The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  Maurisk barked a laugh. “He’ll get his fill, one way or another. Executioners and grave diggers are the real winners of every war.”

  “Charming.” She gestured at the door. “Come on. Get up.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Quite a few of your Patriot Guards are outside. You’re going to tell them what you told Kellerman. It’s over.”

  “Why would I do that?” Maurisk straightened up, though his head still lolled slightly. “Perhaps I’d rather take my chances when they break in.”

  “If it comes to that, you haven’t got any chances,” Raesinia said. “I’m offering you a bargain, and it’s only good for the next few minutes. Either tell your people to stand down, right now, or die, right now. Not imprisonment, not a trial, no second chances.” Raesinia leaned closer. “I will borrow a knife from Sothe and drive it into your fucking eye. Get it?”

  He was silent for a moment, sizing her up. Kellerman’s sword came up again, until Raesinia glanced in his direction, at which point he became so flustered he dropped the thing entirely.

  “You know I’ll do it,” Raesinia said. “After all, I’d only be returning the favor.”

  “I believe I stabbed you in the heart,” Maurisk murmured. “Which, as Dr. Sarton tells us, is the seat of all sensation, and thus produces a painless death.”

  “We can compare notes afterward,” Raesinia said. “But I’m certain you’re going to disappoint me and take the other option.”

  “I am, am I?” Maurisk said. “Why is that?”

  “Because you’re a coward,” Raesinia said bluntly. “You always were. You were happy to write speeches and print pamphlets, while Faro and Ben and I did anything the least bit dangerous. Then, when you finally had a chance to enact your beloved principles, you ignored them the moment they were a threat to your position.”

  “I had a fucking war to fight,” Maurisk said, voice slurring a bit. “That doesn’t get me any credit?”

  “Not with me. I don’t blame you for hating me. You have every right to that. I might hate me, in your position. But you made it about more than just me.” Raesinia lowered her voice. “There was a young woman, standing next to me, the day of the executions. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had to pull her son off her body.” He’d grow up without a mother. Nobody deserves that. Another victim, another life ruined by standing too close to Raesinia Orboan.

  “—you made it about everyone—” Maurisk was saying, but Raesinia was suddenly tired of the game. It had felt good, coming in here and having her say, but in the end it didn’t matter. It certainly won’t do Claudia and Emil any good.

  “Enough,” she cut him off. “We’re done here. Are you going to call them off, or do I need to find a knife?”

  Maurisk met her eyes for a moment longer, then looked away.

  * * *

  “Zacaros? Zacaros, are you out there?”

  The pounding on the door stopped, and after a pause a deep voice answered, “President Maurisk?”

  “You and your men are to stand down. Lay down your arms and leave the hotel. Send messages to the rest of the Guard. The fighting is over.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Zacaros sounded almost frantic. “If they’ve got a blade to your throat, then I’ll have no choice but to assume command.”

  “The queen and I have reached an . . . accord. We will negotiate with General Vhalnich. It’s over.”

  “The queen?” Raesinia could hear muttering among the troops outside, and she raised her voice.

  “I’m here. And President Maurisk is right. The time for fighting is done.”

  That seemed to tip the balance. The majority of the Patriot Guard, Raesinia guessed, didn’t know about Maurisk’s attempts on her life, any more than they knew about the alliance with the Penitent Damned. As far as they were concerned, they were still fighting in defense of the queen and legitimate authority against a rebellious general.

  She could almost hear the wheels turning in Zacaros’ head, even from the other side of the door. If he chose to ignore Maurisk’s orders and killed everyone present, he could take power for himself, but there was no way to be sure his soldiers wouldn’t balk at orders to silence their own monarch. And if the queen was determined to stop the fighting—

  There was no way out, no solution except obedience that led anywhere good. Still, Raesinia held her breath for a moment.

  “Understood,” Zacaros said. “Lay down your weapons, men. I’ll pass the command to the others.” He hesitated. “There’s still some fighting between our men and the rebels. May I have permission to raise a flag of truce?”

  “Go ahead. Tell them thank you, and that they can go home.”

  Raesinia doubted he would go that far, but it didn’t matter. Morning would bring Janus’ troops into the city in numbers too great to be resisted. It’s good enough. She turned to Winter.

  “I’d be grateful, Colonel, if your soldiers might unblock the door. And, Sothe, it might be best if you took the president somewhere quiet until things calm down.”

  “Gladly,” Sothe growled, and took a grip on Maurisk’s arm, pulling him toward Raesinia’s old cell.

  Two of the rankers went to work moving the chairs they’d shoved in front of the door. Raesinia noticed for the first time that Andy was among the soldiers who’d come to her rescue when the girl paused in front of her on the way to help them.

  “Marcus told me you’d be all right,” Andy said. “I don’t know if I really believed him. I saw—I thought I saw—”

  “It’s a long story,” Raesinia said, patting her on the shoulder. “But I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I . . .” Andy bowed her head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Another ranker, a big woman with her arm bound up in bandages, tugged on Winter’s sleeve for attention. She gestured at one wall, where a man in a black obsidian mask lay slumped over. He was sitting up now, groggy, flexing his fingers. His nails were an inch long, and sheathed in blood, as though he’d dipped his fingers in red paint.

  Winter reached down and pulled the mask off while the ranker kept her bayonet leveled at the man’s throat. Underneath, the Penitent Damned looked ordinary enough, an older man with thinning hair and an angular Murnskai cast to his features. He blinked, looked up at them, and sighed.

  “What’s your name?” Winter said. “I know you speak Vordanai.”

  He nodded. “In Elysium, they called me the Liar.”

  Raesinia raised an eyebrow. “They must not have liked you very much.”

  “What were you doing here?” Winter said.

  “The Lord’s business,” the Liar said. “Retrieving the Thousand Names. Killing Ihernglass and his master for the crime of sorcery, and bringing you back to Elysium for the same reason.”

  “Sorcery,” Raesinia said bitterly. “You say that like I made a choice.”

  “Sin is always a choice.” The Liar leaned his head back against the wall. “I chose it because I knew it was how I could do the most good for my fellow men, even if it meant an eternity of damnation for me. All the Penitent Damned—”

  “Save your self-flagellating theology for someone who cares,” Raesinia snapped. “Where is Ionkovo?” At a glance from Winter, she said, “He’s the leader, or seemed to be. I didn’t see him out there.”

  “Shade is furthering the cause of the Almighty in his own way.” The Liar looked from one of them to the other. “You think you’ve won, don’t you? Because you defeated us in this little battle. The game is larger than that. Your precious general will not save Vordan, not if you persist in this madness. What will you have left when he falls? Only surrender to the Almighty can save you in the end.”

  “Janus will want to speak with him,” Raesinia said. “We’ll have to tie his hands—”

  “I think not.” The Liar took a deep b
reath and said in a clear voice, “Ahdon ivahnt vi, ignahta sempria.”

  Then, before anyone could make a move to stop him, he brought his hand up, long nails slashing cleanly through the skin of his own throat. Blood gushed forth, and his next breath was a choking gurgle. His head slumped back against the wall, eyes wide and staring at something beyond the walls.

  “This,” Winter said to the world in general, “is why I hate fanatics. First the Redeemers, now these lunatics. What is wrong with people?”

  “You should get back to Janus,” Raesinia said. “He needs to know what happened here.”

  Winter looked at the dead Penitent Damned, and gave a slow nod.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  WINTER

  At Raesinia’s insistence, Sothe accompanied Winter downstairs, in case any Patriot Guards had ignored their commander’s orders and wanted to fight to the last. They took the servants’ passage, back toward the kitchen, narrow and switchbacking.

  “All right,” Winter said as Sothe peered suspiciously around another bend and then waved her forward. “I have to ask.”

  “Hmm?” Sothe said. Her sleeves were damp with blood where the Penitent Damned had cut her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “When you were fighting the Penitent, at the end. You had your eyes closed.”

  “Oh.” Sothe pulled up short, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed. “You saw that?”

  Winter nodded, and Sothe sighed and ran a hand through her hair.

  “I was . . . guessing, really. His style was predictable, the same responses to my moves every time. So I could get away with closing my eyes for a few seconds, as long as I kept the initiative. Any longer than that and he would have killed me.”

  “But why?”

  “I was playing a hunch. The way he moved—it was like he could see what I was going to do before I did it. But when he had to fight you as well, I noticed he wasn’t as fast when he was looking the other way. I think he had a . . . power—a demon, I suppose—that let him . . . see better? Or see more detail.” Sothe frowned. “I don’t understand magic. But I guessed that he wasn’t looking into the future or seeing into my mind, just reading cues from my body. Everyone has them, little motions, no matter how hard you try not to. The eyes are critical. I knew he was backing toward bad footing, but he would be able to read that from my eyes, so for a few seconds . . .”

  Winter stared at her, and Sothe just shrugged.

  “I had no idea if it would work. But I couldn’t beat him any other way, so I thought it was worth a try.”

  “That’s . . .” Winter shook her head. “Someday you’re going to have to tell me where you learned to fight like that.”

  “It’s a long story,” Sothe muttered.

  In the kitchens, the servants they’d bound were still there, huddled together in a corner. Winter left Sothe to cut them free and went around to the stables, where she commandeered a horse and tackle. She rode back through the lines, the guns abruptly silenced as the news rippled out from the hotel. It outpaced her, racing through the embattled city faster than fire, spreading on the wind in shouts and joyous exclamations. The details were lost as it went, as usual, but the gist remained: the fighting was over. Winter heard men from the Army of the East crowing over their triumph, or cursing that their commanders had called a halt before final victory. Even the latter, though, seemed relieved that the prospect of a confusing, drawn-out battle in darkness had been averted, and already the camps were taking on an air of celebration in spite of the best efforts of suspicious officers.

  The Silver Eagle building was abuzz with activity when she reined in outside, slipped out of the saddle, and left the horse with an astonished aide. Girls’ Own soldiers stood on guard by the doors, but they were talking excitedly to one another rather than watching the street, and Winter had to cough before they recognized her.

  “Sir!” one ranker said, and offered an astonished salute, while the other hurriedly opened the door.

  “Is the general here?”

  “Yes, sir,” the woman said. “And Captain Giforte wants to speak with you.”

  Abby had, in fact, sighted Winter already, and was on her way across the floor, threading past the rows of wounded. She looked mad enough to chew lead shot, and Winter took an involuntary step backward.

  “Hello,” Abby growled, “sir. Would you come with me, please?”

  “I need to see Janus,” Winter said.

  “He’s been asking for you.” Winter hurried after Abby as she stalked away. In a low voice, the captain said, “When you asked me to put together a team for a special operation, you didn’t tell me you would be going along.”

  “I figured you’d object,” Winter said.

  “Damn right I’d object,” Abby said. “You are the colonel of this regiment, not a goddamned ranker. You’re not supposed to go sneaking through tunnels behind enemy lines.”

  “Sorry. It’s hard to explain.”

  “You’re going to have to explain it to Janus,” Abby said.

  This was actually something of a relief, since Janus would at least understand the reason she’d had to go along. I’m the one who carries the Infernivore. I couldn’t send people up against the Penitent Damned and stay behind. The demon seemed more active than usual, stirring around in the back of her mind, like a twitching muscle she couldn’t actually pin down to a spot on her body. Maybe getting something to eat got it excited.

  “We rescued the queen,” Winter said as they climbed the stairs to the less crowded second story of the building. “And captured the President of the Directory. I hope that counts for something?”

  “It might.” A smile broke through Abby’s stormy expression. “That’s for the general to decide.”

  “Captain!” someone shouted from below. “Captain Giforte!”

  “Duty calls,” Abby said. “Janus is using the office at the end of the hall. When you’re done, I’m going to want a full account, so be ready.”

  The second story was mostly offices, separated from one another by thin partitions. For the most part, they were dark and silent, but lamps glowed at the end of one corridor, and Winter could see a musket-bearing sentry waiting in front of the door. It was good to see that Janus was taking his own security seriously, even in friendly territory. Winter walked over, and the guard, a woman she knew vaguely, offered a salute.

  “Sir,” she said. “I’m sorry, but the general has instructed me to admit no one.”

  “He wanted to see me as soon as possible,” Winter said. “Can you tell him I’m here?”

  “I have specific orders he’s not to be disturbed, sir.” The sentry looked nervous, which Winter supposed was understandable. It’s never easy to say no to your commanding officer. She put on what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “It’s all right. I’ll wait, then.” The door to the next office over stood open, and through it Winter could see a pair of heavy leather armchairs. All the weariness of the past few hours seemed to descend on her at once, and her legs felt as sturdy as cooked noodles. “I’ll be in here. Let me know when he’s ready.”

  The sentry looked as though she was about to object, but kept silent. Winter sat down, gratefully, in one of the chairs, sinking into the overstuffed leather cushions. Cuts and bruises all over her body were making themselves felt. A bath, she decided. I need a bath. She held up her arm, where blood had matted her sleeve. And maybe a few stitches. I think Abby has the right idea. No more leading from the front . . .

  She leaned back, head bumping against the back wall of the office. As she did, she realized she could hear voices from the next office over, muffled but audible.

  “. . . is it that you want?” That was Janus. Winter straightened up, not wanting to eavesdrop, but the next voice froze her in her seat. Even through the wall, it was intimately familiar.

  “I want you to
let Winter go.”

  Jane.

  * * *

  “Let her go?” Janus said. “I wasn’t aware I was keeping Colonel Ihernglass against her will.”

  Jane snorted. “Neither is she. That’s how you get to people. You get into their heads, make them think going along with you is their own idea. I’ve been watching it happen to my girls.”

  “I don’t suppose you’re willing to consider that they follow me because they believe I’m doing the right thing?”

  “They follow you because you’ve got them all twisted up,” Jane said. “You’re a clever fucker, no doubt about that. But you can’t have Winter.”

  Winter pushed the chair closer to the wall, all thoughts of propriety abandoned. Jane’s here? How could Abby not have told me?

  The answer came to her a moment later, sending a chill down her spine. Abby doesn’t know. She remembered, belatedly, the name of the sentry—a woman named Coin, who’d been one of Jane’s Leatherbacks, and had followed her with a loyalty that was closer to worship. I always thought it was strange she didn’t leave with Jane and the others. But it can’t just be her. There must be others among the Girls’ Own loyal to Jane, who’d stayed deliberately to wait for an opportunity to . . . what?

  “The fact remains,” Janus was saying, “I don’t believe Colonel Ihernglass would leave the regiment if you asked her to.”

  “Right,” Jane said. “You’ve got your claws in too deep. That’s why you’re going to order her to do it. Tell her it’s over, that you don’t need her anymore. Get her away from the army, and I’ll take care of the rest. Once she’s seeing clearly again, she’ll thank me.”

  “I would be extremely reluctant to lose an officer of her talents—”

  “You’ve got the city,” Jane said, a pleading note entering her voice. “You could declare yourself king, if that’s what you want. You don’t need her anymore.”