Page 64 of The Infernal Battalion

“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 And out of date, even via courier ship.”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.

“You may view the gardens,” one of them said, in heavily accented Vordanai, “but your companions must remain.”

Barely started to object, but Raesinia cut her off with a shake of the head. “I understand. Wait here, please.”

The other guard opened the door, and a blast of warm air hit Raesinia in the face. She stepped through into a glass-​windowed greenhouse that perched atop one of the old walls and was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. It was considerably warmer than the rest of the Keep, and much more humid. Condensation dripped down the glass panels overhead, sliding drops of water leaving clear trails in the fog. Planters lined both sides, with vines climbing wooden trellises. Some of the flowers were in bloom, despite the late season, and colors from blood red to blue-​white were everywhere. Enormous blossoms drooped on their stalks, and the air was heavy with their sick-​sweet scent.

About halfway along the walk stood the King of Borel, alone. He wore a dark suit, as before, and the ruby pin that seemed to be a badge of office. He was examining the flowers, one by one, lifting them up gently and running his fingers over the petals. From time to time he would write something in a small notebook, licking his fingertips to turn the pages.

“Your Majesty,” Raesinia said.

“Your Highness,” the king said. His notebook snapped closed. “Shall we dispense with the honors while in private? Georg will suffice.”

“Raesinia, then,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Georg said. “I assume Dorsay explained the difficulties.”

“He did, and I appreciate the problems. Believe me when I say I wouldn’t have pressed if the situation weren’t urgent.”

“I understand.” Georg waved a hand. “But indulge my pride for a moment. What do you think of my roses?”