Page 43 of The Infernal Battalion

The guards opened the doors at a gesture from Sebastian, and the majordomo stepped aside, letting Raesinia precede him into the room beyond. It was large and somewhat gloomy, with thick red carpets and dark wooden paneling, and the air was a haze of sweet-​smelling smoke. A crowd of men, perhaps two dozen, stood in knots against the walls. They were dressed in suits and waistcoats, all dark, sober browns and grays, with only the flash of jeweled collar studs to provide a touch of color. Long-​stemmed pipes were ubiquitous, each drooling a thin thread of smoke to add to the general fog.

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Raesinia Orboan of Vordan,” Sebastian boomed, from behind her.

A bow, barely more than a nod, rippled through those assembled. Raesinia looked around, feeling a bit lost in a sea of gray beards and drooping sideburns.

At the other end of the room, a man stood up. His suit was black and his waistcoat threaded with silver. He looked like all the rest, with one exception—​an elaborate gold double circle pinned to his chest, set with a spray of pearls and bearing a dark red gemstone the size of an eye. He had a pipe in one hand and something like a walking stick in the other.

This, Raesinia realized, was the King of Borel. She had pictured him as some version of her father, swathed in colorful silk and velvet; certainly there had never been any question, in the court of Farus VIII, of a visitor mistaking who was supposed to be the center of attention. Georg Pulwer clearly had different standards for the majesty of a monarch than Mistress Lagovil. He looks more like a banker than a king.

“Queen Raesinia,” Georg said. “Please forgive this poor greeting. We only received word of your coming quite recently.”

“My apologies for not sending word ahead,” Raesinia said. “Events have caught us off guard.”

“Don’t they always?” Georg said. This was apparently supposed to be a joke, because it produced a round of dutiful laughter among the others. “In any event, welcome to Borel, and my sympathies on what must be a trying time.” He raised a hand and beckoned, without looking. “Let me introduce my sons. This is Crown Prince Rupert.”

“Honored, Your Highness.” The crown prince shuffled forward. He was a large man, well into middle age and not carrying it well; Raesinia might have guessed him to be of the same generation as his father. He carried a similar black-​and-​silver walking stick, but where Georg’s seemed decorative, Rupert leaned heavily on his.

“And this is Second Prince Matthew,” Georg went on.

“Your Highness.” Matthew sketched a deep bow. He was much younger than his brother—probably not yet thirty—slim as a sword, and had a well-​trimmed beard and no sideburns. Instead of his father’s and brother’s somewhat fleshy features, he had a thin face with sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes. Rather handsome, Raesinia thought, but something in his expression seemed hostile.

“I look forward to getting to know both of you,” she said. That seemed safe. “I regret to say, however, that this is not merely a social visit. You’re aware of the most recent developments?”

Georg nodded. “The return of Vhalnich, you mean?”

“Yes. It was with the assistance of your servant the Duke of Brookspring that we were able to thwart him the last time he reached for power. It must surely be in the interests of both our nations that he be stopped again.”

“Of course.” Georg’s mustaches twitched in what might have been a smile. “It’s the duty of all civilized peoples to stand together against a tyrant, especially one as dangerous as Vhalnich has proven to be. We will not be found wanting in that duty. Borel will be at your side in this hour of need, never fear.”

Some unspoken cue prompted a short round of applause from the onlookers. Raesinia frowned. She’d hoped for an audience with less of, well, an audience, where Georg might be persuaded to speak a bit more candidly. Still, he seems willing. She bowed slightly in appreciation.

“Thank you. If your fleet can be assembled within the week, then—”

Georg cut her off with an upraised hand. “I must refer you to my advisers for the details. Fredrick?”

One of the men standing by stepped forward and bowed as low as his ample stomach would allow. “At your service, Your Majesty.”

“Please discuss the necessary arrangements with Queen Raesinia.”

“Of course.” Fredrick turned to Raesinia. He was heavily bewhiskered, eyes almost lost above a substantial nose. “If you’ll follow me?”

They had this planned. Raesinia smelled an ambush, but she had no choice except to smile graciously and go along. She checked reflexively to make sure Barely and Jo were still behind her, though she didn’t really expect to be physically assaulted. Fredrick hardly looks the type.

Sebastian, walking ahead of them, opened a door nearby. It led to a small sitting room, where two armchairs were positioned in front of a fire, already burning. A table between them held a silver tray of pastries.

“Have a seat, Your Highness,” Fredrick said. “I’m sure you’re tired from your journey.”

Cautiously, Raesinia settled into one of the chairs, and Fredrick lowered himself heavily into the other. He rubbed his knees with his palms, shaking his head.

“The knees are always the first to go, when you get to my age,” he said. “If you want my advice, Your Highness, you’ll enjoy them while they last.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Raesinia almost started when Sebastian appeared at her elbow, offering a glass of wine. She took it and sipped politely.

“Did you have good weather for your journey?”

“Tolerable,” Raesinia said. “Your captain made excellent time.”

“The courier captains pride themselves on it. And what do you think of Viadre?”