Page 105 of The Infernal Battalion

“Well, I’ll keep things as they are, then,” Cora said. “I’ve mostly been taking the buying end of the derivatives, because as a new concern traders are reluctant to take on the counterparty risk, even at a good rate. That limits us a little bit, but if our capital keeps expanding we ought to—”

The door opened. Raesinia stood up, a little relieved, until she saw the expression on Eric’s face. He looked like someone who’d been told he had only weeks to live.

“What’s wrong?” Raesinia said. Even Cora stopped chattering.

“You’d better read this,” Eric said.

He handed her a folded page, written in a neat hand she didn’t recognize. Raesinia scanned it, and her breath caught in her throat. She read it again, more carefully, hoping that somehow she’d gotten it wrong the first time.

After what felt like a hundred years, she looked up.

“You’ve seen this?” she said. But of course he had; it was written on his features.

He nodded. “It’s all over the Keep, Your Highness.”

“What is?” Cora said. The bubbly excitement of moments before was gone. “What happened?”

“There was a battle near Alves,” Raesinia said, keeping her voice level. “General Kurot’s army was beaten badly. Much of the army was shattered, and the general was captured. Marcus is leading what’s left of the Army of the Republic south, with Janus’ army in pursuit.”

At least he’s alive. Though the terse notice seemed to shatter all her hopes, she clung to that. Marcus is alive. Or he was, when this was written.

“I don’t understand why he would retreat south,” Eric said. “Why not east toward Vordan City? Surely—”

“Surely he had his reasons,” Raesinia said. One thing her strategy sessions with Marcus had taught her, back in Murnsk, was that there were always realities on the ground that couldn’t be appreciated by looking at a map. “I’m not going to critique Marcus’ moves from five hundred miles away. Kurot’s, either, for that matter. There’ll be time for recriminations later.” Assuming Janus doesn’t send us all to the Spike. “You said this is all over the Keep? You’re sure?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Eric said. “I overheard some of the staff discussing it in the hall.”

Damn. It was too much to hope they’d be the first to find out, but it would have been nice not to be last. “Go and tell the king’s secretary I need to speak to him at once. Tell him it’s very urgent.”

“Of course,” Eric said. He hurried away, nearly dropping his notebook in his haste.

“What are you going to tell him?” Cora said. Raesinia turned to her, trying to keep the turmoil off her face. The confidence Cora had when dealing with the markets was gone, and she was just a scared teen, looking for reassurance. “This isn’t going to make our position any stronger.”

“I know,” Raesinia said grimly. “I’m going to ask him if his offer is still open.”

“Why?”

“Because if it is,” she said, “I’m going to take it.”

*

“Ordinarily, the king reserves this part of the day for private business,” said the officious young footman who’d been assigned to escort Raesinia. “He very much dislikes being disturbed. So please keep your interruption as short as you can.”

“I’ll do my best,” Raesinia ground out. Some of it had to be down to cultural differences, but she was certain now that the staff in the Keep were being deliberately disrespectful. “Thank you for bringing him my message.”

“He has expressed an interest in you,” the footman said, in a tone that implied he couldn’t understand why. “This way.”

They were in a part of the Keep that Raesinia hadn’t visited before, which she assumed to be the king’s private apartments. They passed through a large reception room, complete with an ornate throne, and went through a door at the back of the dais. A short corridor led to a smaller, plainer room, half occupied by an enormous wooden writing desk in the shape of an L. Two smaller desks were wedged into the corners. The king sat behind the big desk, flipping rapidly through the pages of a document and scrawling the occasional note in the margins, while the smaller places were occupied by clerks who copied out the monarch’s hasty notes more legibly.

“Queen Raesinia,” Georg said, not looking up. “Give me a moment.”

Raesinia gritted her teeth. Let him play his power games if he has to. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The footman bowed and took his leave. Georg reached the end of his document in a few more moments, signed the bottom with a flourish, and slid the stack of pages across the desk. One of the clerks jumped up to take it.

“Clear out, please,” the king told his secretaries. “I’ll call when I need you.”

They both bowed and slipped away. Raesinia stood facing the king across the vast expanse of hardwood. There was nowhere to sit, and Raesinia wasn’t sure she wanted to. I won’t be here long.