“Was it such a burden,” he said eventually, “to have to marry my son?”
“Your son is a wonderful person,” Raesinia said, a little surprised. “But he made it clear he had no interest in marrying me. And I have my own feelings to consider.”
“Those who sit on a throne can rarely afford the luxury of feelings,” Georg said. “If you don’t understand that now, you will someday. Assuming you live that long.”
“I wonder if it’s not the other way around,” Raesinia said.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There was a time when I told myself my feelings didn’t matter. I did what I had to for the throne, for the people, for my family.” She waved a hand. “Look where it’s gotten us. I can’t say for certain I would have gone a different path, but... at some point cold reason takes you only so far.” I realized that in Murnsk, standing on the bridge, watching Marcus run the other way. When I held my hand out...
“It’s a nice sentiment,” Georg said. “I hope you don’t wind up paying dearly for it.”
“I’ve paid a great deal as it is, Your Majesty.”
He shook his head and turned to the door. “Good luck, then.”
“Your son has promised me he’ll write to you,” Raesinia said.
Georg paused, his back turned.
“You might want to try listening to him,” she said. “Just a bit of advice, from one monarch to another.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Georg said.
Part 4
Interlude
Janus
He felt the Beast’s primary focus sweeping toward him, a hurricane moving over the mindscape, scattering the floating wisps of thought like dandelion puffs. Janus had to work harder to hold himself together, exerting his will to keep his thoughts from being torn apart and drawn into the ravenous maw.
Winter has escaped. If Janus had still had anything like breath to hold, he would have let it out. If she’s made it to Dimiotsk, then she’ll be in good hands. That’s one piece in place.
“Vhalnich,” the Beast said, its voice a shriek of immaterial wind. “I am disappointed.”
“How so?” Janus said, holding himself at a steady distance from the dark wall that marked the Beast’s core.
“You had the opportunity to kill or capture the leader of the Vordanai army, this Marcus d’Ivoire. You didn’t make the attempt. Should I suspect you of... sentiment?”
“I judged the risk too great,” Janus said. “No sentiment was involved.”
“Risk? We are beyond such things.”
Janus’ nonexistent lips twisted into a brief smile. As you proved so handily in the north? He’d only been able to watch that chase from afar, but it was clear the Beast had botched the pursuit, at first by being overeager and then by waiting too long. It’s used to thinking of “risk” in terms of its own existence. But even the Beast can have setbacks.
“Marcus would have come to the meeting only if my body was there. If I tried to take him, it’s quite possible my body would have been killed in the attempt.”
“What of it?”
“It’s irrelevant to me, of course, except inasmuch as it affects your plans. Our supply of bodies in the south has been depleted by the battle, and it is only through my body that we retain the loyalty of the soldiers you have yet to incorporate. If that body were lost, things would become... chaotic.”
“Hmm.” Janus felt the increased stress of the Beast’s attention.
“You told me you wanted Vordan City taken as quickly as possible, and the Thousand Names seized. I am working only to achieve that end. Now that Marcus’ army has fled out of range of the Illifen passes, we can leave a small force to watch him as we take the bulk of our troops directly toward Vordan City. I don’t think what’s left of the Army of the Republic will put up much resistance.”
“Good,” the Beast growled.
“If I may be so bold, I suggest bringing your core body south, now that the north is no longer of such... interest. Having it close by will enable us to secure more bodies quickly once Vordan falls.”
“I have already begun the journey,” the Beast said. “When the city falls, I will feast. And with the strength that grants me, I will make the world tremble.”
Janus said nothing. Once the shot is fired, all you can do is wait and see if it will hit the target.
21
Winter
“Take the knife,” Jane said, as though instructing a friend in how to carve a roast. “Put the point of it about here, and press it in, upward, as hard as you can.”
She stood, naked and beautiful, in front of Winter. Jane as she had once been, well muscled and full breasted, long hair hanging to the small of her back like a curtain of dark red silk. Jane as she ought to be, not the shaven-?headed, scrawny thing Winter had seen in the pontifex’s office in Elysium, with eyes that glowed red from the inside.
There was a dagger in Winter’s hand, long and gleaming. She raised it to Jane’s throat, her arm trembling. The point shook until it came to rest in Jane’s skin, just above her collarbone, its prick drawing a single bead of blood.
“Oh, no,” Jane said, with a playful smile that cut like a knife. “Not me. You had your chance at that.”
Her hands came up, surrounding Winter’s own, and with gentle but unstoppable strength they pushed the dagger across the space between them, until Winter felt the tip touching the skin of her throat.
“That’s it,” Jane said. “Press it in, upward, as hard as you can.”
“I can’t,” Winter said. “There’s something I have to do first.”
“Defeat the Beast?” It was Bobby’s voice, from behind her. “You think that matters to me?”
“To me?” Leti, just behind Winter’s left shoulder.
“It matters to me,” Winter said. “If I can save everyone... if I can save Cyte...”
“Even if you end up dead?” Cyte strode out from nowhere and crossed her arms. She was naked, too, her body slim beside Jane’s, her hair black instead of red. “You know that’s what it’s going to take. You felt it the first time you confronted the Beast.”
“If you’d been willing to make the sacrifice then, none of this would be necessary,” Jane said.
“I might still be alive,” Bobby mused.
“So would I,” Leti said.
“I know,” Winter hissed. “I know. This time...” She looked down at the dagger, then raised her chin, tensing her shoulders. “This time I’ll do what needs to be done.”
The blade sank into her flesh as though it belonged there.
*
Winter opened her eyes slowly, the lids gummy with sleep.
Her throat still stung from the dagger’s thrust. She brought one hand up, groggy, and felt for the wound, but there was nothing. Of course. The nightmares had followed her for years, all the way to Khandar and back again. Why should they stop now?