Page 160 of The Infernal Battalion

She wrapped it around herself, concealing both her features and the filth that coated her. Marcus led the way into the hotel lobby and directly back to the stairs, with Raesinia hurrying after. She wondered how long it would be before the staff noticed the muddy footprints on their carpet. On the third floor, he brought her to a room and knocked, and the door was opened from within.

“Marcus?” Alek Giforte said. He wore his Armsmen uniform, and his face was pale and harried. “Did you bring— Oh! Your Highness. I didn’t—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Raesinia said, waving a hand and flicking tiny bits of mud on the wall. “But I hope this place has a bath.”

It did, it turned out, with hot and cold running water. That was certainly something she’d missed in her time at sea. She filled the tub once to wash off the mud, then let it empty and filled it again to soak for a few minutes in clean water so hot it made her skin flush pink. It took another few minutes to get her hair into some semblance of order.

Marcus had left her clothes just inside the bathroom door. As she’d requested, the outfit was nothing elaborate, a simple dress in dark blue and white, suggesting the colors of the Vordanai flag. A few pieces of silver jewelry completed the ensemble. Alek has good taste, Raesinia reflected, as she examined herself in the mirror.

She emerged to find the two men waiting nervously. Marcus had changed back into his uniform, complete with the column-​general’s stars on his shoulders. Alek got to his feet and bowed gracefully.

“Welcome home, Your Highness,” he said. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Marcus was certain you’d be reliable,” Raesinia said. “I assume he’s explained the situation?”

“Fully,” Alek said. He shook his head. “There had been rumors that the Deputies were going to seek terms from Janus, but I had no idea they’d actually sent a messenger.”

“How do the people feel about it?” At his slight hesitation, she added, “Be honest, please.”

“People are... worried,” Alek said. “Surrendering goes against the grain, obviously. But after the Battle of Alves, there’s not a lot of confidence that Janus can be stopped. And of course there are some—​a minority, but not an insignificant one—​who support him. They’re not open about it, but they’re there.” He grimaced. “We’ve had a hell of a time keeping a lid on things.”

“And are we going to get a crowd today?”

“For a certainty,” Alek said. “I only worry that we may get more than we bargained for. If enough Janus supporters turn up, we could have a riot on our hands.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Marcus said.

Raesinia nodded. “Let’s get moving.”

*

It had been a little more than a year since Raesinia had come to Farus’ Triumph with Danton, though it felt more like half a lifetime. The huge square looked the same as it always had, with four small fountains framing a single enormous one and the pillar supporting the equestrian statue of Farus IV rising up behind it like a stone tree trunk. Halfway up that pillar was a disk-​shaped stone platform, the traditional speaker’s rostrum for anyone who wanted to address the crowds of Vordan City.

And the crowds were there in force. There was still time before Raesinia had planned to begin, but people thronged the square, pressing around the fountain into a tight mass that was slowly expanding toward the ring of shops and hotels that edged the open space. They came from all walks of life—​neat, modest tradesmen; merchants from the north bank in suits that reminded her of her time in Borel; and swarms of laborers from the south bank in shabby linens and leathers. Armsmen were scattered throughout, creating small islands of calm, but the rest of the crowd surged and shoved, trying to get closer. A babble of voices made hearing all but impossible.

To get Raesinia to the platform, Alek had arranged a flying wedge of Armsmen, who pushed their way through the crowd with their staves. Inside the cordon, Raesinia walked slowly, feeling the stares of everyone they passed. Marcus was on one side, his posture stiff and correct, one hand on the butt of his saber. Alek Giforte was on the other, barking orders to his men as they advanced.

When they neared the base of the stairs leading up to the platform, Raesinia saw they were blocked off from the crowd by another cordon, this one of blue-​uniformed soldiers. Behind them, sitting on the steps, was Chief Minister d’Andorre. He got to his feet and spoke to a nervous-​looking lieutenant as the wedge of Armsmen got closer.

Raesinia grabbed Giforte’s arm and dragged his ear close. “No violence!”

He nodded fervently and hurried forward to speak to his Armsmen. As the two groups came into contact, the soldiers closed ranks to keep the Armsmen out, and both sides began screaming at each other. Since the general racket made them impossible to understand, this produced very little result.

“Stay close,” Marcus said, pushing forward himself. Raesinia followed just behind him. The soldiers stiffened as he came through the press, the insignia of his rank gleaming.

“What the hell is going on?” he said, his parade-​ground voice loud enough to make himself understood.

“Sir!” The other soldiers quieted enough for the lieutenant to be heard. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have orders to keep the rostrum clear.”

“Whose orders?” Marcus said. “Do they apply to the queen?”

“The chief minister’s, sir.” The lieutenant’s face was very pale. “And they do.”

“D’Andorre!” Raesinia shouted, into the tense pause that followed. “Can I have a word?”

The chief minister got to his feet, apparently heedless of the shouting, shoving tumult of humanity all around him. He came forward to stand beside the nervous lieutenant, and looked down at Raesinia.

“I wish you’d taken my advice,” d’Andorre said.