Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

What happens next? She hadn’t really devoted any thought to it. For all that she’d worked and schemed to get here-because it was the right thing to do, because it was what her father would have wanted, because she couldn’t stand to let Orlanko win-now that she’d made it, she wasn’t at all sure what to do. If she let it, Ohnlei would devour her, sinking her days in mindless ritual and spectacle designed to give a sense of purpose to an essentially purposeless existence. Some of Vordan’s kings had delighted in it, and given themselves completely to the Court; others, like her father, had resisted, and applied themselves to the business of the state. Raesinia wanted to be one of the latter, but she didn’t know how to start, or whether they would let her.

It’s been a long day, is all. She couldn’t sleep, but there were other ways to rest the mind. A hot bath, a book, and out of this damned dress. Raesinia sat up, ready to call for the maids-she couldn’t even get out of the dress herself-and froze.

There was a figure in one dark corner of the room, away from the braziers. As Raesinia’s eyes fell on it, it bowed low.

“Your Majesty.” A familiar voice. Very familiar-

“Sothe!” Raesinia crossed the room at a run, heedless of her dress and her dignity. When she was nearly there, she tripped on a trailing flounce and stumbled forward, but Sothe caught her one-handed before she hit the floor. Raesinia threw her arms around the woman and hugged her tight.

“Your Majesty,” Sothe murmured, “please mind the arm.”

Raesinia blinked and let go. Looking more closely, she could see that one of Sothe’s arms was bound in a sling, and belatedly remembered the pistol ball the maidservant had taken in the shoulder during their escape from the Grays.

“Sorry!”

“It’s all right,” Sothe said, straightening her sleeves fastidiously and wincing slightly. “It’s healing, but slowly.”

“That’s good,” Raesinia said, then shook her head wildly. “But where have you been ? I thought you were dead. When you didn’t come back after that night. .”

“I was able to lure the Concordat agent into an ambush and kill him,” Sothe said, as though this were as simple as going down to the bakery for morning bread. “Afterward, though, I was very weak, and my wound needed tending. I spent several days in the company of a doctor of my acquaintance, fighting off a fever.” She gave a little shudder. “Thank God the wound was too high in the shoulder for him to amputate, or I would certainly have awoken without the arm. By the time I was able to move about, you were in the Vendre.”

Raesinia nodded. “But once Janus let me go. .”

“I must apologize for not coming to you then, Your Majesty. But it would have been difficult while you were surrounded by Vhalnich’s Mierantai. I wanted to keep him unaware of my presence.”

“Marcus met you,” Raesinia said, feeling puzzled. “He may have said something to Janus.”

“If the subject arises, you should tell them I died at Concordat hands that day. It will give me greater freedom of action.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to be living here with me, so I can’t very well tell them you’re dead-”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“What?” Raesinia blinked unbidden tears from her eyes. “What are you talking about? I need you.”

“I know. And, someday, I will be able to stay by your side as long as you wish. For the moment, though, I think it would be better if I remained in the shadows.”

“But why?”

“Because I do not trust Janus bet Vhalnich.”

There was a long pause.

“He did save the city from Orlanko,” Raesinia said. “I don’t know if anyone else could have done it. And just afterward. . if he’d declared the deputies dissolved and himself king, I’m not sure anyone would have been able to stop him.” Raesinia had been half hoping he would . She couldn’t let him, of course, not in good conscience, but at that moment she’d been as helpless as the rest. And then I wouldn’t have to worry about “what next?” “He’s done nothing to draw suspicion.”

“On the contrary,” Sothe said. “If he had made some move to take power for himself, or wealth, or even pressured you to increase his holdings or his title, that would make some sense. But he’s asked for nothing, has he?”

Raesinia shook her head. “Not yet, at any rate.”

“And that is suspicious. What is his motive ? He saved the city, he saved the deputies, he saved you, but why ?”

“You don’t think he simply wishes to serve his country?”

“If he does, I owe him an apology.” Sothe frowned. “He knows something that very few people know-that there is still magic in the world, if you know where to look. He knows about your. . condition. And I have been investigating what he did in Khandar. I think. .”

“What?”

“I can’t say. Not yet. But I don’t think he’s a simple patriot. He wants something, not wealth or even the throne, but something else. I intend to find out what that is.”

There was a long silence.

“I understand,” Raesinia said. “And you’re right. It would be nice to have someone around here that I could really trust, but you’re right.”

“I will make regular reports,” Sothe said.

“Be sure that you do. I’m certain I’ll have other need of your talents, aside from Janus bet Vhalnich.”

Sothe bowed her head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

She slipped to the doorway, one leading off into a servants’ hall, silent as a shadow. Before she could leave, Raesinia cleared her throat.

“Sothe?”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“So am I, Your Majesty.” Her lip curved, just slightly, in what was very nearly a smile. “So am I.”

IONKOVO

In the silent corridors of the darkened Royal Palace, a shadow rippled like black ink. Ionkovo stepped out of it, dressed in his working outfit of loose, dark leathers. He had a long knife in one hand, its shine dulled by lampblack.

There would be at least one guard just outside the queen’s room, he was certain, but he’d slipped past the outer perimeter. With the palace practically shut down, it was easy to move about without running into any stray servants.

He eased a door open and slipped into a long corridor, lined with large-paned windows on both sides looking out onto grassy courtyards. The moon was high, throwing a silver light that stippled the floor with shadows. Outside, the wind was picking up, and the manicured flowers along the walkways dipped and nodded.

The pontifex had been specific about what to expect. A simple assassination would be insufficient. Accordingly, there was a leather bag attached to Ionkovo’s belt, big enough to contain the young queen’s head. His instructions were to convey that grisly trophy all the way to Elysium. He wondered if the poor girl would be awake for the whole bumpy journey, and what it would be like to be reduced to a disembodied head.

I don’t suppose it matters. But he couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy. After all, she might have been one of us, had things gone differently. If she had kept faith.

Something tinkled gently against the window to his left. He glanced in that direction, but there was nothing but moonlit grass and flowers, whipping back and forth in the violence of the wind. Ionkovo shook his head and continued down the corridor, moving noiselessly over the marble floor.

Tink. Tink, tink, tink -

He spun, backing away. Tiny objects were bouncing off the window, like hailstones wildly out of season. As he watched, a thick cloud descended into the garden, and the impacts multiplied. The sound rose to a roar like the ocean crashing against rocks.