“Your Highness,” he said, inclining his head. “Marcus. I’m glad to finally see you.”
The smile that crossed his face, there and gone again in a moment, was the old Janus to perfection. But there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a distant pain that made the smile feel like more of a mask than it had been.
“We thought it best not to come until things were fully settled,” Marcus said. “Alves surrendered yesterday, and with it the last of the rebel armies. The war is over.”
Janus nodded. “And so passes away the dream of empire, to wait for another generation.” He smiled again. “Or perhaps longer. We can always hope, eh?”
“We all know it was never your dream,” Raesinia said. In her voice there was anger, kept carefully in check. “Why are you alive, Janus? All the others who were taken by the Beast just... collapsed.”
In some cases that had been midcharge. Marcus’ wavering men on the left flank had watched in stunned amazement as the mass of red-?eyes coming at them simply dropped in their tracks, as though some cosmic puppeteer had abandoned his marionettes.
Janus’ eyes were hooded. “I know what happened to me. As to why, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to say. I kept my mind intact inside the Beast, which no one else seemed to manage for long. Perhaps I was simply fortunate.” He shook his head. “Even so, it was a near thing, finding my way back to my body as it all collapsed around me. Would it have been easier for you if I hadn’t?”
“Easier? Maybe.” Raesinia shook her head. “I know you helped us. If not for you, Winter might never have reached Vordan City and Marcus might not have come back to meet her. But...”
“But you can hardly explain that to the public at large.” Janus gave another summer-?lightning smile. “I quite understand.”
“They’re going to want your head, Janus.”
He looked up at her, unfazed. “Are you planning to give it to them?”
Raesinia glanced at Marcus. They’d been up late, trying to figure this out between them.
“I don’t think that would be... just,” Raesinia said slowly. “But at the same time, you’ll be seen as a threat if you stay anywhere near Vordan. We thought—”
“Exile,” Janus said. “Probably to the Southern Kingdoms. Perfectly appropriate, and probably better than I deserve.”
He patted the book he’d been reading, which Marcus now saw was titled Journeys Beyond the Great Desol and Through the Kingdoms of the South. Marcus rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Do you ever get tired of doing parlor tricks?” he said.
“One takes one’s amusement where one can,” Janus said modestly.
“That’s it?” Raesinia said. “I know it’s unfair to you. I thought...”
“That I would fight?” Janus shrugged. “What would be the point? I know the position you’re in, probably better than you do. If I were in your place, exile would be the best you could possibly hope for. Fairness doesn’t come into it.” He looked down at the book, his spidery fingers spread across the cover. “Besides. I’m... tired. A long trip will be just the thing.”
“I’ll make the arrangements, then,” Raesinia said. “We’ll keep it quiet until you’ve left port. No need to risk riots.”
“Of course. Whatever you think best.”
Raesinia looked up at Marcus again, questioning. Marcus nodded.
“Very well,” the queen said. “I think that’s all.”
“Could we have a moment alone?” Marcus said.
Raesinia nodded slowly. “If you like. I’ll be outside.”
She left the sitting room, closing the door behind her. Marcus lowered himself into the chair opposite Janus, and there was a moment of silence.
“You saved us, again,” Marcus said. “You saved everyone.”
“An exaggeration,” Janus said. “At best, I gave things a bit of a nudge when I found myself able. Winter saved us. And Sothe, and Alex, and you, and everyone who fought at Bear Ridge.”
“Even so. You’re just going to go off to exile?”
“Whatever my... contribution, my name—?my body—?were used to do terrible things.” Janus shook his head. “I have had my chance at history, Marcus. The time has come for me to sink into well-?deserved obscurity.”
“And Mya?” Marcus said quietly. “Are you giving up?”
There was another pause.
“I used to believe in destiny,” Janus said. “It was so obvious, when you looked at her. So clear. And then...”
“You’ve changed your mind?”
“Perhaps. Maybe things are only obvious in hindsight. When I think how much had to go just right in order for us to reach this moment—?how easily it could have gone another way...” He smiled again. “Maybe there is no destiny. Maybe things just happen and nobody knows why and none of it means anything. Or maybe the pattern is more complicated than I understood. Either way, I don’t think it needs my help.”
“So what are you going to do?” Marcus said. “Find some king who needs a general?”
“I think not. I’m done with campaigns and armies, Marcus.” Janus settled back in his chaise. “I’ll write, I imagine. There are quite a few monographs I’ve composed over the years that need to be set down properly. And the wildlife of the Southern Kingdoms is vastly underexplored. A real gap in the literature. I’ll be certain to send back my findings.”
Was there a sardonic grin there, at the corner of Janus’ lip? Marcus couldn’t be sure. The big gray eyes seemed so open, but they never truly showed what thoughts lay beneath.
Slowly, Marcus got to his feet. He straightened up and saluted one last time.
“Thank you, sir. For everything.” He paused. “It’s been an honor.”
“Likewise, Marcus,” Janus said. “More than you can imagine.”
RAESINIA
Raesinia found Winter on the roof walk that faced the front of the palace, looking south toward Vordan City. This would once have been the most magnificent view in Vordan, taking in the vast sweep of Ohnlei’s gardens, the stately facades of the Ministry buildings, and the grand drive with its fountains. Now the fountains were turned off and the gardens were a torn-up mess, thanks to the army’s long stay. The Ministry buildings still stood, except for the burned-?out Cobweb, but though the sun had barely set, most of the windows were dark. It had been less than a week since the Battle of Bear Ridge, and the functionaries who made the wheels of bureaucracy turn were understandably still nervous.
Winter wore her uniform, stitched and cleaned, with her sword on her hip. She bore little resemblance to the dirty, gory mess cavalry patrols had brought in, covered in blood, one arm out of joint. Alex had been little better, one leg and several ribs broken, coughing blood. It had been Abraham who’d tended to them both, once he’d recovered enough of his own strength, and his power had once again worked miracles.