Page 7 of The Infernal Battalion

“He’s not that bad,” Raesinia said, still laughing. “He’s just... cautious.”

There was a knock at the door, and Eric’s voice came from outside. “Your Highness?”

“Damn.” Raesinia gave Cora a squeeze. “Thanks. Really. Being queen is a little suffocating sometimes.”

“We could always sneak out, like in the old days. I hear they’ve rebuilt the Blue Mask.”

“Are you sure you’re old enough for that?”

They dissolved into laughter again, ignoring Eric’s plaintive voice for a few moments longer.

*

Thank God for Cora. With Sothe gone, there was no one else Raesinia could talk to honestly. It felt like a clean breath after a smoke-​shrouded room.

“Deputy d’Andorre will be waiting,” Eric complained as they walked quickly through the corridors of the palace.

“It won’t kill him to wait for the queen,” Raesinia said.

“It might annoy him,” Eric said. “And we need his help. While the Liberals hold the balance of the Deputies, d’Andorre is in charge.”

“As much as anyone is.” The Liberals were less a political party than a menagerie of tiny factions, united only by their dislike of the old, entrenched structures of power. They had emerged as the leading force mostly by default—​the Conservatives had been broken with the fall of the Directory, and the Radicals, opposed to the war, had seen their support wither as the tide turned in Vordan’s favor. “D’Andorre can’t keep his own people in line, much less unite the rest.”

“He’s still very influential.”

“I know.” Raesinia sighed. “I’ll apologize, all right?”

There were a variety of royal receiving rooms, where the monarch could meet anyone from a peasant to a full delegation from a foreign court. This was one of the less ostentatious ones, the furniture expensive but not gilded, the walls hung with portraits of kings past. Raesinia spent a moment in the small anteroom making sure she still looked presentable, then bustled in with Joanna and Barely in her wake.

“Deputy d’Andorre!”

He stood smoothly from the sofa and gave her a deep bow. Fashion among the Liberals had tended toward the patriotic of late, and d’Andorre was dressed accordingly in a sober, dark blue suit with silver piping and an almost military cut. He was a short, solidly built man with wings of gray in his hair and a fashionable queue. By the standards of the new Vordanai politics, Chrest d’Andorre was an elder statesman, having survived the rough-​and-​tumble of the Deputies since the very beginning, mostly by not being important enough to notice. The Liberals had a reputation for being more interested in abstract political philosophy than in taking power, which had kept them safely out of the fray during the revolution and the Directory’s attempted coup. Now that the wheel of politics had come full circle, Raesinia wondered what d’Andorre would do with his newfound authority.

“Your Highness.”

“I apologize if you were kept waiting.” The passive non-​apology, an ever-​useful tool of statecraft. My old tutors would be proud. “Please, sit.”

She took a chair opposite the sofa, and d’Andorre sat stiffly across from her.

“I don’t intend to take up much of your time, Your Highness,” he said. “I’ll be frank. My constituents—​and many of my colleagues in the Deputies—​have urged me to come and ask certain questions directly. I have enormous respect for the Crown, so I have been hesitant, but our deliberations have reached a point where your position must be made clear.”

“I see,” Raesinia said, keeping her expression carefully bland. She wasn’t sure if he was beating around the bush for a reason, or if d’Andorre was one of those politicians constitutionally incapable of coming directly to a point. “By all means, then, ask your questions.”

“They concern the nature of the authority of the Ministry of War. I understand that in the late campaign you undertook to issue orders directly to the commanders of the Grand Army?”

“In an emergency,” Raesinia said. “The army was on the point of starvation, and both the First Consul and Column-​General d’Ivoire were missing.”

“The army has a chain of command for a reason,” d’Andorre said. “We—​my colleagues and I—​feel that this sets a dangerous precedent. Do you, at the present moment, consider yourself still in command of the Grand Army?”

“Of course not,” Raesinia said. “And I’d be happy to say so officially to the Minister of War, but as I understand it, you still haven’t managed to decide on one.”

“Negotiations on that point are proceeding,” d’Andorre said. “But I’m glad to hear your answer. Some of my colleagues intend to propose legislation more precisely defining the monarch’s role with respect to the army, and strengthening the principle of civil control over the military. Soldiers must, in the end, answer to the people, as embodied in the Deputies-​General. Would you oppose such legislation?”

Raesinia, who’d been waiting patiently for the actual question, decided that d’Andorre couldn’t be putting her on—​he was just intrinsically boring. “I’d have to read it, of course,” she said carefully. “But not in principle, no.”

“And where do you stand on a reduction in the size of the army, now that the war has been concluded? I believe it has become a considerable drain on the public purse.”

“I think it may be a little premature,” Raesinia said. “Once the final peace with Borel is signed, it might be worth investigating.”