Page 172 of The Infernal Battalion

“Good,” Marcus muttered. He pushed himself back to his feet and turned to face her. “So, now what? I warned you—”

“That you would kill me if you saw me again.” Something flashed between them. A knife, stuck point ​down in the crack between two flagstones, still quivering from the force of the throw. Sothe stepped slowly out of the shadow, light sliding off her black-​clad form. “This is your chance. I will not abandon Raesinia, not now. If you wish to take your revenge, I offer you this opportunity.”

Marcus looked down at the knife. In his inebriated state, he doubted he was much of a threat to Sothe. No, let’s not mince words. I’m no threat to her when I’m at my best, not unless I’ve got a company of sharpshooters backing me up. He bent, with an effort, and pried the blade from the ground.

She watched him steadily, not even glancing at the weapon. Marcus shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said with a sigh. “You know I can’t.”

“I do.” Sothe’s lip quirked slightly.

“That hardly seems fair.” He flipped the knife around and handed it to her, hilt first. She took it and slid it into some hidden recess of her costume.

“I’m not in the business of fair,” Sothe said.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” Marcus said. “Just because I’m not willing to cut a woman down in cold blood doesn’t mean I can accept what you did.”

“I do not require your forgiveness,” Sothe said. “You and I are both devoted to Raesinia in our own ways. I hope that we can at least agree on that.”

Marcus nodded, letting out a breath that carried much of his tension with it. “Now what?”

“I am going to see Raesinia,” Sothe said. “I had thought to stay away, but...” Uncharacteristic indecision showed on her face.

“Stay away? Why?”

“She relies on me more than she should,” Sothe said. “I will not always be there to care for her.”

“She trusts you.”

“There should be more than one person in her life whom she trusts.” Sothe cocked her head. “You will protect her.”

It wasn’t a question. More like a command. Marcus straightened automatically. “Of course. I love her.”

“Good.” Sothe’s face relaxed, just slightly. “That’s good.”

“She wants a meeting tomorrow,” Marcus said. “A strategy conference.”

Sothe nodded. “The queen puts a great deal of faith in your ability.”

“I keep thinking about Winter. She’ll be there, of course.” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to treat her? She’s my little sister, but I hardly know her, not really.”

“She’s a soldier,” Sothe suggested. “Like you. You may have more in common than you realize. Perhaps you can start from there.”

RAESINIA

It was amazing how quickly things could become routine. Since she’d been old enough to walk, Raesinia had slept alone, in vast, cold beds as befit her status as Princess of Vordan. Her days with Marcus were brief by comparison, a bare instant, but now she felt his absence like a missing tooth. She’d grown used to lying beside him, warm and dreamy from their lovemaking, and listening to his breath gradually slow as he relaxed into sleep.

Before, she’d spent most nights working. Now she paced her bedchamber, nervous and irritable.

Winter really made it. Marcus seemed to believe the notes he’d received from “Janus,” or whoever was truly pulling the strings, but Raesinia had been privately skeptical. But unless it was a trap of surpassing subtlety, the communications had been genuine. Winter was here, and with her a chance to defeat the Beast. Or so we think.

Raesinia’s instincts told her they should be making plans at once, that there was no time to spare. She had to remind herself that ordinary humans needed sleep. Winter’s probably exhausted from her journey, and she said she had things to talk to Marcus about. And we’re still waiting for Sothe.

Sothe...

It was as though her thoughts were a summons. There was a quiet scrape at the window, which was Sothe’s version of a butler’s politely clearing his throat, a deliberate sound from someone who could have been perfectly silent. Raesinia turned and found her standing on the other side of the room, a slim, dark shape in the light of the brazier.

“Your Highness.” Sothe bowed deeply.