Page 67 of The Infernal Battalion

“Six and a half,” Cora said promptly. “Varying a bit for the specifics, of course.” At Raesinia’s look of incomprehension, she explained. “That means a contract with a face value of a hundred eagles is selling for six and a half eagles. If you want racetrack odds”—​she screwed up her face for a minute—“it’s about fifteen to one that we’ll get to an agreement.”

“And have you been putting any money down?”

“Not yet,” Cora said. “But I was thinking. I still have credit at the markets here, from back when we broke the Second Pennysworth Bank in the revolution. I could—”

Raesinia held up a hand, her patience reaching an end. “Is this something that’s going to help us with Goodman?”

“Probably not.” Cora deflated slightly. “I take it he didn’t like my proposal?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Raesinia said. As briefly as she could, she summarized the meeting she’d had with the king. Cora’s eyes went wide.

“The way I see it, they’re playing us between them,” Raesinia said. “Goodman pushes hard, which makes it more likely that the king gets what he wants. Or else we give in, and bankrupt the country trying to pay them back.”

“Or we agree and then renege, and the rest of our creditors pull out,” Cora said. “Half of Vordan would collapse, and that’s if the Borels don’t declare war.”

“The hell of it is, I see Georg’s point.” Raesinia’s anger was fading now that she’d put things out in the open. It left her cold and numb, like her blood was draining away. “This is the best way to assure Borel’s interests in Vordan, once Janus is beaten.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Cora said, toying nervously with her new silver bracelets. “He can’t actually expect you to marry a man you’ve barely met, right? It’s like something out of ancient history.”

Raesinia frowned. It was hard to explain that she’d always expected some kind of arranged marriage. It may be ancient history for ordinary people, but queens don’t usually get the luxury of choice. On the other hand, over the past few months she’d allowed herself to believe it could be otherwise.

“I don’t know.” Raesinia stopped her pacing and flopped into an armchair. “Maybe he’s right.”

“Who? The king?” Cora shook her head. “You can’t be serious!”

“He’s offering us an out.” Raesinia tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “You’ve said yourself we’ll never be able to come to terms with Goodman.”

“He seems unlikely to budge,” Cora admitted. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“Marcus!”

Marcus. With his rough beard and kind eyes, a tough skin wrapped around a soft vulnerability that made him deliciously easy to tease. Marching into battle, where I sent him.

“You love him, don’t you?” Cora said.

“I think I do,” Raesinia said. “I don’t have a lot of points of comparison.”

“Then you have to marry him,” Cora said, as though that concluded the argument. “Not some prince who can’t even hold a decent conversation.”

Raesinia had an image of last night’s dinner repeated for eternity. It was like a vision of a particularly vicious hell.

“I always knew we’d have problems with the court and the Deputies,” Raesinia said. “The people may love Marcus, but he’s still a commoner. Commoners don’t marry queens.”

“I think queens marry whomever they want,” Cora said. “Otherwise what’s the point of being queen?”

Raesinia closed her eyes and let her head sink against the overstuffed cushion. “Sometimes,” she said, “I really wonder.”

12

Marcus

Crossing the Illifen passes was considerably easier than Marcus had expected. These were old, tired mountains, worn gentle by the passage of years, a far cry from the craggy peaks of Murnsk. They used the High Gap, steepest of the three available routes, but even this was a gentle enough slope that the teams pulling the wagons and guns didn’t struggle. A good road ran from the banks of the river Marak, which dwindled into something more like a stream, and wound its way through the foothills of the mountains before passing through the gap.

Marcus was glad to see that Kurot had ordered Give-Em-Hell’s light cavalry ahead of the rest of the army. Janus was still supposed to be a hundred miles off, but even a small advance force at the far end of the gap could have caused serious difficulties. Fortunately, the riders reported no contact with the enemy, and the great blue stream of the Army of the Republic flowed over the saddle between the rounded heights and into the valley of the Pale.

Abby had reported no serious difficulties while he’d been away. According to Cyte, she’d never been filled in on the supernatural side of General Ihernglass’ activities, so he didn’t share his suspicions or what he’d learned at Mieranhal. He badly wanted to talk it over with Fitz, but he hadn’t been let in on the secret, either, and Marcus was wary of involving anyone who hadn’t seen proof firsthand. If someone had come to me with this story, I’d have probably thought they were crazy.