‘Maybe your family just doesn’t like you,’ Brasti shouted, setting off a smattering of laughter.
Morn smiled as if we’d just played right into his hand. ‘A joke?’ he asked, once the laughter had died down. ‘Is that what they offer you in return for the senseless waste of your lives? A fucking joke? But no. I think it’s something else.’ He turned and started walking back in my direction, pointing at me. ‘I think this man has made you a false promise. I think Falcio, along with Filian, the boy King, Duchess Trin’s puppet, who cost you the life of the Queen you loved, has convinced you that if you die bravely here, your families at home will be treated with respect by the Avareans once we invade.’
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ one of our men shouted. Feltock shot him a look, but by now the soldier wasn’t about to be cowed – at least, not by Feltock. ‘We were told that if we fought here, life might not be so bad for our folks back home.’
Morn stopped walking and stood there for a moment, staring at the man who’d spoken. His expression was sympathetic at first, but then he began to laugh. ‘I take it back,’ he said, in between chuckles. ‘Falcio did offer you a joke in return for your service.’ Then his face hardened suddenly. ‘Look at me, you damned fools! I am the Magdan of Avares. I am the leader of that army – seven-thousand strong – who will rip you limb from limb upon that field in the morning.’ He resumed his march along the lines, and the men and women he passed flinched more than they had during the Scorn.
‘Respect?’ he demanded, then threw an arm back to point to the army on the other side. ‘You think those warriors, born and bred for battle, will respect you? They won’t even see you! The Avareans admire courage, that’s true, but only when it’s paired with skill in battle. Most of you have never even killed a man before. You’ll stumble. You’ll hesitate. The Avareans will run right through you, their blades slicing through the flesh and bone of your bodies like freshly sharpened scythes through dry summer grass! They’ll keep running, too, all the way to your homes, to your cities and towns and villages, where they will rape and kill everyone you’ve ever loved. That is what you are doing to your wives, to your husbands, to your children. You are bringing the horde to their door!’
‘We have to stop this,’ Kest whispered to me.
‘We can’t,’ Nehra warned. ‘Once the Oration has begun, we’re bound to let him finish.’
‘Look at our soldiers. Morn may not even need to finish his speech before they all drop their weapons and beg for mercy. Falcio . . .’
‘We play it out,’ I said.
Morn must have noticed us talking because he turned to us. ‘Look at them. See how they scheme against you, even now? Do you want to know the truth about Falcio val Mond and the Greatcoats? Would you like to know the real reason why he brought you here to die?’ He paused for a moment, just to make sure I was watching him, and that I would pay attention to what he said next. ‘Tell them, Falcio. Tell these brave men and women about your wife. Tell them why the King named his daughter after her. Tell them the finest joke ever inflicted upon a nation.’
‘You should shut up now,’ Kest said, just loud enough for Morn and those nearest in our front line to hear.
Morn shook his head sadly. ‘It is an awful tale, to be sure: a woman raped and killed by the Duke of her own Duchy in some tavern while her husband still knelt in the shit and grime of his own land, unable to make himself stand up again because he’d failed to draw a blade when they’d taken her away.’ Morn locked eyes with me. ‘The others knew about your past, Falcio, but they never understood it, did they? None of them ever understood the real reason for the formation of the Greatcoats.’
‘Why don’t you tell them,’ I said, though I’m not sure the words came out as anything more than breath leaving my lungs.
‘It was all for her!’ he shouted. ‘All of it!’ He turned to face the troops, every one of whom looked captivated. ‘King Paelis needed a fool – a jester; a madman who would go around the country -parroting his ideas for all to hear.’ Morn gestured to the other Greatcoats standing together behind the lines. ‘Someone who could find other fools to do the same: not an easy job, I assure you – but who should turn up in the King’s bedroom one night but Falcio val Mond.’ His arm swung back to point at me. ‘Do you think the justice he wants is for you? If so, the joke is on you, because there’s only one injustice that Falcio has ever fought for: revenge for his wife’s death!’
In the periphery of my vision, I saw dozens of pairs of eyes looking at me, waiting for me to deny it. They’d be waiting a long time.
‘Have you ever wondered why the King gave his daughter a commoner’s name?’ Morn waited for a moment then let out a barking laugh. ‘So this fool would protect her! That’s right: had he named her Elissa or Myrin, Tessa or Jadrine, the girl would never have survived Ganath Kalila in Rijou!’
I could see the muscles in Morn’s face clenched so tight his jaw looked as if it might crack from the strain. The raw outrage was so palpable that our own soldiers felt it – worse, I thought they were starting to share it. ‘But do you want to know the best part?’ Morn asked. ‘The part which will make every one of you drop your weapons right now and begin the long march home to your families?’
My own soldiers waited, staring at me, looking very much like they might soon turn from being an army to a lynch mob.
Morn dropped to his knees.
‘This,’ he said at last. ‘This is the greatest joke of all, because this is the one thing the Greatcoats are told never to do, the one thing your dead Queen said you should never do: kneel. Oh, everyone knows that the Greatcoats never kneel. But do you know why?’ Morn rose to his feet and bridged the distance between us until he was standing just inches away from me. ‘Because Falcio val Mond was on his knees when his wife was being raped and killed. Because that’s the one thing he can never allow himself to be again. Because of his cowardice on that day years ago, he will watch every one of you die without an ounce of remorse, knowing your loved ones are sure to follow. Just. So. Long. As. He. Never. Has. To. Kneel.’
Morn swung his hand back and for an instant I thought he was going to hit me, but then he squeezed his fist tighter and tighter until droplets of blood from the cut he’d made with his knife began to fall, staining the snow red. ‘I am one of you,’ he told the army. ‘And I regret that this is all the blood I can shed for you.’
He took three steps back and gestured for me to take my turn, without uttering another word.
None were needed.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
The Funeral Oration
‘Aline,’ I said. ‘Her name was Aline.’