“My supporters,” said Zosia quietly. She hadn’t really believed she would be missed at all. Yet over that last year before she overthrew King Kaldruut and crowned herself the Last Queen of Samoth, they must have had fifty thousand peasants behind them, people who abandoned their farms and trades to join her cause—was it so surprising that they had really believed in her? Some of them must have known her failure to institute the Empire-wide equality she had promised stemmed not from selfishness or hypocrisy but the sheer magnitude of the task, with all her efforts snagged in the razor-sharp gears of Imperial bureaucracy. Despite her promises, despite her becoming the fucking queen, for the love of the Deceiver, every reform she attempted backfired, her unstable rule further weakened by sabotage from every quarter save the lowest classes—nobles, merchants, and the Chain rallied against her, ancient enemies coming together against the common threat: her.
And what of the peasantry, then? All those people who had needed her to succeed, who had bet everything on her cause, those same citizens now shouted her name in defiance, even though it might cost them their lives, even though she had failed them. All those people whom she had abandoned so that she could hide out in the hills with her favorite hooker… Zosia let herself fall back on the pillows and stared at the insectoid figures carved into the lintel over the door. Just when she thought she’d run out of reasons to be disappointed in herself.
“I didn’t do it to be a martyr,” she said. “I did it because I was a coward.”
“You’re many things, sister, but you’re not that,” said Singh. “Here we are. Take a look at this.”
“What is it?” asked Zosia, sitting up and accepting the dossier Singh handed her.
“Everything I have on the Dull Kriss,” said Singh, dumping out the dottle from her meerschaum and sitting down to repack it. “All the elements are here—we have the arms, we have the hands to wield them, and we have, at the moment, the support of several powerful cults. But we’ll only have one go at it, and if that one push fails, then it will be years before the revolution recovers enough to try again. Assuming we aren’t all caught and hanged.”
“Sounds like old times.” Zosia fingered the ribbon wrapped around the dossier. “Kang-ho wants me dead for reasons you aren’t willing to spill, but you want me alive to help you plot your rebellion.”
“You possess the greatest mind for tactics I’ve ever known,” said Singh. “Sharpen the Dull Kriss with your advisement, and the Dominions will be all but united. I wonder how useful you would find it to have an entire Arm of the Star in your debt before launching an attack on the Empire?”
“Pretty useful,” said Zosia, looking from the dossier to the crumpled flyer on the floor. “But even the best plans go awry.”
“You have my word of honor, I will assist you in every way I can, regardless of the revolution’s success.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Zosia. “But since Kang-ho’s obviously told you all about my plans, you can understand why it makes me nervous that you aren’t willing to tell me why he sent you after me. He had me knocked out on his island; why not whack me there and be done with it?”
“I suspect Kang-ho and his spouse are at odds,” said Singh. “Who was it that sent you after Princess Ji-hyeon?”
“Huh,” said Zosia. “Kang-ho doesn’t want his daughter found, does he? All that talk on Hwabun was for the benefit of he who holds the purse strings—Jun-hwan doesn’t know his husband helped their daughter run away, does he?”
“If he did I expect the sweetness of affluent domesticity would sour substantially for our old friend.”
“So Kang-ho helped his daughter run away, but blamed it on Fennec.” Choplicker had surreptitiously scooted closer to the low table with its plate of biscuits. Planting a foot on his shoulder, Zosia smoothly shoved him back to a safe distance. “Clever enough. I wonder if the old fox was even involved.”
“Definitely,” said Singh. “I met with them both when they arrived here.”
“Fennec and Kang-ho?”
“Fennec and Princess Ji-hyeon. There was a third with them, a wildborn woman. They wanted my help, but even if the scheme had seemed tenable, I was then as I am now occupied with my own affairs.”
“And what’s the scheme?” asked Zosia, relighting her low-burned pipe and taking a few embers to the tongue for the effort. That’s what you got for scraping the bottom of the barrel.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Singh as her former general coughed on a mouthful of hot ash. “Zosia lives.”
CHAPTER
2
Everything had been progressing smoothly until the Siege of Myura, when a couple more of Ji-hyeon’s second father’s old friends showed up to complicate things.
Choi’s strategy had worked perfectly, the Myuran regiment never expecting Ji-hyeon’s troops to charge straight out of the castle and swarm the town. The Red Imperials were caught with their codpieces down, and were routed before they’d had a chance to lace them. Ji-hyeon’s pride in yet another decisive victory mingled with unease at just how little fight the Myurans had mustered—she’d barely cut down a dozen enemy soldiers before the whole lot of them fled the town. This unease deepened substantially when Choi regrouped with her after the day was won and insisted Ji-hyeon accompany her through the dusty streets to an old temple where the Imperial command had been centered.
Had. Everything seemed perfectly preserved, the beech pews neatly pushed against the walls to make space in the central chamber for two long tables. The boards were stacked with papers, maps, a small diorama of Castle Myura, and several black bottles. From the look of things, they had been no more than a day or two out from sapping their way inside—the clever bastards had dropped a tunnel straight under a shallow stretch of the river that abutted the castle’s northern wall.
Ji-hyeon stepped over impossibly bent and broken weapons to get a better look at the uniforms and boots scattered around the temple. The crimson cloth and light grey kidskin were shredded by wide gashes, curious burns, and tight clusters of countless tiny holes. Instead of incense, the chamber stank of dank, deep earth, freshly tilled. Despite the obvious violence, there was no scrap of the missing officers themselves, what Ji-hyeon had thought to be a lone blood splatter on the gritty tile revealing itself to her fingernail as wax.
Choi seemed as confounded as everyone else, and even without the rest of it, seeing her usually unflappable wildborn ill at ease would have been enough to make Ji-hyeon sweat. She should have known things were going too good to last.
“What a rout! Time to add another verse to the Ballad of…” But whatever song they were to expand with their deeds went untitled as Fennec came in from the street and saw the state of the enemy command. If Choi looked on edge, Fennec appeared to have fallen clear over the side, all the color draining from his tan features and both hands shaking as he reached up and slid his visor shut, as if to insulate himself from further fright. “Oh… oh dear.”
“What happened here?” Ji-hyeon asked him, staring up at where an empty scabbard had caught in the exposed rafters.
“I was… That is… Um.” Fennec didn’t rattle easily, either, and that both he and Choi were so uneasy did not bode well. “I supervised the left flank from the rampart, as you ordered, so this is the first I’ve seen of… this.”
“No it’s not.” Ji-hyeon had learned that bluntly smashing through his lies was far more effective than trying to outfence her former tutor. “You’ve seen this before, haven’t you? If not here, when? And who?”
“Bide.” Choi had a palm up, and knowing the wildborn would never spare Fennec from an unpleasant interrogation without strong cause, Ji-hyeon did as she was asked. Choi’s other hand went to the hilt of her sword, and she moved quickly but carefully across the temple floor, as though stepping on the wrong tile would trigger a calamity. Tugging her ear at Fennec, Ji-hyeon followed.
On the street, Choi huffed the air with her narrow nostrils, and immediately led them several bloc
ks to what appeared to be a tavern or inn. The door was barricaded from within, but not for long. A hundred of her best troops backing her up, Ji-hyeon borrowed an ax from an obliging soldier and hacked down the door.
On the other side were a bunch of her dad’s old gang. At first, Ji-hyeon thought the old barbarian had died right in front of her, the potbellied, high-haired ruffian staggering away from the table where his fellows sat and then biting the floor right in front of her. He looked in a rough way, to be sure. As soon as he hit the ground a small yet sturdy woman hurried to his aid, her face too freshly battered to determine much about her, save that she was no dark-skinned Flintlander like her friend.
“My my my,” said another old-timer as he looked over his shoulder, unwilling to abandon his card game despite the fact that the other three players had all stood and backed away from the table. These standing players were younger, hard-looking rogues mockingly dressed in shoddy imitation of the Imperial noblesse. One even held a tiny dog to complete the charade. The seated speaker resembled an ogre crafted out of porcelain, only bigger, paler, and uglier. “Fennec, old boy, you never fail to disappoint. This is so much better than I expected!”
“Captain Fennec is not in charge,” said Ji-hyeon, her irritation at being ignored by this ancient ox supplanting the definite apprehension he inspired. “I am.”
“Cold Cobalt,” breathed the beat-up woman kneeling over the fallen barbarian, her blackened eyes wide. “Blue Zosia, the Banshee with a Blade—it’s really you!”
“The devils it is,” said Ji-hyeon, yanking off her helm, but rather than coming off clean it caught in her blood-matted hair and she had to wrestle it free. Hardly the dignified entrance of the future ruler of the Crimson Empire. She hated this stupid helmet, and hated Fennec for insisting she wear it. Scheming Fennec and his… his… schemes. “I am General Ji-hyeon, Commander of the Cobalt Company, Heiress to Glory, and the next Queen of Samoth.”
The geriatric giant snorted and everyone else just looked perplexed. Choi’s whisper ruffled Ji-hyeon’s hair as she said, “That one is a poison. Do not let him touch you.”
“Good to see rumors of your demise are only slightly exaggerated, Maroto,” Fennec said to the unconscious barbarian as he stepped past him and advanced on the ogre. Ji-hyeon blinked, trying to reconcile the comatose old man on the floor with the Mighty Maroto of all the songs. “Whatever hive you dug him out of, Hoartrap, I expect it will be a wasted effort. I think he’s had a heart attack, but even if he lives, what good is an old stinghound?”
“He found you, Villain,” snapped the woman tending Maroto. “We’ve been chasing you down all summer. The Touch only caught up with us today.”
“Hoartrap the Touch,” said Ji-hyeon, remembering her father’s stories about the sorcerer. Stories he only told when his daughters were misbehaving and he sought to frighten them into obedience. So two of the original Villains had come looking for her… but why? “The command temple, that was your doing?”
“Ah, yes,” said Hoartrap, as if remembering a chore he’d taken care of the previous week. “You appreciated my help, did you?”
“What did you do to them?” asked Ji-hyeon, and at the question one of the cardplayers lurking in the background doubled over and vomited on the floor.
“There, there, Diggelby, it wasn’t as bad as all that,” Hoartrap told the man, then finally clambered to his feet. Even with Fennec standing between them, he easily looked over the man’s head and stared Ji-hyeon in the eye. His gaze made her queasy, but she held it, told herself she was doing so because she wanted to, and not because she lacked a choice in the matter. “Do you really want to know, little general? I’d be more than happy to show you…”
“She does not,” said Choi, putting herself in front of Ji-hyeon and breaking the nauseating glare. Even with a dozen of her best—and best-paid—mercenaries crowded into the tavern behind them, Ji-hyeon began to feel as though she had blundered into a dire showdown. Of all the Villains to face head-on, it had to be the sorcerer…
“Greetings, oh witchborn thug,” Hoartrap told Choi. “If you will excuse us, your mistress and I were having a discussion.”
“No,” Fennec said firmly, having rediscovered some of the mettle he had misplaced back at the command temple. “You and I talk first, Hoartrap. We are delighted at your having assisted us this afternoon, and would discuss terms about the future before—”
“Captain Fennec, I think in your excitement at seeing old friends you have forgotten yourself,” said Ji-hyeon. Each day he got bossier, and if she let him determine how things went with his old chums now she might as well resign herself to always doing what he ordered. Besides, if he had set this up, this reunion on the sly, she aimed to find out about it before the Villains could get their stories straight. “I believe a better use of your time will be to convene with Sasamaso and Kimaera. Determine how light a contingent we can leave in Myura and still hold the castle for a reasonable time when Imperial reinforcements arrive. I want the bulk of our forces marching on Cockspar two days hence.”
“General,” Fennec began, sliding up his vulpine faceplate. The nine months of hard campaigning had planed off most of the joviality—and double chin—he had worn as Brother Mikal. “I cannot stress how important it is that at a minimum you and I first discuss certain particulars.”
“Don’t, then,” said Ji-hyeon, and when he clearly didn’t get it she sighed and spelled it out. “If you cannot stress the importance, then don’t, was the meaning. Just forget it.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Hoartrap, nudging Maroto with his bare foot. “All this fretting is unbecoming of commanders, and I don’t really think there’s anything to talk about until this one is up and about. For my part, I’m always delighted to assist an old friend, or an old friend’s family—you are kin of Kang-ho’s, General?”
“His second daughter,” said Ji-hyeon, which caused Choi to hiss in irritation, but Ji-hyeon didn’t see any utility in denying what the evil wizard already knew. She added a good line she’d been waiting to use for some time. “In another life, I was Princess Ji-hyeon Bong, betrothed to Prince Byeong-gu of Othean, fourth son of Empress Ryuki, Keeper of the Immaculate Isles, but I sought my own path. Instead of giving my hand to another I shall make it a fist to crush my enemies.”
“Hey, me, too!” said the woman who had gone to Maroto’s aid. She was a fighter, no doubt about that, though given the state of her face maybe not a very good one. “I mean, a second daughter seeking her own way, not the rest of it, obviously. And so are Diggelby, Din, and Hassan there—get over here, you lot, the general’s just like us!”
Ji-hyeon rather doubted that was the case, but had gotten used to biting her tongue for the greater good. She nodded as the three weasely rogues came around the table, the man who had thrown up when she’d asked about Hoartrap’s activities at the command temple offering her a curtsy of his battle gown and the other two bowing as they introduced themselves. The beat-up woman kneeling over Maroto rose to join her compatriots, the low dip and cocked elbows of her bow identifying her as a member of the Ugrakari noble caste… which meant if you went back far enough, she and Ji-hyeon might be related, on her first father’s side.
“Tapei Purna,” the Ugrakari said. “And like the Touch said, the big guy here is Maroto—you know, Maroto Devilskinner from all the old songs. He brought us here because he thought you were Queen Zosia, but you’re just dressed like her, huh?”
“Yes,” said Ji-hyeon icily. Legions had flocked to her blue banner, just as Fennec had said they would, but more than a few had deserted as soon as they found out that the Cobalt Queen had not actually risen from the tomb to lead her old Company. That was the worst feeling, seeing so much disappointment that she wasn’t someone else. “Think of me as her successor.”
“So you’re after the same thing as her, too? Taking back the Crimson Throne? Well, not taking back, in your case, just snatching it…”
“I will succeed where Zosia
failed,” said Ji-hyeon. It was beginning to feel like a script, the words a variation on a dozen speeches she had given during the campaign. “No more Chain, no more Empire. I will wear the Carnelian Crown only long enough to destroy it, and then all people of the Crimson Empire will be set free.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Purna. “But before I vow my allegiance to your cause, I need to clear it with Maroto. I’m sure it will be fine, though.”
“Ahem,” said the woman called Din, straightening her listing wig. “Overthrowing the current regime is fine and dandy, and we are all in favor of that. But what’s this about destroying the Empire?”
“Din… that’s a Cascadian name, isn’t it?” said Fennec, who had not pissed off like Ji-hyeon had told him to. “Rest assured, my lady, that those who assist the general in her quest to bring justice to the Star will not be forgotten when she is queen, regardless of their lineage.”
“Then there’s the niggling fact that you’ve just overheard enough to ensure they’ll never let you leave their camp,” Hoartrap supplied. “We’re all with them now, friends, so why don’t you come back over here so we can finish our game?”
“That’s not true, is it?” said Purna, squaring her shoulders as she appraised Ji-hyeon. “You wouldn’t keep us prisoner if we wanted to leave? Not after we messed up a bunch of Crimsons just to get to you?”
“No, never,” said Ji-hyeon, very much wanting to lie down all of a sudden. She hadn’t slept for two days, and the adrenaline that had propelled her through the day’s fight had slipped away, leaving her exhausted and in the most dread of circumstances—social interactions with foreign nobles. Yawning, she waved Fennec over. “We don’t have the means to properly care for prisoners, so any who would stand against us or desert our cause are hanged. Fennec, escort me back to the castle so we can have a word, and Choi, see that our new recruits are well looked after. Make sure there are plenty of guards at each entrance to their bunkhouse here, so nobody can sneak in and do them a mischief. Night, all.”
A Crown for Cold Silver Page 30
