“I wouldn’t bother, unless you like sitting inside watching the rain.” Dorsay sat at his table, breaking nuts with an iron-?handled nutcracker and picking the meat from the debris. The cracks made Raesinia think of musket-?fire. “Chin up. I know you’re frustrated, but some things take time.”
“I would like it if you didn’t treat me like a child,” Raesinia snapped. “I’m not throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get a pat on the head. People are going to die, Dorsay.”
“I appreciate that.” Another shell broke with a crunch. “But I’m trying to get you to understand that not everyone else does.”
“How can they not understand what Janus’ return means?”
“Borelgai, I’m sorry to say, have traditionally taken a somewhat distant view of matters on the continent. There’s a school of thought that says you people are always killing each other, so why should we trouble ourselves? Not that I agree with it,” he added hastily. “But it’s the psychology of the matter. It lacks urgency for someone like Goodman.”
“What about the king?” Raesinia said. She started to pace back and forth in front of the table. “He sent you to Murnsk. You said yourself he doesn’t want war.”
“He doesn’t want to return to the old wars of religion,” Dorsay interjected. “Georg isn’t foolish enough to think that we’ll have peace forever. World affairs simply don’t work that way, I’m sorry to say.”
“But he at least knows the danger Janus poses. Why won’t he speak with me?”
“That I don’t know.” Dorsay leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his stomach. “Georg hasn’t been confiding in me of late, I have to admit.”
“If I could just talk to him alone, we might get somewhere.” Raesinia shook her head. “God knows I understand how hard it is to have a reasonable conversation with half the court looking on.”
“In Borel, private audiences with the king are considered a high honor,” Dorsay said. “Giving one to you would amount to a tacit endorsement of Vordan. Georg may not be ready to go that far.”
“Tell him I don’t care if he makes it public or not. I’ll sneak through the back garden if he wants me to.” Or jump off the top of a tower, some part of her mind prompted, with a hysterical giggle. “But as it stands we’re getting nowhere. Goodman isn’t going to budge unless we give him some reason to think we won’t eventually be forced to meet his terms.”
“Unfortunately, events seem to be playing into his hands,” Dorsay said.
“You’ve had news?” Raesinia said eagerly.
“A courier ship came in,” the duke admitted. “Though some of the reports are vague. It appears the Army of the Republic has crossed the Illifen passes at last and begun debouching into the valley of the Pale.”
“About time,” Raesinia muttered. By the standards of Janus’ campaigns, Kurot’s march was cautious at best. “What about Janus?”
“The so-called Imperial Army has reached the outskirts of Alves. To date, they have avoided any fortified places too large to storm, but they seem to be pushing hard for the city. It was not yet under siege when our messengers left, but may well be by now. Our man there reported the defenders are determined to hold out.” He shrugged. “Of course, from this far away, we have only a narrow view. And out of date, even via courier ship.”
“Saints and fucking martyrs,” Raesinia growled. It could be over by now. If Kurot moved quickly, he might have already fought a battle against Janus. The threat could be past. Or, conversely, disaster might have overtaken the Army of the Republic. Marcus could be dead. Her throat tightened.
Marcus knows what he’s doing. But he wasn’t in command. She’d sent him out, begged him to go, under the authority of a man she knew almost nothing about. Damn, damn, damn.
I should be there. She was tempted to drop everything, forget about Borel, and just go. Surely there was a ship in the harbor that would take her across the Borel Sea, and from there she could make her own way. Then at least I’d know what was happening. Marcus and I could be together. All that stopped her was the knowledge that it wouldn’t help; on a battlefield, she’d only be an encumbrance he’d feel obliged to protect. Here, at least, there was some chance of doing good.
“I will petition Georg again on your behalf,” Dorsay said. She wasn’t sure how much of her conflict he’d read on her face, but his tone had softened. “Perhaps he’s simply busy with affairs of estate.”
“Thank you,” Raesinia said. “And thank you for the news.” Without Sothe, she felt blind.
“It’s nothing.” Dorsay shook his head. “You know, some generals like to say they’d relish a confrontation with a brilliant opponent, the opportunity to match their mind against one of the best.”
“You want a chance to fight Janus?”
“Good God, no. Those men are idiots. Give me stolid morons for enemies, every time. The only certain thing when two ‘great’ generals do battle is that a lot of poor soldiers are going to end up dead.” He sighed. “If Janus takes power, sooner or later Georg will send me over to fight him, unless I spoil things by dying first. Maybe that’ll be my plan, if it comes to it. War is a young man’s game anyway.”
“If you did have to fight him, how would you do it?”
“Ideally by having a hell of a lot more men than he does.” He grinned wolfishly. “Which is why I’m working so hard on your behalf, you see. Much better to have half the Vordanai on my side than all of them fighting against me.”
*
Raesinia wasn’t certain if Dorsay’s pleas had an effect, or if the news that matters in Vordan were reaching a head had knocked something loose, but the message she’d been waiting for arrived the next day, delivered by an impeccably uniformed footman.
“His Majesty cannot grant you an audience, of course,” the young man said, with an air of insufferable authority that made Raesinia want to punch him. “But if you were to take a walk in the rose garden this afternoon, you might get a chance to share a few words with him. Coincidentally, you understand.”
“I understand,” Raesinia said.
The footman sniffed, bowed shallowly, and departed. Raesinia spent the rest of the morning with her maids, sorting through the clothes she’d brought from Vordan. Another place she missed Sothe—?she’d always been able to ignore the issue of how to dress, because Sothe had instructed her on what was best for any given occasion. I really did rely on her too much, Raesinia thought. Not that she didn’t deserve my trust, but having the same person responsible for assassinations and my wardrobe is putting too many eggs in one basket.
In the end, given the fashions in Borel, she decided on something sober and understated, practically mourning wear by Vordanai standards. Dressed and equipped with the appropriate jewelry, she had the Keep servants direct her to the rose garden. This turned out to be at the top of a building that had once been a gatehouse, so getting there meant climbing a narrow spiral stair up several flights. Jo and Barely tromped along behind her, their heavy boots slapping on the ancient stone.
A pair of the ever-?present Life Guards waited in the upper chamber, in front of a sealed door. They bowed to Raesinia.