Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“She was wrong, as it happens,” he said. “The Grays have been in the service of His Grace for some time, and the Grenadier Guards have orders not to interfere. Captain d’Ivoire’s handful of Armsmen have already been rounded up. Ohnlei is ours, Your Majesty.” He sketched a bow. “My name is Andreas. At your service.”

“Orlanko has finally gone mad,” Raesinia said. “This is treason.”

“He’ll hang for certain,” Marcus said. “But you don’t have to join him.”

“Treason is a slippery thing,” Andreas said. “It is, as they say, in the eye of the beholder, which means it depends on what people believe. And His Grace is an expert in that field.”

“The deputies are convening as we speak,” Raesinia said. “When I don’t turn up-”

“The Deputies-General, as they so quaintly style themselves, are also being taken in hand.” Andreas smiled. “Put down your sword, Captain, before you get hurt. I promise you, no harm will come to Her Majesty.”

There was a long pause. The tips of five swords hovered in the air, twitching with nervous tension.

If she asked him to, Raesinia was reasonably certain that Marcus would fight and, in all probability, die. Ben had done the same. Even Sothe-she couldn’t finish the thought. Why are they all so eager to sacrifice themselves for me? She wondered if she would do the same, if the circumstances were reversed, but of course the circumstances never could be reversed. Not for me.

I won’t let him die. There’s no point. She met Andreas’ eyes, opened her mouth to speak, and hesitated. Behind the Concordat agent, one of the Grays was grimly winding a cloth around the stump of his severed hand, while another was checking on his fallen comrades in the foyer. And Sothe-

One of Sothe’s hands was creeping across the floor, toward the hilt of one of her knives. It was only six inches away. Four. Her fingers twitched.

“I’ll go quietly,” Raesinia said, a little too loudly, “if you’ll let the captain go.”

Andreas shrugged. “We’ll have to take him into custody for the moment, but I see no reason he could not be released once matters are settled.”

“Your Majesty. .,” Marcus began. His voice was thick.

“Captain. Please.” She put her hand on his shoulder and went up on her toes, putting her lips as close to his ear as she dared. “Head left. The first door.”

Marcus, she had to admit, knew how to play a role. His shoulders slumped, as though acknowledging defeat, and he let his sword point fall. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent,” Andreas said, though he sounded a little disappointed. “Take them.” He turned away from Raesinia, as if she didn’t matter, and back toward Sothe-

Who was no longer there. The knife was a quicksilver blur, flashing across the room and burying itself to the hilt in the skull of one of the Grays on Raesinia’s left, pinning his peaked cap to his head. Sothe herself was rolling toward the doorway and came up on her feet, graceful in spite of the spreading stain on her shoulder and the deathly pallor in her face. She’d already drawn another knife and flicked it at a second Gray, who had half turned at the uproar and took the blade in the meat of his cheek. He screamed and dropped his sword.

Raesinia ran. There were two doors leading deeper into her suite, but only one that made sense as an escape route. It led to the sitting room at the base of the tower, against the outer wall, with its wide leaded-glass windows. Sothe obviously had come to the same conclusion, since she’d taken care of the two guards in that direction. There was a ring of steel from behind her, and Raesinia risked a look over her shoulder to see Marcus parrying a halfhearted stroke from one of the two remaining Grays, backpedaling rapidly in her wake. Raesinia reached the doorway, grabbed the frame with one hand, and let momentum swing her into the room.

Andreas had drawn his own sword, but for a moment he seemed unsure what to do. Sothe took advantage of the confusion to vault the injured Gray in the foyer door, picking up a dropped sword as she went. A wild slash scattered the two confused guards near the outer door, and then she was through.

“Tell the Last Duke,” she shouted over her shoulder, “that if he wants to catch the Gray Rose, he should send someone who will make a proper job of it!”

Andreas’ lip twisted into a snarl. “I’ll handle her,” he snapped at the nearest Gray. “Kill the damned Armsman, and bring the queen to the Cobweb.” Sothe was running down the corridor, and Andreas sprinted after her, well behind but gaining ground with every stride.

Marcus backed through the doorway, thrusting to drive back the Gray who tried to follow. Raesinia slammed the door in the guard’s face before he could close back in, and shot the bolt, for all the good it would do.

“Sothe will be fine,” she muttered. “I knew she would be fine. She’s-”

“We may want to attend to our own problems,” Marcus said. “We have to get to the gardens.”

“The gardens ? Why?”

“You’ll just have to trust me.” He grinned tightly. “Or if not me, then my lord Count Mieran.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Raesinia nodded. “All right. There’ll be men on the path outside, but they may not be expecting us. You go through as soon as I’ve cleared the way.”

“Your Majesty?”

There was a thud from the door. They didn’t have more than a few seconds. Raesinia grabbed a heavy brass candelabra from the corner, hefted it thoughtfully, and looked at the windows. She’d often cursed those windows-if they’d only been proper modern windows, with a sash and a latch, she wouldn’t have had to begin every night by throwing herself off the roof. She’d fantasized about this exact moment, if not under these precise circumstances.

Raesinia pivoted on the ball of her foot and brought the end of the candelabra around in a whistling arc. The delicate repeating pattern of colored glass shattered into thousands of razor-edged shards as the web of lead struts that contained it bent and splayed outward. She was surprised to see that it didn’t give way entirely; a curtain of leadwork hung from the edges of the frame, like torn and tattered lace, with bits of glass still clinging to the edges. She brought the candelabra around again, and the second blow ripped through the soft metal and tore the whole thing away.

Marcus hurled himself through as soon as the frame was clear. It was a short drop to the gravel path outside, and he absorbed the fall with a crouch, then popped to his feet before the musket-armed Gray standing in his way could do more than raise his weapon. Marcus’ saber caught him in the stomach and doubled him over, and a kick sent him sprawling. Raesinia dropped the candelabra and jumped through, her stupid court shoes twisting under her weight as she landed in the gravel. She kicked them off and started running, and Marcus lumbered into motion after her, the medals and ornamentation on his dress uniform clinking gently. Behind them, a shout had gone up, and she could hear gravel crunching under the feet of more Grays as they took up the chase.

The path curved around the back of the palace and cut up toward the edge of the gardens. Continuing on would bring them to the vast lawns that flanked the Ministry buildings, which she assumed was Marcus’ intention. Instead he grabbed her hand as they passed a stone arch, which marked the edge of a set of walled and hedged gardens called the Bower of Queen Anne, planted by one of Raesinia’s illustrious ancestors in honor of his deceased wife. These were a set of narrow walkways, planted round with hedges, connecting several little clearings set with garden furniture and wound through with carefully manicured streams and beds of flowers. There was another arch at the far end, near the main drive, and one more that led directly into the building. But-