Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

Sothe didn’t comment. Raesinia tossed the paper aside. “You delivered his speech for today?”

It had taken her most of the previous week to write, and Raesinia thought it was a pretty fine piece of work. As the keynote address to the new Deputies- General, coming out in Danton’s glorious golden voice, it would go a long way toward setting the tone.

“I did. The others accepted that it was something you’d written before you. . died.” Sothe was frowning, and Raesinia thought she knew why. She decided it was better to bite the bullet.

“And? Did you see Cora?”

“I saw her.”

“And?”

Sothe sighed. “Pri-my queen. I’ve said before that the farther you stay away from her and the others, the safer everyone will be.”

“That’s why I sent you to look in on her instead of going myself.”

“It’s still an unnecessary risk. I could be recognized, followed.”

“We both know a dozen bloodhounds couldn’t follow you across fresh snow.”

“It’s a possibility,” Sothe insisted. “And I worry that you won’t be content to simply ‘look in’ forever. It’s better that you make a clean break, my queen.”

“I just want to know if Cora is all right,” Raesinia said. “Maurisk and Sarton can take care of themselves, but Cora’s just a girl.”

“She seemed fine,” Sothe said, relenting. “She has taken your ‘death’ hard, but otherwise she appears to be in reasonable spirits. I believe Maurisk has been talking to her about the need to carry on, ‘for Raesinia’s sake.’”

Raesinia clapped her hands. “He’s not completely clueless, then. Sooner or later, I want to find a way to bring Cora in.”

“Much too risky. She’ll recognize you, and then the secret is as good as out.”

“Not if we asked her to keep it. Cora would never betray me.”

“The same as Faro?” There was a long, painful pause. “I’m sorry, my queen. But the stakes are extremely high. Perhaps, in time, I might be able to find a way.”

“Think about it,” Raesinia said. “You’ve seen how talented she is with money. We’re going to need all the coin we can get if we’re not going to continue Orlanko’s policy of mortgaging the kingdom to the Borels.”

Sothe nodded, lips pursed. There was a knock at the door, and she got up to answer it. Raesinia read a few more paragraphs of Danton’s speech, then pushed the papers away in disgust.

I’m going to have to have a talk with Maurisk. Then she remembered that she couldn’t, not now and probably not ever. As far as Maurisk was concerned, Raesinia had fallen from the Vendre’s walls with a bullet in her skull, dragging the traitor Faro to his death. A whole chapter of her life had ended, almost as though she had died. Rationally, she could agree with Sothe that it was probably for the best. Now that her father was dead and she was under greater scrutiny, sneaking out would be too risky; besides, the conspiracy had served its purpose. The will of the people, expressed through the Deputies-General, would give her the means to rid the country of Orlanko. With Janus as an ally on the Cabinet, she might be able to start putting things right.

Orlanko still held his trump card, the threat to expose her as demonically possessed. But the very power of that move would make him afraid to use it. Without being able to install himself as regent and thus as a clear successor to the throne, the result could only be chaos, possibly even another civil war. Raesinia’s reign would have to be short, in any case, since eventually the public and the court would become suspicious of their unaging queen. Unless Janus finds a solution in the Thousand Names. But I can’t count on that. She would have to marry someone she trusted to be the kind of king the country needed, the kind her father would have wanted and that her brother would have been. Then Raesinia could “die” with a clean conscience, and after that-something else. She had never allowed herself to think that far in advance.

Perhaps Janus himself is the king I need. He was certainly of a sufficiently noble line, albeit somewhat impoverished in recent years, that the people would accept him. He was intelligent, and a capable general, if his Khandarai exploits were anything to go by. And, of course, he already knew her secret, obviating the need for either a complicated subterfuge or a potentially dangerous confrontation. And he’s handsome enough, I suppose, in an arch sort of way.

On the other hand, there was something about him that made her nervous. A sense of ambition, carefully harnessed but nonetheless visible just below the surface. She wondered if being king would be enough for him, or if he was one of those men whose thirst for power simply could not be slaked. The vision of Vordanai armies marching forth to conquer with fire and sword-with Janus bet Vhalnich at their head and Danton to fire their blood-was too plausible for comfort. That was not, she was sure, what her father would have wanted. His dreams of martial glory had ended with the cruel realities of Vansfeldt.

A problem for another day. There was a long, twisting road yet to walk before she arrived at a position where she could begin to contemplate that choice. But it starts today, with the Deputies-General.

Sothe reappeared. “Captain d’Ivoire is here, Your Majesty, with your escort.”

Your Majesty. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to that. “Send him in, and go and fetch the bits and pieces.” Raesinia was already wearing the slim, plain black dress that was proper for a queen in mourning, but it wouldn’t do to be seen in public without the appropriate accessories and a tasteful amount of jewels.

Bowing, Sothe went back to the door, and was replaced a moment later by Marcus d’Ivoire. The captain bowed as well, more formally. He was in the full dress uniform of the captain of Armsmen, dark forest green trimmed with silver and gold, with braids of army blue and silver at the shoulder to indicate he was a captain in a royal regiment as well. The only false note was the sword at his hip, which was a solid, weather-beaten cavalry saber instead of the jeweled rapier or small sword she might have expected.

“Your Majesty,” he said, when she indicated he should rise. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

“Thank you, Captain. And you have my gratitude for what you accomplished at the Vendre.”

Marcus looked rueful. “I’m afraid I didn’t accomplish much, Your Majesty. We surrendered the fortress, after all. And I spent most of the time locked in a cell.”

“From what I have heard, you prevented a bloodbath. I was most gratified to hear of your escape.”

“Some of the. . revolutionaries,” Marcus said carefully, “appear to have shared your gratitude. They gave me to understand that my further presence might cause difficulties. So I would not call it an escape , precisely.”

“You’re too modest for your own good, Captain.”

“Only honest, Your Majesty.”

Sothe came back in, with shoes, a shawl, and an assortment of delicate confections of gems and gold. Raesinia stood up and allowed these to be attached, and in the meantime studied Marcus’ broad, patient face.

I would not mind marrying him, she thought, idly. He seems like he would be kind. And I think he would make a good king. Not that such a thing could ever come to pass, even if she’d been madly in love with the captain. He was a commoner, to start with, and the same gentle patience that she thought would be a useful trait in a ruler would see him eaten alive by the likes of Orlanko. Where can I find a man who is both capable of ruling and good enough to do a decent job?