*
The old Borelgai embassy, a rambling, ancient stone pile at the edge of the palace grounds, had been burned by a mob during the revolution. For now the Borelgai ambassador and his staff had been assigned to a suite in the palace itself. Eric led the way there, through corridors largely deserted except for guards at regular intervals. The soldiers—?part of the First Division had the honor today, Raesinia saw—?came smartly to attention as she passed. Joanna and Barely, her constant shadows, followed a few steps behind her.
“Did Dorsay say why he wanted to see me?” Raesinia said.
“His Grace did not mention a specific reason,” Eric said. “As far as I’m aware, the treaty is progressing well, if slowly.”
That was Dorsay’s ostensible reason for being in Vordan, the peace treaty that would officially end the war between their two countries. There were a great many details to be ironed out, and in practice the negotiations were conducted between a swarm of bureaucrats from both sides. Trying to understand the actual points of contention made Raesinia’s head hurt, but she did her best to keep abreast of the general shape of things. Dorsay didn’t even seem to do that, happy to let his underlings do the work. Raesinia suspected he was here more as a reminder than anything else, Borel’s greatest living soldier showing the flag to underline the fact that—?unlike all her other opponents—?Vordan hadn’t beaten the Borelgai in open battle.
Two Borelgai Life Guards, their shakos lined with their trademark white fur, stood guard outside the door to the embassy suite. They came to attention as well, and the door opened to reveal the perpetual smile of Ihannes Pulwer-?Monsangton, Borel’s ambassador to Vordan. If Dorsay was all bluff informality, which Raesinia had come to respect during their time in Murnsk, Ihannes was the opposite, with the oily charm of the professional diplomat. Raesinia presented him with her own best smile and acknowledged his slight bow with a nod.
“Your Highness,” he said. “You honor us.”
“Ambassador.” Raesinia paused when Ihannes didn’t move aside.
His smile turned apologetic. “His Grace has asked that this be a private meeting.”
“Of course.” Raesinia gestured for Joanna and Barely to wait. “Eric, find me after my meeting with Mistress Cora.”
Ihannes stepped aside, and Raesinia swept past him. The Borelgai suite was elaborately furnished, by the standards of the depleted palace, with furniture and decorations in the severe Borelgai style. More diplomatic posturing, she assumed.
Attua Dorsay, the Duke of Brookspring, was seated at the head of the long table, vigorously applying butter and jam to several slices of toast. Ihannes cleared his throat theatrically, and Dorsay looked up.
“You getting a cough, Ihannes?” he said. The twinkle in his eye made Raesinia certain he was needling the ambassador.
“No, Your Grace.” Ihannes stepped aside. “The queen is here.”
“I can see that,” Dorsay said. He gestured at his plate. “Care for any breakfast, Your Highness?”
“No, thank you,” Raesinia said, barely restraining a smile at Ihannes’ pained expression.
“Sit down, then. That’ll be all, Ihannes.”
“Your Grace?” The ambassador’s brow furrowed.
“I mean take yourself somewhere else,” Dorsay said. “I told you I wanted this to be a private meeting.”
Ihannes’ expression went even frostier, but he bowed silently and left through an inner door. Dorsay resumed buttering his toast, which was already dripping.
“Butter,” he said without much preamble. “You people have always been good at it.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Raesinia said cautiously.
“Butter, cream, cheese, and so on. All in short supply back home, since the war started. Do you know how much of our cheese comes from Vordan?” Before she could answer, he waved a hand. “I didn’t, and neither did Georg. Nobody thinks about these things before they start a war.”
Georg referred to Georg Pulwer, the King of Borel, with whom Dorsay was apparently on a first-?name basis. Raesinia wasn’t sure how much of that was bluster and how much was truth. It was always hard to tell with Dorsay.
“It was you who put us under blockade,” Raesinia said, keeping her tone light. “If it were up to me, His Majesty could have all the cheese he could eat.”
“Which is a shockingly large amount, I can attest.” Dorsay crunched into the toast, getting flecks of butter in his bristly mustache. He sat back and sighed with pleasure. “Hells. No beating the real stuff. Back home they try to make something with goat’s milk, if you can believe that. Goat’s milk! Ha.”
“Once the treaty is finished, I’ll send a few casks with you, as a going-?away present.”
“A small price to pay to be rid of me!” Dorsay cackled. “No doubt you’ll throw a party to celebrate.”
“You’ll always be welcome at my court,” Raesinia said. “You helped me keep the peace when we might as easily have been at each other’s throats.”
“And your man d’Ivoire saved my neck from that snake Orlanko,” Dorsay said. “I won’t forget it, believe me.” He finished the toast, wiped his face on a napkin, and turned to look up at her. His famous nose, long and curved, stuck out like the prow of a ship. “That’s the spirit in which I asked you here, in fact. Nothing to do with the treaty. Wanted to pass on a bit of private information.”
“Oh?” Raesinia hesitated for moment, then pulled a heavy wooden chair from the table and settled herself facing Dorsay. “Information is always appreciated.”
“How much are you hearing out of Murnsk?”
“Not a great deal,” Raesinia admitted. “They withdrew their ambassador when the war started, and we haven’t received any official response to our inquiries since. The Army of the North has pulled back over the border into Vordan.”
“I suspected as much. Our forces have pulled out as well, but Borel has significant commercial interest in western Murnsk, and sometimes they pass tidbits along.”
Raesinia nodded. Once again, she missed Sothe. Vordan’s intelligence service had been largely dismantled in the wake of Orlanko’s rebellion, but Sothe had a knack for acquiring information. Raesinia had tasked Alek Giforte with creating something to fill the void left by the Concordat, but that project was still in its infancy.
“Western Murnsk is in chaos,” Dorsay went on. “To put it mildly. The bizarre weather has wreaked havoc, and to make matters worse, the northern savages have crossed the Bataria in strength, raiding and burning as they go. I imagine you saw some of that for yourself.”