The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  “I should . . . help.” Raesinia stared at the carnage, feeling hypnotized.

  This was meant for me. If she hadn’t decided to leave in a huff, she’d have been standing on the platform when the bomb went off. More people were dead because they had been standing next to her at the wrong time. Like Ben. Like Faro.

  “Raesinia,” Sothe hissed in her ear. “Come on. The guards can handle things now that I’ve given them a kick in the ass. We should get you somewhere safe.”

  Raesinia looked up at Sothe and felt things snap into focus.

  “Where’s Maurisk?”

  * * *

  She kept her eyes on his face, from the moment she stepped into the café the Directory had commandeered as shelter from the disaster. Maurisk had always been better at flaunting his passions than concealing them. His reaction wasn’t much—a brief indrawn breath, a narrowing of the eyes—but it was enough.

  He knew this was coming. He didn’t expect to see me alive.

  “Your Majesty!” The President of the Directory stood up from the table where he and his colleagues had been arguing over an unrolled map of Vordan City. Patriot Guards were everywhere, standing beside the doorway and along the walls, armed with halberds and army muskets. Clearly, the Directory was taking no chances with its own safety.

  “I can’t tell you how comforting it is to see you unharmed,” Maurisk went on, with an attempt at a smile. “I had heard reports that you’d left before the . . . event, but things are obviously very confused. We feared the worst.”

  “Her Majesty is fine,” Sothe said. “No thanks to the efforts of the Patriot Guard, I might add. But many others are not.”

  “I’ve sent for help,” Maurisk said. “Doctors are on the way from the University. And we’ve put the city on alert.”

  Raesinia kept her eyes on Maurisk, saying nothing. His smile flickered, just briefly.

  “Do you think,” she said after a moment, “the president and I could have a moment in private?”

  Maurisk looked surprised, but he gestured sharply at the other Directory members. The speed with which they hurried out of the room spoke volumes about where the power in the Directory lay. Only Durenne, a tall, gangly man with a beak of a nose and a queue of long black hair, paused long enough to catch Raesinia’s eye before leaving. The Patriot Guards followed, but Sothe lingered.

  “Wait outside,” Raesinia told her. “I won’t be long.”

  Sothe hesitated briefly, then followed the guards out the front door. Maurisk and Raesinia were left alone in the café, its chairs scattered and overturned by fleeing patrons, its front windows shattered by the blast. Glass crunched under Raesinia’s heel as she stepped forward.

  “I’m not going to ask you if you were responsible for this,” she said. “I’m sure you’d deny it, even just between us.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you, Your Majesty,” Maurisk said.

  His tone was polite, but there was acid hatred in his eyes. After the death of the king and the upheaval that had created the Deputies-General, he’d discovered Raesinia’s double life as revolutionary conspirator and princess royal. He hated her for that, for using the idealistic fervor of his friends as a weapon to topple the Last Duke. The deaths that haunted Raesinia’s conscience seemed to matter less to him than the fact that he’d been a tool of the very monarchy he so despised.

  Unfortunately for Maurisk, even after the creation of the Deputies-General, the queen was still a potent symbol, and she had the support of the hero-general Janus bet Vhalnich. If he’d been in sole charge, she had no doubt he’d have had her arrested and executed by now, but the deputies and the mob would not allow it. So now he’s resorted to more direct measures, no matter who gets killed in the cross fire.

  She met his gaze and refused to flinch. “What do you want from me?”

  Maurisk smiled. Not the fake grin he put on for public consumption, but his true smirk. It reminded Raesinia of a lizard.

  “I think it would be best,” he said, “if you retired to the country for a time. Vordan City has obviously been heavily infiltrated by enemy agents. I will of course begin a vigorous campaign to root them out, but in the meantime I regret to say I cannot guarantee your safety. The Crown owns many small estates that would be suitable, and if the Grenadier Guards accompanied you, then I’m sure you would be perfectly secure.”

  “I see.”

  Maurisk spread his hands, as if nothing could be more reasonable. “I only have the state’s interests in mind, of course. Your Majesty.”

  Raesinia blew out a long breath. “I’ll consider your . . . suggestion.”

  The president’s face hardened. “Please do. Every moment that you remain is another opportunity for the enemy to strike.”

  Raesinia turned on her heel and headed for the door, glass cracking and snapping under her shoes. The Patriot Guards had formed a cordon, with only Sothe and the other Directory members allowed within. On the outside were two blue-uniformed Grenadier Guards, who were engaged in a shouting match with the Patriot Guard sergeant. The men quieted as their queen emerged.

  “Back to the carriage,” Raesinia said, with a glance at Sothe.

  The smoke was clearing, revealing a shallow crater in the once-smooth surface of Farus’ Triumph. A broken pipe somewhere gushed water, forming a bloody mud puddle. The guards had taken the injured to a clear space, to await the arrival of the University contingent, and now were dragging the dead into neat rows. Claudia lay among them, stomach torn open to reveal glistening viscera. Raesinia looked away, her gorge rising.

  She didn’t say anything until she and Sothe were alone in the back of the carriage, with the guards taking their customary position on the top. Once Sothe shut the door, cutting off the cries and shouted orders from the outside, Raesinia said, “Maurisk was behind this.”

  Sothe’s expression would never show anything as human as surprise, but she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “You’re certain?”

  Raesinia shook her head and swore. “I would swear he didn’t expect me to walk out of here today. If he didn’t plant the bomb, he at least knew about it.”

  “Someone in the government must have, at any rate,” Sothe said. “An explosion that size would require quite a bit of powder stuffed under the floor of the box. That would be hard to sneak past the guards—”

  “So the guards are in on it.”

  “At least some of them must be either complicit or suborned, yes. But that by itself doesn’t implicate Maurisk.”

  Raesinia scowled. She had to admit her own bias; the dislike between her and her former companion had come to run both ways. Still. The way he looked when I came in was as good as a confession.

  “The problem,” Sothe went on, “is that we have something of a surplus of enemies.”

  “There’s an understatement,” Raesinia muttered. “Orlanko, for certain. Borelgai spies, the Hamveltai Komerzint, Murnskai fanatics. The older noble families hate me for surrendering royal powers to the Deputies-General, and the Radicals hate me for not abdicating in favor of a republic.”

  “Not to mention,” Sothe said, “the Priests of the Black.”

  “You think they wouldn’t bother with bombs,” Raesinia said.

  “Revealing your secret to the public would be just as effective as killing you, as far as Elysium is concerned.” Sothe glared. “As I tried to explain earlier.”

  “So either Maurisk is trying to kill me, because he doesn’t know he can’t, or the Priests of the Black are trying to blow me to bits in front of witnesses so everyone can see what happens.” Raesinia cocked her head. “If they did blow me to pieces, do you think the missing bits would grow back, or would you have to gather them up for me?”

  “Your Majesty—”

  “Sorry.” Raesinia took a deep breath. “Maurisk told me he wants me to leave the city. Hide out on a country estat
e until the danger’s passed.”

  Sothe pursed her lips. “It would make it easier to keep you safe. There are too many unknowns in the city.”

  “No. I will not be run to ground like a frightened rabbit. Besides, if Maurisk is involved and I leave him alone in the city, I might as well hand him the crown and be done with it.”

  “Your Majesty . . .”

  Raesinia looked at her, surprised. “You don’t really think I should leave, do you?”

  A frown creased Sothe’s normally placid expression. She spoke slowly and deliberately. “If you do not, whoever was responsible for this attack will try again, and I am not confident in my ability to protect you.”

  That made Raesinia blink. For Sothe to be less than confident in her ability to do anything was as rare as a summer ice storm. “You’ve done a fine job so far.”

  “Only luck saved you this time, Your Majesty. You are too public a figure here. Your schedule is known, your routes of travel are known. Against assassins with swords or pistols, I can stand between you and harm, but this . . .” She shook her head. “Sooner or later, they will succeed.”

  “Then we have to track them down before they do.”

  “That’s a race I’m not sure we can win,” Sothe said. “And if Maurisk is involved, what then? He has the Patriot Guard in his pocket.”

  “If we could find proof, we could take it to the deputies.” Raesinia knew that sounded weak, even as she said it. The Deputies-General had come more and more under the thumb of the Directory as the war had grown closer.

  “Finding solid evidence could take weeks, maybe months. You’d be vulnerable the whole time.”

  Raesinia scowled. It did make sense, from a certain point of view. But it felt too much like abandoning her post. Not to mention letting whoever planted the bomb get away scot-free. Everyone who’d died for wanting to stand near their queen deserved better than that.

  But Sothe is right. As long as I stay in the city . . .

  An idea tickled the corner of her mind. As long as the queen stays in the city . . .

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. “The queen should go to her country estates, to ensure her safety.”

  Sothe had spent enough time around Raesinia to know that it couldn’t be that simple. “And?”

  “The queen will go to the country,” Raesinia said, “and I will stay here.”

  There was another long silence. Sothe stared thoughtfully at Raesinia, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

  “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” Raesinia said. “And if no one knows I’m here, they won’t be looking for me.”

  “And if they try anything in the country, they won’t get anywhere,” Sothe said, considering the problem.

  “It would also let me ‘return’ without taking the time for a round-trip. I imagine that would be quite a surprise to Maurisk.”

  “Not a bad card to have up our sleeves,” Sothe said. “Provided we can fool them.”

  “You fooled Orlanko for more than a year. I’m sure you can manage it.”

  Sothe’s eyes narrowed, and Raesinia felt her heart jump. “You mean for me to go?”

  “I’m sorry,” Raesinia said in a rush. “I can’t think of any other way. We might be able to fake a ride to the country, but even if we tell people I’m closeted in mourning, someone will have to keep up the facade.”

  “Not to mention taking care of any spies that come poking around.” It was logical, and Sothe knew it, but Raesinia could see the hesitation on her face. “But the last time I left you alone, you walked right into an ambush, and Orlanko nearly had you.”

  That had been the night Ben died, another stupid sacrifice for her sake. Raesinia’s chest went tight for a moment, but she fought back the wave of guilt. “I’ll be careful. And I still have contacts from the old days—”

  “No one I trust.” Sothe shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. You’d have no backup if something went wrong.”

  Raesinia paused. “Do you trust Janus?”

  “For the moment,” Sothe said. “But he’s with the Army of the East, off in the League.”

  “Marcus d’Ivoire is here, and Janus trusts him.”

  “It’s an idea,” Sothe admitted. “You think he’d agree to help?”

  “I don’t think he’ll like it,” Raesinia said. “But I am the queen, and I don’t plan to give him a choice.”

  * * *

  “No,” said Marcus. “Absolutely not. The whole idea is ridiculous.”

  They sat in the drawing room at Twin Turrets, the manor house that had served as Janus’ command post during his defense of Vordan City. Most of it had at one point been converted into a barracks for Janus’ personal guard, a company of Mierantai Volunteers, expensive furniture dragged aside and stacked in the halls and polished floorboards scuffed by the passage of many boots. This room still had its original high-backed leather armchairs, set in a half circle in front of the fire, but it was crowded with tables, dressers, and other detritus.

  Most of the Mierantai had gone with Janus on his campaign, but a few remained with Marcus. Since Raesinia was proposing to place herself under their protection, she was glad to see that they seemed reassuringly professional, even if they often spoke with a gravelly mountain accent so thick she could hardly understand them. Every man carried a rifle as long as he was tall, and wore a dark red uniform cut to the standard army pattern.

  Marcus had received her courteously, but his expression was grim. Raesinia hadn’t spent much time with him since the day he’d fought by her side, escaping from the traitorous Noreldrai Grays. His face was more lined with care than she remembered, and there were hints of gray in his close-cropped beard. He wore crisp army blue, instead of the Armsmen green uniform she remembered, and the silver of a colonel’s eagles sparkled on his shoulders.

  Raesinia sat in one of the big chairs, which made her feel tiny. Sothe stood at her right hand, playing the dutiful servant. Marcus knew that Sothe was more than she seemed—he’d seen her cut down a half dozen Grays—but not the full extent of her service. Most important, Janus had told her that Marcus didn’t know about Raesinia’s own secret. That made sense—the fewer people who knew, the better—but it complicated the situation.

  “You’ve heard what happened this afternoon?” Raesinia said.

  “I had a report,” Marcus said. “I was glad to hear you were safe.”

  “It was closer than I would have liked. Directory President Maurisk has asked me to retire to the country for my own safety.”

  “Which sounds like a fine idea,” Marcus said. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but—”

  “I cannot leave the city,” Raesinia said. “Not now, in the midst of the crisis. And there’s the matter of discovering the identity of the bomber.”

  “Surely you can leave that to the Patriot Guard?” There was a hint in Marcus’ voice that said he shared Raesinia’s low opinion of that force.

  “At least some of the Patriot Guard must have been compromised, or the bomb could not have been planted. I need to discover how deep the corruption goes.” Raesinia looked him in the eye. “I’m asking for your help, Colonel.”

  Marcus shifted uncomfortably when she mentioned his rank, clearly still unaccustomed to it. “You’re placing me in a very awkward position, Your Majesty. I have very clear instructions as to my mission here, and getting involved in politics is definitely not a part of it.”

  “You won’t need to get involved, unless things go badly wrong,” Raesinia said.

  “That’s not very reassuring,” Marcus said. “In my experience, things always go badly wrong eventually. It would be impossible to ensure your safety.”

  Raesinia gritted her teeth. She was so, so sick of being treated like a fresh egg, to be wrapped in unspun wool and carried with bated breath. If I’d known being queen was goi
ng to be like this, I wouldn’t have worked so damned hard to get here.

  “No one expects you to withstand a siege here,” she said. “But Sothe will maintain the illusion that I’m staying in the country, so my presence here should stay secret. That should be safe enough.”

  “We’d never be able to keep the truth from my own guards,” Marcus said.

  “I think we can count on their discretion.” Janus’ personal troops were from his home county, deep in the mountains. They were clannish, insular and suspicious of outsiders, and devoted to their beloved count. Janus had brought them to the capital specifically because it would be difficult for Concordat agents to infiltrate their ranks. “And all the servants are Mierantai as well?”

  “Yes.” Marcus sighed. “I’m going to have to ask for instructions.”

  “From Janus? That’ll take weeks.”

  “We have . . . alternative channels,” Marcus said. “I should have an answer by the day after tomorrow.”

  Raesinia glanced at Sothe, who gave a small nod. “It will take that long to make the preparations, Your Majesty.”

  “All right.” Raesinia stood. “Until then, Colonel.”

  Marcus shot to his feet as soon as she did, and answered her nod with a bow. His expression was that of a man who’d been handed a bomb with a hissing fuse. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Chapter Three

  WINTER

  Winter awoke to the soft sound of shuffling paper, and opened her eyes to find soft morning light filtering through the canvas of her tent.

  “Sorry,” Jane said. “I was looking for a drink.”

  “S’alright.” Winter yawned and rolled sideways on her narrow sleeping pallet, which seemed much larger without another person crammed in beside her. Her body still felt warm and shivery from Jane’s meticulous attentions, and the slight breeze from the tent flap was chilly. She pulled the thin sheet a bit tighter around herself. “It must be past dawn. Go ahead and light the lamp.”