Marcus tossed his useless pistol aside and swung himself to grab the edge of the box, until he could look over Uhlan’s shoulder. The Mierantai lieutenant had one hand pressed to his thigh, where a dark stain was rapidly spreading. Beside him, the driver had slumped back and let the reins fall. A musket ball had made a ruin of this throat, coating the front of his shirt in gore.
“Shit,” Marcus said. He tightened his grip and tried to gauge his chances if he let go of the door handle and swung up onto the box. If I time it just right, I am definitely going to fall off and get crushed. “Raes! Can you get to the reins?”
“I can try!” Raesinia’s head appeared at the edge of the roof and she appraised the situation. “Oh damn.”
“Hurry, please.”
Second Avenue was a relatively straight run between Saint Uriah Street and the Dregs. They’d covered nearly half that distance already, though, and when they reached the Dregs, which ran along the front of the University, they would be presented with a sharp turn in either direction and nothing straight ahead but buildings. The horses might see the danger, but without the brakes the carriage would simply run them over.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Raesinia repeated, like a mantra, as she pulled herself forward to the edge of the roof. Most of the street was dark, but even the war could not completely quash the nightlife of the Dregs, and the line of lamps that marked the end of the street was getting closer fast. “Sorry about this.”
She put a hand on the dead driver’s shoulder and gave him a shove. His limp body slid sideways, then tumbled from the box, and the carriage gave an almighty lurch as the wheels went over him. Marcus nearly lost his footing and clung to the strap for dear life. He heard a heavy thump as Raesinia slammed against the roof.
“Raes?”
“Still here!” She spit blood onto the box. “Somehow. One moment . . .”
Marcus could hear Andy laughing, high and a little mad. Raesinia pulled herself forward and down onto the box, flopping gracelessly into a heap beside the wounded Uhlan. She scrambled to right herself and got hold of the reins.
“Now what?” she said.
“Stop us!” Marcus shouted back.
“How?”
“I—” Marcus was astonished to find that he had no idea. Horses and vehicles had never been his strong suit.
“Brake,” Uhlan gasped. “Between us. Then pull the reins.”
Raesinia yanked up on a metal lever, and the carriage’s axle started screaming like a banshee. She hauled back on the reins, shouting unintelligibly at the horses. The sudden loss of speed left them weaving drunkenly across the street, and for a horrible moment Marcus thought they were going to tip. Then, with a final lurch, the carriage came to a halt just short of the Dregs, where curious pedestrians gathered to stare. A burned-metal smell was everywhere, and when Marcus looked back he could see trails of smoke rising from the back wheels.
Marcus let go of the strap, dropped into the street, and fell over when his legs refused to support him. He heard footsteps, and a moment later Andy appeared, holding out her hand to help him up.
“That was quite a ride,” she said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, brushing himself off, and went to Uhlan. The lieutenant gave him a tight smile, teeth gritted.
“Not too bad, sir. Gone straight through, I think.”
“Mrs. Felda will know someone who can help,” Marcus said. “We’ll get a bandage on it for now.”
“Better hurry,” Andy said. “They’ll be after us.”
A scream, from farther up the street, told Marcus that someone had discovered the body of the driver.
“Here.” Marcus took Uhlan’s arm, and he and Andy helped the wounded Mierantai down. “Do you think your women can tie a bandage?”
“Of course.”
With a certain amount of squeezing, they managed to get the lieutenant in among the servants, who showed no sign of fainting at the sight of blood. Marcus climbed up on the box beside Raesinia, and Andy resumed her place at the door. Gingerly, Marcus released the brake and took the reins himself. Fortunately, the horses were well trained, and didn’t seem to require much handling.
“We’ll take the Old Ford,” Marcus said as they trotted down the Dregs at a more sane speed, leaving gaping men and women in their wake. “Then we’re going to have to ditch the carriage. Andy, you said you had something in mind?”
“Yes,” Andy said. “I know a few people.”
“What then?” Raesinia said.
Marcus looked down at her. She’d been holding her hands over her face, and now she let them fall to show that there was quite a bit of blood on her cheek and temple. Only small cuts remained, though, and as Marcus watched, they closed up and vanished as though they’d never been. Raesinia wiped the blood on her sleeve and waggled her eyebrows conspiratorially.
“Then . . .” Marcus shook his head. “I’ll think of something.”
* * *
RAESINIA
“You’re the queen,” Andy said.
“Yes,” Raesinia said.
“The Queen of Vordan.”
“Yes.”
“The Queen of Vordan.”
“Last I checked, there was only one.”
“But . . .”
Raesinia sighed. “Let me guess. I’m not what you expected?”
She set off down the street at a determined walk, leaving Andy staring after her. The ranker shook her head and jogged to catch up, and they walked in silence for a moment. Even here, only a block from Farus’ Triumph, pedestrian traffic was scarce. An older man hurried past, eyes down.
“Sorry,” Andy said. “I just . . . I mean, that’s a hell of a thing to drop on someone.”
“I thought it would be better to get it out of the way.” She and Marcus had decided last night that Andy deserved to be brought into their confidence, at least partly. Raesinia wasn’t about to tell her about her own condition. “I’m surprised that you believe me.”
“I . . .” Andy frowned. “I guess people wouldn’t, would they?”
“I haven’t really been in a position to tell many people, but I would imagine not.”
“It just seems like the sort of thing that might happen these days,” Andy said. “I mean, why not?”
“Solid reasoning.”
“Well, excuse me for being gullible.” Andy cocked her head. “You’re not joking, though. Are you?”
“No.” Raesinia closed her eyes for a moment. She was angry, and a little frightened, but it was unfair to take it out on Andy. “If we go over to the palace, I could show you some portraits.”
“Does Marcus know?”
Raesinia nodded. “That’s why I was staying at Twin Turrets.”
“That explains a lot.”
“It does? Like what?”
“I was starting to think he was in love with you.”
Raesinia missed a step, stumbling slightly over a loose flagstone.
“But in a creepy, worshipping sort of way, you know?” Andy went on, without pausing. “The way he treats you so carefully. But this makes more sense.”
“I suppose it does.” First Viera, now Andy. Why is everyone suddenly obsessed with Marcus’ love life?
“What about Uhlan?” Andy said.
“I think he knows, but he’s never mentioned anything.” The Mierantai lieutenant was still abed, but according to Mrs. Felda wasn’t in serious danger. They’d had to haul him to the church on two lengths of board after ditching the carriage in an empty yard. “Cora knows, too. But no one else. Obviously, I’m going to need you to keep quiet about it.”
“Obviously. Your Majesty.” Andy grinned at Raesinia’s warning glance. “Sorry. But you really lived up in the palace?”
“All my life.”
“That must have been a nice life,” Andy said, with
a wistful sigh. “Good food, people waiting on you hand and foot, nothing to do but . . . what do princesses do all day?”
“Not a lot, it turns out. I spent a lot of time reading, or studying with my father when he wasn’t ill.”
“Your father . . .” Andy paused. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s so strange to think of the king as . . . well, as a man. With a family. As opposed to just a beard with a crown that gets stamped on coins.”
“I wish more people could have known him like that,” Raesinia said, a lump forming in her throat. “I don’t know if he was a good king. I suppose not, given how things have turned out. But he was always a good father. After my brother died . . . it took a lot out of him.”
There was another awkward pause. Andy pointed to a café, its colorful banner showing a crane in flight against a setting sun. The cloth snapped in the stiff, chilly breeze.
“Is that the place?” she said.
“Looks like it,” Raesinia said.
“I don’t understand why Janus wouldn’t tell Marcus where this Willowbrook place is. Or tell you, for that matter. If he can’t trust you, then what’s the point?”
“Operational security,” Raesinia said, parroting Sothe. “People should know only what they need to. Less chance of someone giving something away by accident, or under torture.”
“Under torture?” Andy shook her head. “Janus must be a cheery guy.”
“He takes things seriously.”
They reached the front door of the café. It was nearly empty; a trio of old men huddled against a long wooden counter were the only customers. Raesinia looked over the abandoned tables, all bare and gleaming with chairs neatly pushed in.
Except for one, near the front, where a broadsheet had been left behind. It was folded between its corners, to make a triangle. Not the way you’d normally fold something like that, or crumple it in your pocket.
“It’s there,” Raesinia said.
“You’re sure?”
“Act calm.” Raesinia gestured at the tired-looking woman behind the counter, and pointed to the table. The woman gave a resigned wave, as though to say, Under the circumstances, just sit wherever you like. Raesinia and Andy pulled back two chairs and sat, and Raesinia unfolded the paper.
“Now what?” Andy said.
“Now we wait.”
Raesinia’s time with Sothe had made her at least minimally conversant in this kind of operation, which everyone at Mrs. Felda’s seemed to take to mean that she was some kind of expert. In fact, her time in the conspiracy had included very little cloak-and-dagger stuff, until the very end. Mostly it was drinking and talking to people. With Uhlan badly hurt, and the Patriot Guard actively on the lookout for Marcus, it was left to Raesinia and Andy to check for replies for Marcus’ message to Willowbrook.
Andy has a point about the secrecy. She understood why Janus would want to keep the location of the Thousand Names a tightly guarded secret, but she could hardly see how telling her was going to cause any problems. And it would have been helpful in an emergency.
“Should I order something?” Andy said.
“We’d better,” Raesinia said. “Otherwise this will look pretty odd.”
She waved to the woman behind the counter, who reluctantly came over to serve them. Raesinia bought a loaf of fresh bread and butter for a shockingly high price, and a bottle of wine for a startlingly low one. While they waited, she looked over the broadsheet, which turned out to be The Patriot, a solidly Conservative paper and one of the most popular at the moment in the mad whirl that was Vordan’s press.
MORE ARRESTS MADE was the leading article. “Following the shocking revelation of the treason of the Minister of War, Giles Durenne, the Patriot Guards continued their laudable efforts to purge the rottenness from our government. Several more associates of the former deputy were brought into custody, and information he and his cronies provided led to the capture of a number of enemy spies. We trust that the removal of these discordant elements will bring unity to our people, and thus gain for Vordanai arms the laurels of victory that have thus far been lacking . . .”
It went on in that vein, with eloquent praise for the “genius” of the “benevolent President of the Directory” and the salutary effects of his program of public executions. Not mentioned were the arrests among the Radical deputies, except in passing as additional spies and traitors. Or, for that matter, was there any word from the Army of the East, or acknowledgment of its past victories.
That has to mean something. If she went to the corner pamphlet seller, Raesinia knew, she would find The Patriot and its like to be the only things on offer. If the Conservatives had dominated the press before, now they had simply extinguished all other voices. Several Radical printers and writers had been arrested in the general roundup, and now languished in the impromptu cells beside the Hotel Ancerre. I’m surprised Maurisk hasn’t gotten around to reopening the Vendre.
The fact that these government-approved publications said nothing at all about Janus’ army, even though—according to Marcus—the news from that corner was good, could only mean that Maurisk was not interested in the general further enhancing his reputation. With Durenne disposed of, Janus is the only remaining threat. We have to get in communication with him. Hence the frantic efforts to contact Willowbrook.
“Can I ask you something?” Andy said.
Raesinia folded the paper—in the more usual way, this time—and looked up. “What about?”
“If you’re the queen”—Andy kept her voice low—“what are you doing here?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Raesinia said.
“I can imagine,” Andy said. “But I think we’ve got time.”
The proprietor arrived, bearing a wooden tray of steaming bread, a bottle, and two glasses. When she retreated after a few moments of slicing, uncorking, and pouring, Raesinia looked thoughtfully at Andy.
What the hell? Why not tell her?
So she did. Not everything, obviously—not her death and Orlanko’s demon. But the story of how she’d founded the conspiracy against her own rule, in order to fight back against the increasing influence of the Last Duke, and how it had ended in blood and revolution. Andy listened, absorbing everything in silence.
“That’s . . . wow,” she finally said when Raesinia sat back.
“When I tell it like that, it all seems a little mad,” Raesinia said.
“What happened to the rest of the conspiracy?”
“Cora was one. Maurisk was another.” Raesinia was surprised to find that she still felt a sense of betrayal there. “The others . . . died. One of them was working for Orlanko. Another . . . he was in love with me, and got himself killed trying to keep me safe.”
“Ah.” Andy shook her head. “I think Hayver had . . . feelings for me. He kept trying to work himself up to talking about it. I thought it was cute, stupid tongue-tied boy, but I didn’t want to encourage him.” She looked down at the table. Raesinia heard screams in her head, and knew Andy was hearing the same.
Silently, Raesinia picked up the bottle and poured Andy a full glass, followed by a token amount for herself. Alcohol was more or less wasted on her, since the binding didn’t allow even a pleasant fuzziness.
“I still don’t understand,” Andy said, coming out of her reverie.
“Don’t understand what?”
“Why you did it. I mean, Orlanko was going to take over. So what? You’d still get to be queen, even if you didn’t actually do anything.”
“He would have married me off to some Borelgai prince and ruled Vordan himself. We got a taste of what that would have been like. Concordat agents at every window, bodies in the river every morning, and anyone who objects gets hauled off to the Vendre or worse. And he was selling the country to the Borels and the Sworn Church, piece by piece. I
couldn’t just stand by and let it happen.”
“I can think of worse fates,” Andy said. “Swanning about the palace eating off silver plates while other people do the work of running everything. Having to roll with some nasty foreigner from time to time doesn’t seem like too high a price, and as for the rest of it . . . what makes it your responsibility?”
“I . . .” Raesinia paused. “It has to be my responsibility. That’s what kings and queens are for, to take care of their people.”
“Just because you were born to the wrong family, the fate of the whole kingdom is your problem?”
“More or less,” Raesinia said. “That’s just the way it is.”
“Color me glad I wasn’t born royal, then.”
Raesinia shrugged. She couldn’t explain, not completely—her ageless state meant that Orlanko would have had to eliminate her sooner or later, presumably by announcing her “death” and shipping her off to the dungeons of Elysium.
But the truth was that she’d never really considered giving in. Raesinia frowned, trying to sort her feelings into something that would make sense. The luxury of palace life had never mattered to her, but that was because she’d grown up with it as the default. How can I explain what that was like?
She gave up. There was another, truer answer in any event.
“I hate him,” she said. “Orlanko. For what he did to me, for the way he treated my father. I couldn’t just lie back, not if it meant letting him win.”
“Ah.” Andy smiled and raised her glass in salute. “Fair enough. If you’d been a Leatherback, I think we’d have made you into a proper scrapper in no time.”
“I’m sure.” Raesinia raised her own glass and took a sip. “Maybe I went looking for revolution in the wrong place.”
Andy laughed, then froze and set her own glass down. A young man in the worn linens of a common laborer approached their table, heedless of the look he drew from the proprietor.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “Where might you be headed?”
“Somewhere there’s willows,” Raesinia said.
He nodded, as if this answer made sense. “Not going my way, then.” As he turned away, his hand passed over the table, and a folded scrap of paper fell from his sleeve. “Best of luck!”
The Price of Valor Page 37
