The Guns of Empire (5 page)

“Your king sent you here to negotiate.”

“He did, the rat.” Dorsay grinned. “There are factions at court that would be pleased to see the war end. War is bad for business. Georg is inclined to agree with them—”

Raesinia opened her mouth, and Dorsay held up a warning finger.

“—but he is afraid. He will not lay aside the sword while he is afraid.”

“Afraid of Vordan?” Raesinia shifted uneasily. “What guarantees does he want from us?”

“Not of Vordan, exactly.” Dorsay leaned forward. “He is afraid of Janus bet Vhalnich.”

Another silence.

“The First Consul saved the throne from traitors,” Raesinia said. “Saved me personally. The people love him.”

“And his prowess on the battlefield is legendary. All this is what makes him a threat. Having a man like that at the head of your government is like carrying a naked sword. You cannot expect peace negotiations to begin until you sheathe your weapon.”

“It would be a poor reward for his service, to cast him aside.”

“A comfortable retirement. Heap titles and honors on him, if you like.” Dorsay chuckled. “Send him to me, and I'll preach the virtues of a quiet life keeping bees and breeding dogs.”

“What about Orlanko? He seems to have some influence.”

“Ah.” Dorsay's smile faded. “He has made friends among the faction that wishes to see the war go on. But Georg has indicated to me that his patience for our ex-duke is growing thin. If talks were to begin in earnest, the court might view his request for continued protection from Vordanai justice . . . unfavorably.”

He's offering me Orlanko.
The Last Duke on a platter.
A bribe, of sorts.
She wondered how much the King of Borel knew and how much he merely suspected.

Raesinia was surprised to find that she was tempted. She didn't think of herself as a vengeful person, but having Orlanko in her power was more attractive than she'd expected.
It doesn't have to be simply about vengeance,
she rationalized.
Think of all the answers he could give us.
Right now, in Vordan City, Concordat agents who had committed unspeakable crimes on Orlanko's orders walked free.
He could give us justice.

And, in exchange, they wanted her to sideline Janus.
An honorable retirement.

I owe him a great deal. But . . .
She put that thought aside.
More important is whether he would accept it. If I dismiss him and he refuses, then what? Who will the army follow? The people?
She was uncomfortably sure she knew the answer to both questions.
Besides, if I lay aside my sword, I'll lose whatever leverage I might have.

“Do you know why Prince Dzurk was so rude to you?” Dorsay said, breaking into her thoughts.

“I assumed he was unfamiliar with the etiquette of the south,” Raesinia said, the diplomatic answer coming almost automatically.

“Because he's an insufferable prick, you mean?” Dorsay smiled. “It's not that. At least, it's not
only
that, because of course he
is
an insufferable prick. But he's capable of covering it up when he wants to. No, it was a test. Dzurk—and his father—want to know the same thing everybody else does.”

Raesinia frowned.
I'm getting sick of these leading questions.
“And what would that be?”

“Where the true power in Vordan lies. Is it with you? Or the much-decorated First Consul? No one is certain, and it has us all on edge. It's hard to negotiate when you don't know who you should be sucking up to. Dzurk apparently thought a few insults might provoke a response that would clarify matters.”

Raesinia caught his eyes, the question there.

“I rule Vordan,” she said. “With the cooperation of the people, via the Deputies-General.”

“Ah, yes. We cannot forget your famous parliament. I hear they've nearly finished picking colors for the drapes in their meeting room.”

Raesinia winced, though the jibe was not exactly unjust. The Deputies-General was so contentious that almost any action took ages to accomplish. Since Janus had banished the Directory, the deputies had been engaged in a furious debate over the finer intellectual points of the still-theoretical constitution, happy to leave the conduct of the war to their new First Consul.

“The First Consul serves at the pleasure of the monarch and the Deputies-General,” Dorsay said. “Or so we are told. Did he bother to inform you before he made his little speech today?”

There was no safe way to answer that. Raesinia smoothed her face into a bland smile. “Thank you for your visit. It's been very informative.”

Dorsay knew dismissal when he heard it. He pushed his chair back and bowed.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I hope we have the opportunity for further discussion.”

Sothe opened the door, then closed it behind the Borelgai. When he was gone, Raesinia leaned back in her chair.

“Well?” she said.

“I believe he's being truthful, as far as it goes,” Sothe said. “Dorsay is famous for his fair dealing, and the king presumably chose him with that in mind. More important, it makes sense. Janus is brilliant, popular, and ambitious. Dangerous. A young queen and a paralyzed Deputies-General are much to be preferred, from Borel's point of view.”

“Set Janus aside,” Raesinia said, “in exchange for peace.”

“In exchange for the
possibility
of peace,” Sothe said. “His Grace was careful to promise nothing, you'll note.”

“Except for Orlanko.”

Sothe shrugged. “Orlanko is an embarrassment. Returning him to us kills two birds with one stone if it buys them anything at the negotiating table.”

“Would you want him as our prisoner?”

“I think he should receive justice,” Sothe said evenly. If she had personal feelings on the matter, she kept them to herself, as always.

“What about Janus? Any thoughts on what he's doing?”

Sothe frowned. “I'm not certain. We need more information.”

“Then we'd better get it.”

—

To Raesinia's intense irritation, it was after midnight before Janus was ready to speak with her. While she waited in her rooms, a steady stream of diplomats
and courtiers from all three delegations trooped in and out of his suite. She couldn't simply push her way in without foreigners noting the discord.
Assuming the guards would let me. And let's not have
that
confrontation before we need to . . .

When the knock at the door finally came, Raesinia stood up and smoothed her dress while Sothe answered it. To her surprise, the messenger was not some ranker, but Marcus d'Ivoire, now wearing both the Colonial scorpion and two stars above the silver eagle on his shoulder. He bowed low.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

“Marcus,” she said. He flinched at the informal tone, and Raesinia sighed inwardly.

It had been only a few months since the brief, mad stretch of time they'd spent together, between the attempt on her life and the fall of Maurisk, but it felt like years. Raesinia had thought they'd shared . . . something, a closeness as comrades in an impossible situation. He was one of the only people who knew the secret of the demon bound inside her, and she thought she'd earned his respect. She'd even imagined—

Never mind what I imagined.
As soon as Janus had returned, Marcus had gone back to his side with evident relief, leaving Raesinia to face the endless, stultifying formal rituals of the court. In the few times they'd seen each other since then, he'd been scrupulously polite, but the discomfort he felt in her presence was obvious.

“The First Consul is ready to see you,” he said. “He sends his apologies for the delay. It's been a busy day.”

“I can imagine,” Raesinia said sourly. “Have you heard what he told the conference?”

“In general terms.”

“I don't suppose he's let you in on what he's thinking?”

“You know Janus, Your Majesty. He doesn't tell anyone anything if he can help it.”

“He's too in love with drama for his own good,” Raesinia muttered, sweeping past Marcus and into the hall.

He shut the door and led her to the other side of the building. The hotel was mostly quiet. Voices drifted up from below, where a certain amount of convivial drinking and celebration was no doubt occupying the more junior members of the delegations, international tensions or no. The soldiers, especially, were unlikely to let a war get between them and liquor, especially when the Crown was buying. But up here on the third floor, the lamps were low and only the
occasional hotel servant was visible, bowing respectfully as soon as Raesinia came into sight.

“You're well, I trust?” she said eventually.

“Yes, Your Majesty. We've made a lot of progress these past few months.”

She pointed to the new insignia on his shoulder. “What do the stars mean?”

“Janus has created new ranks, to give the army better structure. Two stars is for column-general.”

“That sounds high.”

“It's the highest in the army,” Marcus said, blushing a little. “Aside from the First Consul himself, of course.”

“I see. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He looked sideways at her and smiled a little. “It's a relief to be back with the army, in the job I was trained for.”

Raesinia's face was a frozen mask, but she tried to keep her voice pleasant. “I'm sure you're doing wonderfully.”

She must not have succeeded, because Marcus looked away again and swallowed. A moment later they reached Janus' door, guarded by a pair of Colonials. They saluted Marcus, bowed to Raesinia, and stepped aside, and Raesinia went in without a backward glance.
Forget about Marcus. I have bigger problems.

The suite was much like hers, but Janus had pushed the ornate furniture into the corners and set up a folding table, on which he'd spread a large map. Untidy stacks of flimsy paper surrounded it. Some of them bore long strings of circles and dashes, which she recognized as the code the flik-flik operators used to transmit messages with their lanterns and mirrors. It always felt strange to receive his reports of what was happening in Vordan City, weeks away by carriage. Now, looking at the pages full of incomprehensible cipher, Raesinia wondered how much of what the First Consul learned he was passing along.

Janus himself was standing by another table, tearing a loaf of bread into strips and folding it neatly before eating it. He waved Raesinia to a chair.

“Apologies,” he said, bolting what was left. “Without Augustin to remind me, when matters are busy I often forget about meals. My new servants are all too reluctant to interrupt the First Consul at his business, and it's only hours later I realize I'm ready to keel over with hunger.”

“I understand. You've had a busy day,” Raesinia said, echoing Marcus.

“I imagine you're upset with me.” Another fleeting smile.

“Perhaps. I am certainly confused. You can't imagine the Murnskai will accept those terms.”

“Oh, of course not. I imagine the prince will be on his way north by tomorrow.”

“Then this was a farce,” Raesinia said through gritted teeth. “The whole peace conference. You never intended to negotiate.”

“It was a farce,” Janus said, taking the chair opposite her. “But I am not the director.”

“Why would you hide this from me?” she snapped. “I am the
queen
. If this was your aim all along—”

“I apologize for that, Your Majesty. It was important that the peace conference be prepared with every appearance of genuine intent, so that our enemies would truly believe we would come to the table.”

“Only to have you smash everything to pieces at the first opportunity.”

He shrugged. “We would never truly have had peace, and I thought it best not to waste time trying now that the skies have cleared. We will need all the good weather we can get.”

“Why?” Raesinia hated when he talked like this, like he was the schoolmaster and she the slow-witted pupil. “What are you planning?”

Janus sat back, gray eyes shining in the lamplight.

“You know,” he said, “that what I said down there is nothing more than the truth. The war was started from Elysium, by the Priests of the Black. Orlanko's allies. Once they realized he'd lost control in Vordan, they saw war as their next best choice, taking advantage of our vulnerability.”

Raesinia nodded reluctantly.

“You know they want the Thousand Names, and they want
you
gone. They lent aid to Maurisk and your enemies. They sent their Penitent Damned to drag you back to Elysium. They are patient and utterly ruthless, and they
will not stop
. No matter what happens here, or what the emperor or the king in Viadre wants. They have been at this since the days of Elleusis Ligamenti, at least nine hundred years. They're not going to give up just because we beat a few of their puppet armies.”

He spoke with calm precision, as always, but she could hear the passion under his words. She shook her head. “They came for me, and we beat them.”

“This time. I don't pretend to know what else the Pontifex of the Black has in his bag of tricks, but sooner or later he's going to get lucky.” Janus leaned forward. “I promised your father I would help you, keep you safe. The only way I can do that is to deal with the Priests of the Black once and for all. Make sure they're as dead as everyone thinks they are.”

“You want to march north,” she said. “March on Elysium.”

Janus nodded emphatically. “It's the only option. And this is our best chance. Murnsk is weak and unprepared, Borel is dilatory, and we are as strong as we've ever been. If we let this opportunity pass, we may not get another in my lifetime.”

“Elysium has never been taken,” Raesinia said, still a little stunned. “Not in nine hundred years.”