The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  “Is it working?” Raesinia interrupted. She’d gotten used to doing that, with Cora. The girl didn’t mind, and it was the only way to get a word in edgewise.

  “Is what working?”

  “Your plan, to make more money.” Raesinia had understood it only vaguely, something about speculating in derivatives related to Vordanai debt.

  “Oh. Yes, so far. I’m still a long way from where I need to be to play on Goodman’s scale, though. Even down in the trading pits, you can practically feel everyone pause when he walks by.” Cora cocked her head. “Have you figured out what we’re going to do yet? If we had a more specific objective I might be able to tilt things in that direction.”

  Raesinia shook her head. She didn’t have a plan, precisely. More a sense that money was the water through which Goodman and people like him swam, the substance of their power; being able to manipulate it had to give her some kind of advantage. Cora can think rings around Goodman. We just need to use it somehow.

  “Well, I’ll keep things as they are, then,” Cora said. “I’ve mostly been taking the buying end of the derivatives, because as a new concern traders are reluctant to take on the counterparty risk, even at a good rate. That limits us a little bit, but if our capital keeps expanding we ought to—”

  The door opened. Raesinia stood up, a little relieved, until she saw the expression on Eric’s face. He looked like someone who’d been told he had only weeks to live.

  “What’s wrong?” Raesinia said. Even Cora stopped chattering.

  “You’d better read this,” Eric said.

  He handed her a folded page, written in a neat hand she didn’t recognize. Raesinia scanned it, and her breath caught in her throat. She read it again, more carefully, hoping that somehow she’d gotten it wrong the first time.

  After what felt like a hundred years, she looked up.

  “You’ve seen this?” she said. But of course he had; it was written on his features.

  He nodded. “It’s all over the Keep, Your Highness.”

  “What is?” Cora said. The bubbly excitement of moments before was gone. “What happened?”

  “There was a battle near Alves,” Raesinia said, keeping her voice level. “General Kurot’s army was beaten badly. Much of the army was shattered, and the general was captured. Marcus is leading what’s left of the Army of the Republic south, with Janus’ army in pursuit.”

  At least he’s alive. Though the terse notice seemed to shatter all her hopes, she clung to that. Marcus is alive. Or he was, when this was written.

  “I don’t understand why he would retreat south,” Eric said. “Why not east toward Vordan City? Surely—”

  “Surely he had his reasons,” Raesinia said. One thing her strategy sessions with Marcus had taught her, back in Murnsk, was that there were always realities on the ground that couldn’t be appreciated by looking at a map. “I’m not going to critique Marcus’ moves from five hundred miles away. Kurot’s, either, for that matter. There’ll be time for recriminations later.” Assuming Janus doesn’t send us all to the Spike. “You said this is all over the Keep? You’re sure?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Eric said. “I overheard some of the staff discussing it in the hall.”

  Damn. It was too much to hope they’d be the first to find out, but it would have been nice not to be last. “Go and tell the king’s secretary I need to speak to him at once. Tell him it’s very urgent.”

  “Of course,” Eric said. He hurried away, nearly dropping his notebook in his haste.

  “What are you going to tell him?” Cora said. Raesinia turned to her, trying to keep the turmoil off her face. The confidence Cora had when dealing with the markets was gone, and she was just a scared teen, looking for reassurance. “This isn’t going to make our position any stronger.”

  “I know,” Raesinia said grimly. “I’m going to ask him if his offer is still open.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it is,” she said, “I’m going to take it.”

  *

  “Ordinarily, the king reserves this part of the day for private business,” said the officious young footman who’d been assigned to escort Raesinia. “He very much dislikes being disturbed. So please keep your interruption as short as you can.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Raesinia ground out. Some of it had to be down to cultural differences, but she was certain now that the staff in the Keep were being deliberately disrespectful. “Thank you for bringing him my message.”

  “He has expressed an interest in you,” the footman said, in a tone that implied he couldn’t understand why. “This way.”

  They were in a part of the Keep that Raesinia hadn’t visited before, which she assumed to be the king’s private apartments. They passed through a large reception room, complete with an ornate throne, and went through a door at the back of the dais. A short corridor led to a smaller, plainer room, half occupied by an enormous wooden writing desk in the shape of an L. Two smaller desks were wedged into the corners. The king sat behind the big desk, flipping rapidly through the pages of a document and scrawling the occasional note in the margins, while the smaller places were occupied by clerks who copied out the monarch’s hasty notes more legibly.

  “Queen Raesinia,” Georg said, not looking up. “Give me a moment.”

  Raesinia gritted her teeth. Let him play his power games if he has to. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  The footman bowed and took his leave. Georg reached the end of his document in a few more moments, signed the bottom with a flourish, and slid the stack of pages across the desk. One of the clerks jumped up to take it.

  “Clear out, please,” the king told his secretaries. “I’ll call when I need you.”

  They both bowed and slipped away. Raesinia stood facing the king across the vast expanse of hardwood. There was nowhere to sit, and Raesinia wasn’t sure she wanted to. I won’t be here long.

  “I assume you’d prefer to skip the preliminaries,” Georg said. “You’ve heard the word from Vordan, and so have I.”

  “Yes.”

  “You never gave me an answer to my proposal.”

  “Is it still on the table?”

  Georg grinned slyly. “Master Goodman would chastise me. When your opponent’s position becomes more desperate, he would say, take the chance to put the screws to them. Should I demand some territory, perhaps? Trading concessions? I’m sure he could think of something.”

  “Your Majesty—” Raesinia tried to keep her voice calm, but something must have shown on her face, because Georg barked a laugh and held up a hand.

  “My apologies,” he said. “Yes. The offer stands. I take it you’ve... considered?”

  “I have.” Raesinia stood up a little straighter. “I will marry Matthew, if you are willing to help.”

  “Excellent.” Georg’s smile widened. “I’m sure you will be very happy together.”

  “I’m sure,” Raesinia said. “Let’s talk about the terms of your assistance.”

  The king leaned back in his chair. “It will take some time to assemble troops—”

  “Your Majesty, we don’t have time. This news is days old at best.”

  “I’m well aware,” the king said. “As I was about to say, a land force will take some assembly, but it should be practical to dispatch a navy squadron and transports immediately. They will sail to Enzport and up the Pale, rendezvous with General d’Ivoire’s army, and make arrangements to evacuate it by sea. I assume that would resolve the immediate difficulty?”

  “It would.” Something unclenched in Raesinia’s chest. We’re not there yet, she told herself. “Thank you.”

  “For what it’s worth,” Georg said, “I appreciate your position. And I truly think this is the best possible outcome. Vhalnich is dangerous, and he needs to be crushed. Now stability is assured.”

  “Let’s save the victory celebrations for later,” Raesinia said. “I would appreciate it if you would send those ships at once.”

&n
bsp; “Of course. I’ll need you to write out orders for your garrison at Ecco Island to allow our ships past. It wouldn’t do to begin our partnership by shooting at one another, would it?”

  Raesinia fought down her gorge as the scribes came back in. One of them wrote at her dictation, then presented her with the finished product to sign and seal. Her hand was shaking, blurring the shape pressed into the wax.

  Then she was being escorted out of the king’s presence by the same officious footman. She didn’t even look at him, didn’t want to see his superior expression. When he returned her to Jo and Barely, it was obvious they both knew something was wrong, but Raesinia ignored them, too. She stalked back to her suite, went into the drab bedroom, slammed the door, and threw herself on the too-​hard bed.

  It’s not so bad. It’ll be a few years at most, anyway. Then I have to disappear. She and Marcus might still manage to be together, if he was willing to disappear with her. She wasn’t certain if she was willing to inflict that on him, though, nor if she really wanted to watch him get old and die while she lived on. But this marriage is... nothing. Just a brief interlude. Prince Matthew isn’t even such a terrible person.

  It didn’t feel that way, no matter how she rationalized it. It wasn’t Matthew that was the problem, or even marrying him, in the abstract. It was the knowledge that, in the end, she’d failed.

  Duke Orlanko had intended to set her up as a puppet, a convenient body to occupy the throne while he ruled, complete with a terrible secret he could hold over her to maintain control. Everything she’d done since the start of the revolution had been in order to escape that fate, to regain control of her own destiny and break the hold that Orlanko and his backers had on Vordan. People had died—​a great many people—​along the way. Some of them had been her friends. Some of them had died in her arms. Raesinia herself had had her brains blown out, been shot, stabbed, drowned, smashed, and otherwise abused; if her particular situation meant that none of that was fatal, it still wasn’t pleasant.

  All of that, to get to a place where she could make decisions about her own life. And now I’m back where I started. Not Raesinia, just the queen, a convenient body to wed and breed, a pawn on the game board of nations. And I doubt I’ll even be able to do that satisfactorily.

  She imagined telling Marcus what she’d done and why she’d done it. He’d understand, from a logical perspective. Perhaps even agree that it was the right course, to save Vordanai lives, including his. But will he forgive me? She thought not. Marcus could recognize when a coldly rational decision was the correct one, but he could never truly bring himself to accept it. If she married Matthew, whatever the reasons, he would feel betrayed. And I can’t say he’d be wrong, because I feel like a traitor.

  Raesinia curled up on the bed, on top of the sheets, and cried in a way she hadn’t for a very long time. Eventually she stopped, not because she felt better, but simply because she felt empty.

  I wish Sothe were here. Not for her organizational talent, her spying, or her fighting skill. Just because no one else had been with her from the beginning, and understood.

  Eric knocked at the door, calling for her. Then Cora, her voice full of concern. Then Duke Dorsay. Raesinia just pulled the sheets around her and lay still. Go away. I gave him what he wanted. Can’t I have some peace?

  Eventually—​the curtains were drawn, and she had no idea what time it was—​the lock clicked, and the door swung open a fraction. Raesinia frowned, blinking against the brighter light from the outer room, and looked up.

  “Cora?” she said.

  It wasn’t Cora. It was Sebastian Carter, the tall, black-​clad majordomo, with a pair of footmen hovering behind him.

  “Your Highness,” he said, pushing the door open wider and bowing. “I apologize for the intrusion. We weren’t sure if you were well.”

  “I’m fine,” Raesinia said. “I would like to be left alone.”

  “I understand that,” the majordomo said. “However, as you are being moved to new accommodations, I will need you to come with me.”

  “New accommodations?” Raesinia’s eyes narrowed. “These are fine.”

  “A new suite,” the majordomo said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Where you can be with the second prince.”

  “What?”

  “His Majesty was most insistent,” Sebastian said. “Your staff will be moved to their own quarters nearby, of course, so you may have privacy.”

  “This is ridiculous. We aren’t married yet.”

  “Those are His Majesty’s orders,” Sebastian said, as if that answered everything.

  “I’m not doing it,” Raesinia said. She felt like there were ants crawling across her skin. “In fact, I’d like my things packed.” She’d gotten what she wanted from Borel, if not in the way she’d hoped. There’s no reason for me to stay here. “I need to return to Vordan.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Sebastian said. “The king gave very specific instructions. You are welcome to go anywhere in the Keep, but I will have to ask you not to leave until your union to Prince Matthew has been formalized.”

  “He’s holding me prisoner?” Raesinia slid off the bed and stalked over. “That’s ridiculous. I am the Queen of Vordan. I demand to see the king at once.”

  “I’m afraid he’s very busy,” Sebastian said, as imperturbable as a mountain lake. “But I will inquire as to when he might have the time.”

  She glared. “Are you really going to move me by force?” She wondered where Barely and Jo were. Probably in the corridor, not knowing anything was wrong. They’d take on this butler, she was certain, but what would that accomplish in the long run besides possibly getting them killed?

  “You are free to go to your new quarters, or not, as you choose, Your Highness. But I’m afraid the cleaning staff need to access this suite now that your things have been moved, so we can prepare it for other guests.”

  She almost laughed. It was such a prosaic way to present a demand. Presumably if I stand here, they’ll just clean around me.

  The despair that had afflicted her was rapidly transmuting into rage. Georg obviously has been taking his lessons from Goodman. Twist the knife while you had your opponent down. Fine.

  “As you wish, of course,” she said. “Please show me to my new accommodations.”

  And let’s see what Prince Matthew has to say for himself.

  *

  To her annoyance, Prince Matthew was nowhere in evidence when she arrived at her new apartments. They were somewhat larger than the old suite, with a single master bedroom, a dining room, a study, and servants’ quarters. No servants were in evidence, either. Raesinia tracked down Cora, who had rooms in the next corridor, and did her best to reassure her. Then she went back and settled in to wait for her newly acquired fiancé.

  Second Prince Matthew came in sometime after dinner, still smartly dressed but ever so slightly disheveled, his hair delicately mussed and his steps weaving a bit across the tiled floor. He opened the door and grinned, as though Raesinia were a surprise gift.

  “Well, then,” he said. “I thought I knew the way back to my room, but the footmen assured me that I was mistaken. This isn’t the apartment I remember, but I can’t say it isn’t an improvement.”

  “Hello, Your Highness,” Raesinia said.

  “Please.” He came inside and leaned against the door until it closed. “No need for formality. I understand there’s been a change in our relationship since this morning.”

  “I have agreed to your father’s proposal that we should be married, yes,” Raesinia said. “I wasn’t expecting him to move us in together. Is that normal in Borel?”

  “Not really, no. But Father approaches the breeding of heirs in the same way he approaches the breeding of hounds. Just put the dog and the bitch in the same cage for a while and wait for them to fuck.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s a born romantic.”

  Raesinia stared fixedly at the prince. “I have no intention of obliging him. J
ust so we’re clear. And if you have any other ideas—”

  “You wound me,” Matthew said, hand trying for his heart and missing. “I would never take advantage of a helpless woman, much less one like yourself, who I assume is capable of ripping my balls off.”

  Raesinia fought a smile. “Let’s hope we don’t have to test that.”

  “I shall sleep,” Matthew announced, “on the sofa. I’m sure it is comfortable.”

  He walked across the room to the ornate sofa against one wall and flopped onto it facedown, though it wasn’t long enough to accommodate his lanky frame.

  After a moment he said, voice muffled, “It is not comfortable.”

  Raesinia finally had to smile, just a little. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

  “You are the soul of courtesy.” Matthew rolled over. “Are you angry with me?”

  “No,” Raesinia said, surprised to find that she was not. She had been, before he came in, angry with him and his father and every Borelgai. But something about his exaggerated self-​pity reminded her that he was as much a victim in this as she was. More so. I had a choice, and I got something out of it, even if the terms weren’t to my liking. “I’m angry at your father.”

  “Being angry at my father is my stock-in-trade. I recommend it. It’s kept me looking youthful all these years.”

  Raesinia smiled a little wider at the joke, which was more relevant than Matthew knew. She said, “Are you angry at me? I feel like you’d have every right to be. I did say I wasn’t going to take your father’s bargain.”

  “I suppose I could be, but it seems like a lot of effort.” His expression softened. “And I understand your situation. I heard the word from Vordan.”

  “Apparently everyone did,” Raesinia muttered.

  “Keeping secrets is not among Borelgai virtues,” Matthew said. “In the Keep least of all.” He sighed. “If I blame anyone, I suppose it’s my father, but at this point it’s hard for me to hate even him. He’s just... a fact. Like the rain and the fog.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He shuffled himself up on the sofa, so he was at least partially upright. “Of course.”