“I know.” Raesinia cut him off. “I may not be a military man, but I understand pride. I know it must be hard for you.”
“It’s not about pride.” Marcus laughed bitterly. “Spend enough time with Janus and you soon get used to swallowing your pride. You’re asking me to take responsibility for a division, under a commander I don’t have any faith in. That means ordering my men—?men and women—?into fire when I don’t have confidence their sacrifice is going to be worthwhile. I can’t do it.”
Raesinia swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Marcus...”
“I’ll resign,” he said, suddenly animated. “I’ll stay here with you. I’m sure Alek can find some use for me with the Armsmen, and you’re going to need all the help you can get keeping the city under control.”
“None of that will matter if Janus takes Ohnlei,” Raesinia said. “What I need is for you to be on the scene when things start to happen. Please, Marcus.”
Marcus stared at her, jaw working.
“Why me?” he said eventually. “You know I’m no match for Janus.”
“The Deputies don’t trust you,” Raesinia said. “But I do.”
And it’ll be safer for you with the army. The soldiers loved Marcus almost as much as they loved Janus. If he stayed, once they departed he’d be at the mercy of the politicians. And if things go wrong and they start looking for scapegoats, you’ll be much too convenient. At the height of the revolution, anyone of Borelgai or Murnskai extraction risked being strung from a lamppost by an angry mob. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think that Janus’ former subordinates might face the same fate when it was his army approaching.
“If Kurot won’t listen to me, I’m not going to be able to help,” Marcus said after a long silence.
“You know the other division commanders. If you work together...”
“That sounds dangerously close to suggesting mutiny.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Just... guide him.”
“Saints and fucking martyrs.” Marcus slumped in his chair. “This is insane.”
“There’s another thing,” Raesinia said. “Maybe you’re right about Janus. If someone is using him, you’ll be in the best place to do something about it. That could put an end to the whole thing at a stroke.”
“That’s a long shot,” Marcus said.
“It may be the best we’ve got.”
Another pause. After a moment Marcus pushed himself to his feet.
“All right. Tell them I’ll take the Second. Let’s hope this Kurot is willing to listen to reason.”
“Thank you, Marcus.” Raesinia stood up as well. “I wish I could come with you.”
“I don’t. It’s been a few hundred years since the queen’s place was on the battlefield.”
Raesinia circled the table, feeling Marcus’ eyes on her. “I know. But it was... simpler when we were away from Ohnlei.”
“I suppose.” He looked uncomfortable. “Those were unsettled times. I think we were... confused.”
Raesinia fixed his gaze with her own. “What do you mean?”
“Just that... I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Forget it.”
“No. Be straight with me, Marcus. Have you changed your mind about what you said to me?”
“No! Of course not.” He looked away, cheeks burning under his beard. “I just meant that I wouldn’t hold you to any promises that you made in the heat of the moment. I understand that political realities can be difficult.”
“Marcus.”
When he wouldn’t look at her, she stepped closer and grabbed the front of his uniform. Surprised, he bent toward her, and she kissed him as thoroughly as she knew how. After a moment his arms came up, wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her close. Raesinia felt her heart beat faster as she was pressed against him, and she locked her hands together at the small of his back. His beard tickled her cheek.
“Believe me,” she whispered when he finally broke away for breath, “I intend to hold you to every word. I love you, Marcus. And as soon as this nuisance is dealt with, we’re going to figure out how to do something about it.” And to hell with what Mistress Lagovil and the rest think.
*
The Grand Army of Vordan—?henceforth to be called the Army of the Republic, according to a hastily promulgated proclamation from the Deputies—?unfolded itself from the camp north of Ohnlei with a ponderous slowness, like a bear ready for hibernation but prodded into action. It was still midautumn, the leaves gloriously red and gold on the trees, and the weather remained warm and clear. But there was a fragility to it that hadn’t been there at midsummer, a sense that the storms and frosts of winter might blow in at any moment.
Ironic, Raesinia thought, given what happened to us over the summer. This time, she hoped, there would be no Penitent Damned putting their fingers on the scale.
The columns were supposed to have started moving at dawn, but it was past noon before the vanguard was finally on the road, Give-Em-Hell’s light cavalry riding in neat squadrons in front of the long, thin column of plodding musketeers. At intervals came the battalion flags, the silver eagle of Vordan on a blue field snapping in the breeze. Cannon rumbled by, teams of horses harnessed to the covered ammunition carts called caissons with the guns themselves, pointing backward and down, attached to the rear by their trails. More carts, carrying the tents, baggage, and other supplies, came down the road in a dense mass, protected by long lines of heavy cavalry riding beside them.
Raesinia had witnessed quite a few such departures. This was far from the worst showing a Vordanai army had made, although she had to admit Janus’ Grand Army had been prettier as it had left for the north. Many of these battalions had been filled out with fresh recruits, some of whom still lacked proper uniforms, and sergeants screamed at them where their lack of marching practice was obvious. Here and there, the line contracted to a tight knot until an officer hurried along to sort out the disturbance.
It’s always like this, Raesinia thought, trying to suppress a flutter of nerves. Traffic jams and mix-?ups were par for the course when armies were on the march—?after bearing witness to what Marcus had to do to keep roughly on schedule in Murnsk, she was amazed they ever got anywhere at all. Still, she couldn’t help but think in terms of omens.
Enough. She turned away from the scene and back toward the little cluster of people behind her. They were on a grassy hilltop, overlooking the line of march. Besides Eric and the two guards, there was a small crowd of Deputies, city notables, a few curious nobles, and foreign dignitaries assembled. Raesinia spotted Duke Dorsay and headed in his direction.
“Your Highness,” he said with a modest bow.
“We need to talk.”
He looked over his shoulder as the crowd began to break up into smaller knots of conversation; then he shrugged and started walking away from the others. Raesinia fell in beside him.