The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  Eric and Cora returned just after noon from yet another round of meetings with Goodman and his clerks. The servants, at Raesinia’s orders, had laid out a cold lunch, so there was food waiting when the two of them came in. Cora, as expected, went straight for the buffet and started loading up a plate with little sandwiches and the tiny egg-​and-​vegetable pies the Borelgai were so fond of. Eric, moving a little slower, tossed his ever-​present notebook into one chair and then slumped into another.

  “Do you need something to eat?” Raesinia said.

  “Something to drink, for preference,” Eric muttered. He sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. Thank you, but no. Not at the moment.”

  “I take it you didn’t make much progress.”

  “Much would imply any movement at all,” Eric said. “Talking to Master Goodman is like arguing with a wall. He listens politely, then repeats his position verbatim.”

  “It’s actually impressive how consistent he is,” Cora said, from the table. “You can tell he’s an expert.”

  “I don’t know how you can be so cheerful,” Eric said. “He’s been unbearably rude to you from the beginning.”

  “’M used to it.” Cora had popped a whole hard-​boiled egg into her mouth and was chewing furiously. “People usually are. I think Raes was the first person who took me seriously.”

  “People are stupid,” Raesinia said. She turned from Eric to Cora. “So, you don’t see any chance of getting to an agreement we can actually afford?”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t have any reason to give us one unless something changes. If Janus has a setback, maybe we could threaten to walk away.”

  “That’s the problem,” Eric said gloomily. “It’s hard to negotiate when you haven’t got any leverage.”

  Cora laughed. “Well, if we need leverage, at least we’re in the right city.”

  Raesinia blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “Oh. It’s a joke.” Cora swallowed and set her plate down to gesture. “In finance, leverage can also mean debt. Because it helps you lift more than you otherwise could, you know? And Viadre has the largest debt markets in the world.” She caught the look on Raesinia’s face and sighed. “Not a great joke, I guess.”

  “No,” Raesinia said. Something was whirling at the back of her mind, the core of an idea. It’s not all there yet, but... “You said you still had credit to your name here, right?”

  “Some,” she said. “Quite a bit, actually, but not on the scale we need. Not if we’re talking about the national debt.”

  “But you could grow it. With leverage.”

  “Y-yes.” Cora turned away from the buffet to face Raesinia. “Probably. It might not be easy.”

  “I know you can do it,” Raesinia said. “From now on, that’s your main assignment.”

  She met Cora’s gaze and saw the flicker of worry in the girl’s eyes. Raesinia forced herself to look confident and watched as Cora drew herself up. It was manipulation, pure and simple. Cora couldn’t let her friend down, and so if Raesinia had confidence in her she’d try her damnedest regardless of how she felt. It was the sort of trick Raesinia had employed all her life—​she thought about Ben, with his puppy-​dog crush on her, and how she’d used him to further the revolution—​and she felt only a faint twinge of guilt. That’s what being a queen does to you.

  “It’ll take some time,” Cora said. “I don’t know if I can get anywhere fast enough to be useful.”

  “I understand. Just try.” Raesinia grinned. “You’re obviously not getting anywhere with Goodman, so you might as well do something productive.”

  “Even if she can make some money,” Eric said, “where does that get us?”

  “I’m not certain yet,” Raesinia said. “But the markets are Goodman’s game board, and it can’t hurt to have a few more pieces.” She looked back at Cora. “Is there a way to make sure what you’re doing can’t be traced back to us?”

  “I can set up a trading company,” Cora said. “It won’t be bulletproof, but at least it won’t be obvious. We’ll need the structure if we’re taking on debt anyway.”

  “Good. Get started building it, and I’ll figure out what we’re going to do with it when you’ve finished.”

  “Got it.” Cora already looked energized. She snatched a last sandwich and beckoned to Eric. “Come on. I’m going to need you for some of the paperwork.”

  *

  When another invitation to dinner with the second prince arrived, Raesinia wasn’t sure whether she ought to accept. What decided her, in the end, was the thought of the food—​a second chance at Prince Matthew’s chef was too good to pass up. And now that I know what the game is, maybe I can get a better handle on what he thinks of it.

  The prince opened the door to his suite himself, stepping out the way and bowing low as she came in. His suit was dark blue this time, subdued enough that it emphasized the startling light blue of his eyes. For her part, Raesinia had dressed carefully to avoid anything that could be considered flirtatious; the last thing she wanted was to give the impression that she was falling for the second prince’s charms. Her dress was high-​necked and sober, with a minimum of jewelry.

  “Your Highness,” Matthew said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Prince Matthew.” Raesinia tried a tentative smile. “Given the quality of the food, I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.”

  “Arnat is a wonder, isn’t he?”

  The prince shut the door and gestured her toward the hearth, where there were two of the heavy claw-​footed chairs that infested the Keep. The big table was set for two, Raesinia saw, but there were no servants in evidence, or even any Life Guards. The suite felt deserted. Her eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t think of trying anything, would he? Even a prince can’t be that stupid.

  A table between the two chairs held a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. Prince Matthew poured while Raesinia sat, welcoming the warmth of the crackling fire. She took the wineglass when he offered and sipped politely. Matthew took a long drink and sank into his chair.

  “Is something wrong?” Raesinia said.

  “No, not really. I just wanted a chance to talk in private before we eat.” He looked over his shoulder at the silent dining room. “Your Highness, I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “For the way I treated you last time.”

  “You were—”

  “I was deliberately rude, dull, and boorish.” He sighed. “You didn’t deserve any of it, and I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

  “Well.” Raesinia looked down into her glass for a moment, thinking hard. “Apology accepted, provided you tell me why.”

  “I was... irritated at my father’s scheming, and I took it out on you.” He ran one hand through his hair. “I should have understood that you didn’t ask for this, either.”

  “You know about the offer he made me, then.”

  He nodded. “From what I heard, you had no idea what he intended.”

  “You thought I did?”

  “I’ve known of Father’s intentions for some time,” Matthew said. “When I heard you were coming to the Keep, I thought it had all been arranged in advance.”

  “I assure you I had no thoughts along those lines,” Raesinia said, a little stiffly. “My goal is to secure your father’s help against Janus.”

  “I know.” He sighed again. “I suspect I’ve made rather a mess of things.”

  “I take it,” Raesinia said, “that you’re not enthusiastic about this marriage plan.”

  Matthew shook his head. “No offense intended, Your Highness. But I had hoped to marry someone I’ve known for more than a few hours.”

  “Likewise. But surely you can tell your father no?” In the old days fathers might have had a right to decide on marriages without a son’s permission, but surely Borel wasn’t that backward.

  “It’s... more complicated than that.”

  I suppose he is the king. “So you were hop
ing...”

  “That you’d be so disgusted you’d laugh in his face.” He chuckled. “I suppose the fact that you didn’t is a compliment, of a sort.”

  “You were very convincing as a boor,” Raesinia said. “But I need your father’s help.”

  “That’s how he likes to operate,” Matthew said bitterly. “Getting himself into a position where he has what everybody needs and then exacting his price.”

  Raesinia set her wineglass down and looked across at him. The second prince cut a lean, handsome figure in the light from the fire, shadows playing across his brooding features.

  “Are you going to take his offer?” Matthew said, after a moment.

  “That gets right to the heart of things, doesn’t it?” Raesinia said. “I’m not any more eager to marry you than vice versa. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Matthew said, waving vaguely.

  “But at the moment we are precariously balanced. If the war goes well, I may be able to push back. If it goes badly...” She shook her head. “You know him better than I do. Is there any chance of convincing him to accept an alternate solution?”

  “The man has a mind like a limpet. He grabs on to an idea and doesn’t let go, not for anything.” Matthew stared morosely into the fire. “He hates fighting with his advisers. If you can get Goodman on your side—”

  “That seems unlikely. Master Goodman is convinced we owe him quite a lot of money.”

  Matthew winced. “That’s always a bad position to be in.”

  There was an awkward silence, broken by the pop of wood collapsing in the fire.

  “Still,” Raesinia said. “It’s nice to know we have a common cause.”

  “Even if we don’t have any way to actually do anything about it?” He looked up. “Sorry. I suppose you’re right. Come, let’s have dinner, properly this time. I promise not to be boring.”

  A pull on a bell cord brought the servants running, and Raesinia thought she detected some aggrieved looks as they hurried to get dinner started. True to his word, Matthew was transformed, utterly unlike the clod he’d convincingly impersonated the other night. He told hunting stories while uniformed waiters brought in a delicate soup garnished with rings of shellfish, and managed to make Raesinia laugh hard enough that she knocked a half dozen empty shells across the room. The second course was greens with a lemon sauce, and Matthew segued into a lengthy anecdote about a friend’s amorous misadventures.

  “...so he says, ‘I’d love to, my lady, but the dogs are still down there!’” Raesinia barked a laugh, and Matthew beamed. He really was a born storyteller, able to perfectly imitate the tone of an aggrieved housewife or anxious innkeeper. His narrow face seemed to come alive as he talked, and Raesinia was reminded for a moment of Danton Aurenne, the spellbinding orator who’d been the focal point of the revolution. She was fairly sure there was no magic at work here, though. Her binding hadn’t given her any twinges of warning.

  “It was all right in the end, of course,” he went on. “He ended up marrying poor old Rosalind, and Ella eventually found her merchant’s son.” Matthew went quiet for a moment, perhaps reflecting that his choice of subject might not be ideal under their current circumstances. He cleared his throat. “I understand times have been quite interesting in Vordan of late as well.”

  “Interesting is not the word I’d use,” Raesinia said. “Terrifying, maybe.”

  “Was it as bad as they say?”

  Raesinia paused. There were some stories she couldn’t tell, of course. How she’d escaped from Ohnlei by jumping off a tower and breaking her head open every night. The time she’d been shot in the head by a Concordat traitor and spent hours pinned on a rock like a butterfly, upside down and underwater. How she’d been kidnapped by the Penitent Damned called Ionkovo, and how she’d turned the tables on him later in a spectacularly gory fashion.

  I can’t tell him anything, can I? It wasn’t just the magic and the secrets she had to keep. Looking at Matthew, with his pretty blue eyes and stories about climbing over rooftops to help friends meet their lovers, felt like staring into a different world. It was a world she’d been born into, a world she’d been meant for, but it had been taken away from her by disease and dark magic. I was supposed to be like him. Not frivolous, exactly. It wasn’t his fault. He’d just never been down to the sharp end, where things balance on the edge of a knife and pretenses are stripped away.

  “It was... pretty bad, yes.” Raesinia blinked and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Matthew said. “Obviously it’s something you’d rather not think about.”

  It’s not that, Raesinia thought. It’s just something I can’t inflict on you.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and told him a story from the old days, before her brother had died. It was a good story, which ended with an arrogant wine steward getting his comeuppance in a stable full of horseshit. Telling it made Raesinia miss Dominic more than she had for years. It had been ages since she’d even thought about her brother. It seemed strange now that there had been a time when he’d been the most important person in her world, after her father. I would have done anything to get their approval. They’d gotten in trouble for shoving the wine steward, but a little scolding from her tutor was worth it if she made Dominic smile.

  It felt, for one evening, like she’d been allowed to visit the world she’d lost. Clever, handsome princes who made her laugh, spectacular food, the quiet bustle of servants moving all around. It was life as it might have been.

  “Thank you,” she said, when the dessert plates had been cleared away. “This was a wonderful evening.”

  “It was,” he said. There was a touch of sadness in his eyes. “Let me apologize again.”

  “You’ve apologized enough for last time—”

  “Not for that. For my father.” Matthew shook his head. “I wish we’d been able to meet under better circumstances.”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Raesinia said, aware that there were still servants all around them.

  Matthew nodded distantly, but his expression was resigned. He thinks there’s nothing we can do. That I’m going to have to take Georg’s offer, and we’ll have to go through with it.

  It made her even more determined to escape from the trap the Borelgai had laid. On top of everything else, Matthew doesn’t deserve to be used like this.

  15

  Marcus

  The orders had come in just after dark, as the Second Division was settling back into camp. Marcus scanned through them, suppressing a groan. Another dawn march. Another battle tomorrow. He turned the page. At least we won’t be right in the middle of it.

  “Thank you,” he told the young lieutenant who’d brought the pages. “Tell General Kurot I understand, and we’ll be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man looked around curiously. Cyte and Abby were in the tent with them, looking over the big map, along with several Girls’ Own sentries. This courier clearly found the idea of women in uniform fascinating.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “That’ll be all.”

  “Ah. Yes, sir.” He straightened, saluted, and left the tent. Marcus glared after him.

  He should go visit the cutters. Casualties from the fighting at Satinvol were still being brought in by the stretcher teams combing the town. Those who could be saved had been evacuated already, so now the work mostly came down to giving the badly wounded a somewhat more comfortable place to die. Meanwhile, Hannah Courvier and the other cutters worked nonstop, the floor of their tent slick with blood, the pile of amputated limbs outside growing ever larger as the bone saws sang.

  All of the Second’s regiments had lost soldiers, but it was the casualties among the Girls’ Own that hit Marcus the hardest. I can’t help it, damn it. I’m supposed to protect them, not march them into danger. Thinking about it made him angry with himself, angry with Janus, angry with everyone. It was almost enough to make him forget what had happened on the enemy’s last charge.

  Magic.
It had to be magic. That Girls’ Own ranker had turned on him, and he was certain the glow in her eyes had been real. Janus must have... something. Some power. Maybe he found what he was looking for. The voice at the back of his mind—​the one he tried to ignore, because he knew he wanted what it said to be true—​said, Maybe something got to him. Maybe he’s not to blame for all this after all.

  “More good news, sir?” Abby said.

  Marcus blinked and shook his head. He handed her the orders, and while she read he said, “We’re going to be moving out at first light again. You’d better spread the word.”

  “Understood, sir.” Cyte saluted. “I’ll make sure the colonels get the message.”

  “You believe this, sir?” Abby said, when Cyte had slipped out of the tent.

  “Which part?”

  “That we’re going to be able to trap Janus against Alves.”

  The orders called for a fast march southwest, pushing through whatever got in their way. With the Satinvol bridge destroyed and the Alves bridge presumably still in friendly hands or at least demolished, Janus would be left with no way out, and his supplies would be diminished by days of siege and fighting. The Army of the Republic, by contrast, was still receiving supplies and reinforcements over the passes. Kurot had carefully assigned forces to guard those lines, but Janus had made no attempt to interfere. As though he doesn’t mind walking into the trap.

  “It seems... possible.” Marcus shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to speak against a superior directly, but... “Janus is tricky. You know that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got something up his sleeve.”

  “Me either.” Abby sighed. “We gave about as good as we got yesterday. It’s not easy, fighting our own people.”