing as he worked to master himself.

  “That’s why we won’t face them, General Kara,” I said, plainly and with no inflection, hoping to break through whatever he saw in his memories. The man wouldn’t want sympathy, though I felt bad for teasing him. Some things could never be funny, dark as our gallows humor got at times.

  “We have no way to launch vurgsten in small proportions,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, bringing himself back to the present. “Spears and swords do no good poking at a warship from a rowboat.”

  “That’s why we won’t face them,” I repeated.

  “You don’t understand—what?” He finally caught himself. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean to do what we do best. Steal Anure’s warships—that will allow us to put nearly two thousand of our soldiers on them, thus only forty-four and two-thirds on the boats we have—and escape.” The prospect filled me with glee. Salvio’s chair wouldn’t suck me in after all.

  * * *

  Three days wasn’t much time, but we’d worked on tighter time lines. Much of the work had been done before word of Anure’s punitive force arrived. The walls had been repaired, at least to all appearances, though crews labored night and day to shore them up to the needed depth along with the height. Those who wished to leave had been given their portions of wealth and supplies. Those who wished to stay kept the rest.

  Those who stayed would in turn offer the same choice I’d given them, and either the city’s population would swell by Anure’s two thousand, or the graveyard’s would.

  I laid my trap carefully, relishing this part of the game. While Ambrose muttered in his tower and tinkered with my fate, I’d exercise control over what I could—before I became chained again, this time to the wizard’s plans for me to marry a woman I’d never met, one engaged to my worst enemy.

  Anure’s warships sailed into Keiost two days later. The flagship pulled into the harbor while the other blockaded the exit to the sea. We’d left only a few ships at anchor—a few fishing boats and a merchant ship—while the bulk of our small fleet crouched on the other side of the peninsula, sails blackened and oars wrapped in muffling. I don’t know what Anure’s men thought they accomplished by trapping the few ships they had, but Kara’s experience, however bleak, had predicted them correctly. They’d done it simply because those were their orders. Original thinkers and the self-motivated didn’t last long under Anure’s thumb, and these officers came from a loyal mold, slavishly following standard tactics. And they’d grown soft and fat living off Anure’s enforced peace. They played into our hands, soon to be trapped in turn.

  I wore the clothing of a fisherman, my hammer and bagiroca inside a cart hanging with fresh fish, watching the ships arrive with the open speculation of any man interested in supplying the emperor’s fleet. Around me other fighters pretended to go about the daily business of the city, wearing the guises of peasants, merchants, and other folk. Not far off, Sondra wore a fancy gown and a hat streaming colorful scarves as she openly flirted with her second, the man dressed in a dapper fashion he’d otherwise never be caught dead in.

  The walls of Keiost reared above us apparently undamaged—we’d coated the newer stones with dust and grime to make them match the rest—the gates invitingly open. We’d found one of Salvio’s flags and it flapped merrily in the wind, proclaiming the imperial governor to be in residence. A sharp eye would notice the absence of children, the elderly, and the infirm. Every single person in sight sported the hale physique of our most experienced warriors, even with no weapons in sight. I doubted Anure’s officers thought much about the composition of a real population, however.

  Regardless, I hadn’t been about to risk anyone who wasn’t a fighter in this charade. They all hid deep inside the walls, defended by a well-armed and armored force out of sight.

  I wheeled my cart toward the dock, holding up a nice fish as I maneuvered for the perfect position, picturing these ship captains and their officers with the faces of the guards exiled to Vurgmun with us. Those had softened in their own way, but like root vegetables badly stored, with callused skins and rotten centers. They’d grown accustomed to having total power over us. In the time it took them to assimilate that the balance had shifted, that their cowed prisoners had slipped their chains and seized the weapons—well, that had taken them entirely too long.

  The flagship captain wasn’t entirely stupid. Before they docked, they sent volleys from the catapults on deck, slinging small rocks—not vurgsten—to clear the pier itself, then immediately deploying armed soldiers who ran down the gangplank or rappelled down the steep sides of the warship to wade ashore. My fighters pretended to panic, crying out their shock and pain as they yielded ground. I tossed my fish on the ground in apparent fear, pulling my hammer and bagiroca from the cart as I ducked behind it. Crouching there, I picked up one of the stones they’d shot at us, tucking it into my bagiroca. What they threw at me, I’d use against them.

  The coastal breeze carried their shouts to one another, echoing across the deserted waterfront. They should be confused as hell. By the tenor of the questions and orders called, they seemed to be. The emperor’s soldiers formed a line along the pier, saluting as the captain—easily identifiable by the number of shiny embellishments adorning his fancy uniform—disembarked and conferred. As I’d hoped, he headed in my direction.

  The volley of rocks had halted all activity, naturally, and now the people gathered near, feigning curiosity, their readiness palpable in the air as they positioned their hidden weapons. The captain needed only be unobservant and overconfident a few moments longer …

  “You there!” he called to me.

  “Yassir.” I peered out from behind the swinging fish, keeping my hammer hidden from view—and keeping my face averted. Once he got a good look at me, he’d know me for no one from around this part of the realm.

  “Is all well here?” he demanded.

  “Sir?” Just a little closer.

  “We heard of an attack at Keiost.” He frowned at the walls and the flag snapping in the wind.

  That moment gave me the opening I needed. With a roar to signal the others, I swung my rock hammer at the man’s head, splitting it like a melon before he finished his gasp of shock. Alert and ready, my people drove for the soldiers on the dock, taking the nearest by surprise. Shouts aboard the ship rang out, bodies flying overboard to bloody the water. The work of more of my people, who’
d quietly swum out and climbed aboard the far side.

  Keeping an eye on the ship uselessly blockading the mouth of the harbor, I bashed a path through the soldiers who’d taken up guard stations. Sondra led a charge of ululating female warriors in lovely gowns up the gangplank, cutting down Anure’s men too ingrained in traditional thinking to strike a woman.

  I signaled to the battalions inside the gates, and several hundred more fighters joined us. Before the day had grown hot, we’d subdued both ships. The other ship had been taken with even fewer losses of life, having surrendered quickly to our two largest vessels, pinning it between them from inside and outside the harbor.

  By evening, all had been offered the choice, going to either execution or detainment to test their submission. I didn’t trust any to travel with us—transferred loyalty tends not to stick all that well in close proximity to Anure—and barely agreed for them to remain at our backs.

  I wouldn’t have, except most of the sailors and many of the infantry soldiers turned out to be slaves. We freed them, of course, and time would tell what kind of lives they’d find for themselves.

  Another day to scour and resupply the ships—and to load our stores of vurgsten—and we set sail, though not with quite as many fighters as I’d hoped. We’d lost some in the battle of the waterfront—not many, but I begrudged every one—but I more begrudged the battalion Kara talked me into leaving behind to guard the city and its new immigrants.

  Running cities takes far more work than conquering them. At least governing Keiost would fall to someone else now. I stood at the wheel of the flagship, not being useful as I knew nothing about sailing, but savoring the brief sense of freedom. “Send the message to Queen Euthalia,” I told Kara. “Let her know that Anure’s loyal commanders found no sign of rebellion and will be docking at Calanthe to enjoy the delights of the Isle of Flowers for some rest and relaxation.”

  If only taking Calanthe would go that smoothly.

  The prickle of unease in my bones told me it certainly wouldn’t.

  13

  By the time the alert arrived that the Slave King had eluded the ships Anure sent to destroy him, I had long since passed the point where I might’ve been surprised by the news.

  In the nightmare scenes of violence, in the foggy acceptance of the dreamthink, I’d been fully expecting his arrival every day. My dreams had tumbled dense with ocean waves and swimming wolves, their chains dredging the bottom, turning the clear water to muck. Even the dreamthink had been barely enough for me to calm the sea again, to put all the blossoms back in their places.

  In the bright light of day and verifiable reality, I hoped I was wrong, that the cursed rebel would never reach Calanthe. It turned out my heart hadn’t gone as cold and hard as I’d thought, because it tore me apart internally to be in the position of hoping Anure’s forces would win. But as much as I hated Anure and would love to see him brought down, I loved Calanthe more.

  My father had said it long ago, and had been proved right countless times over: No one had the power to defeat Anure.

  Tertulyn was painting my lips on a bright and beautiful morning when a servant girl delivered the message. Knowing immediately what news the missive brought, I held out a hand in wordless command. Calla, after a bare pause, handed it to me. I scanned it. They—quickly discerning my mood—hastily escorted away that morning’s Glory. Cursing inside my head, I read it again. How stupid did this Slave King think I was?

  “Call Dearsley to attend Me,” I commanded as soon as the girl was gone. “Immediately.”

  Calla hesitated. “But Your Highness is not yet dressed.”

  “Then dress Me,” I bit out. Really, was it so hard? I’d already risen to my feet. Tertulyn, anticipating me, cast aside the paints and snapped orders at the junior ladies, bidding them to make haste even as Calla gathered her skirts and actually ran for the outer chamber to pass word. By the time Dearsley arrived—out of breath, uniform disheveled from his own interrupted dressing—they’d gotten me into my gown, and also put the wig and crown on me. Because Ejarat frown on me that I should smudge my appearance just because we faced a battle that might destroy Calanthe.

  I handed Dearsley the scroll, my ladies crouched around me, busily sewing me into my garments.

  He paused almost immediately, lifting a gaze full of dread to mine. “They found no sign of rebels—and they plan to disembark here?”

  “So says this apparent captain of the emperor’s warships,” I replied, summarizing aloud for my ladies. “They claim they arrived at Keiost to find the city empty, the populace fled—along with all of the treasury—and the harbor bare of ships. Everything more seaworthy than a rowboat was gone.” I hissed in useless fury. How could Anure have been such a bloody fool to fall into whatever trap had taken two warships? And who was this man who thought I was such an idiot that I’d believe this missive?

  Paling, Dearsley dropped his eyes to the scroll again. “Did he say when—”

  “The story is that they arrived at Keiost four days ago. They’ve been sailing around and around and sending scouts around and around the countryside, searching! As if they might have somehow overlooked a vast army and wagonloads full of blazing rocks.” Dearsley didn’t deserve my fury, but I couldn’t get my nails into the person who thought to sucker me with this. “They say they only thought to send Me a messenger bird yesterday.” I threw up my hands, something ripping, Nahua making a sound of dismay.

  Eyeing me, Dearsley scanned the document again. “You don’t believe it.”

  “Oh, I believe these rebels evaded Anure’s might—but the rest … of course I don’t.” I had to be careful here. Citing mystical knowledge would hardly make me seem like a capable queen. And while I trusted my ladies, I wasn’t so silly as to think they didn’t gossip. “If you want to bring a ragtag army of escaped prisoners from Keiost to within striking range of the emperor, what do you need?”

  Dearsley frowned.

  “And you only have fishing boats. Maybe a few merchant ships,” I clarified.

  “You think he captured the warships?” Dearsley whispered, horrified.

  “It’s the most likely explanation.” And it confirmed what the ring murmured, the images from the dreams. “They shouldn’t have tried to trick Me with this Oh, we forgot to notify You tale. Anure’s captains would have sent Me a message as soon as they knew this Slave King slipped the net.” The insult to my intelligence gave a convenient path for my terror-fueled fury. I would show this rebel just who he thought to dupe with such transparent lies.

  Dearsley closed his eyes. “Then the Slave King, if he’s headed this direction…”

  “Is likely already here, with two warships and a considerable force besides,” I finished. I’d known it. Even if they hadn’t yet touched the waters Calanthe considered Hers, I’d known. I should’ve prepared more than I had. Strike that. I’d prepared everything I could. I had to trust to the plan now. “Am I done?” I asked the ladies. I needed to be moving, not be decorated.

  “One more moment, Your Highness.” Tertulyn spoke smoothly, but with a hint of pleading in it.

  My ladies danced around me, inserting the flowers and jewels to adorn the gown and wig. I forced myself to hold still. One more minute could hardly make a difference. Still, let the courtiers and politicians, those who read everything into my gown color and the placement of the jewels by the corner of my mouth, make what they would of my less-than-crisp display. “Enough with this,” I declared.

  “Your Highness.” Tertulyn curtsied deeply, waving the ladies away. “Just a touch more on the makeup, if you will.”

  I flicked my fingers in permission and transferred my gaze back to Dearsley, the thick alabaster paste crackling between my brows. “Call a meeting of the Defense Council, in the map room. Also, send notice to all the lookouts, fisherfolk, and bird-masters. Full reports, even the least little thing unusual. Even if it doesn’t look like a warship. I want to know everything.”

  “Yes, Your Highnes
s. I shall assemble them.” Dearsley took off at a jog, trying to tidy his clothing as he went.

  “We have a Defense Council?” Tertulyn murmured to me as soon as he’d gone, coming at me with paint palette once again in her hand, her brush working to re-create the shadows of my cheekbones from the blank slate.

  More able to bear the delay as I could do nothing more until Dearsley assembled everyone, I slid my gaze to Tertulyn. How had she not been present for those conversations? Tertulyn was ever by my side, knowing my mind as her own. Except lately, when I’d been sending her to Delilah, employing her to watch Leuthar, discover nuggets of information from the courtiers, sift truth from conjecture and exaggeration—and plant rumors of my own design.

  “We need to mount a defense to keep the invaders off our land,” I explained. I shouldn’t have to explain myself, but I knew—much as I trusted the discretion of my ladies—that what they understood would filter to the rest of court and thence to the larger population.

  “But it’s against the old laws for blood to be shed in violence,” Calla said. She came from an old Calanthe family and knew the traditional ways. Following Tertulyn’s lead, she’d darted in to add a few more stitches to the hastily donned gown. I’d chosen scarlet the night before. On a whim, I’d thought. But perhaps some part of me had known. It could be the waters even beyond Calanthe whispered to me of who traveled through them.

  “Thus defense,” I replied mildly, reassuring her as if I spoke to a Morning Glory. “There are ways and ways to repulse an enemy without violence. Trust in Me to protect Calanthe.” Even with my ladies, I hadn’t shared the full, audacious plan.

  “These are violent men, I hear,” Ibolya, who rarely spoke, put in. “They will not be hindered by less than violence.”