The Price of Valor Read online

“Of course, my lord.” The manservant bowed low and withdrew.

  Winter reached for her own cup and took a deep breath, savoring the aroma, before tasting it. It was, as she’d expected, rather good.

  Janus remained quiet, staring into his cup, and finally Winter felt it was incumbent on her to start the conversation. She cleared her throat, and the general looked up.

  “I have to ask, sir,” she said. “Was that wise?”

  “What?” For a moment Janus looked as though he’d genuinely forgotten what he’d just done. “Oh, the business with de Ferre. Of course it was. The man is an oaf.”

  “And a count. The rest of the Royals aren’t going to be happy.”

  “They’re going to be even less happy in the morning.” Janus set his cup down. “The performance of the army was, frankly, unacceptable.”

  “We did win the battle, sir. Didn’t we?”

  Janus waved a hand. “Only because Baron di Pfalen is an utter fool. A triple convergence, with no lateral communication, in a polyglot confederation army without a real chain of command?” He snorted. “We could have done nothing at all and watched the whole thing collapse under its own weight. I daresay you could have outgeneraled di Pfalen when you were still clinging to your mother’s knees.”

  Winter, who had no memory of her mother, forbore to comment on that.

  “Someday this army will go up against a real commander,” Janus went on. “I know there are a few out there. The Duke of Brookspring, for one, and there must be others. Even a stiff-necked geriatric cabal like Hamveltai High Council can’t rid themselves of every man of talent. When that day comes, we need to be ready.”

  “You think we need more training, sir?”

  “I’m afraid it goes beyond that. Yours was not the only set-to between Royals and volunteers, you know. The Second Infantry actually fired a volley into the Third Volunteers when some fool thought they’d changed sides.”

  Winter winced. “But you have a solution in mind?”

  “I’m reorganizing the army. The royal regiments are too large, and the volunteers need to learn to work as part of a larger force. We’ll break up all the old units and create new ones. Each new regiment will have one volunteer and one royal battalion. Getting to send all these thickheaded colonels packing is a side benefit.”

  “Some of those units are hundreds of years old,” Winter said. “They’re not—”

  “Going to be happy. You mentioned that already.” Janus smiled, just for a moment. “The colonels won’t be, and some of the other noble officers. They’re welcome to resign and take their case to the deputies. But I think the men in the ranks will be glad to be rid of them.”

  Winter nodded. There were two distinct classes of officer in the old Royal Army—those who’d bought or inherited their commissions like de Ferre, and those who’d come out of the War College like Captain Marcus d’Ivoire. The former sort held the positions of command, but it was the latter who made the army work.

  “Who’ll command the new regiments?” she said, wondering what sort of new commanding officer she’d be saddled with.

  “Whoever’s most competent, regular or volunteer.” He tapped the pile of papers again. “I’m giving you the Second Battalion of the Eighteenth Regiment, under Captain Sevran.”

  “I—you’re—what, sir?”

  “Your new unit will be designated the Third Regiment of the Line. You’ll be bumped up to colonel, obviously.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Winter said. “I’m a captain only because we needed someone to take charge of all girls who wanted to join up, and now—”

  “You don’t think you’re up to the job?”

  “Of course not!” Colonels were lords, often counts or their sons, men of power and consequence. You couldn’t just become one, at the touch of a magic wand.

  “Then our opinions differ on the subject. But, as this is an order, your options are either to obey it or to resign.” Janus cocked his head. “Do you wish to resign?”

  Winter pushed down the turmoil in her gut. “I . . . no, sir.”

  “Very good. Do you have any thoughts on who should command the Girls’ Own?”

  There was only one possible choice. “Lieutenant Verity, sir.”

  “Excellent. Please inform the lieutenant that she is hereby promoted to captain, and that she may have a free hand with her own junior officers. Under your supervision, of course.”

  “Sir . . .” Winter took a deep breath. “The Royals. This Captain Sevran. What if they won’t obey my orders?” The idea of her, Winter Ihernglass, a girl run away from a home for unwanted children, giving orders to the proud regulars of Her Majesty’s Royal Army seemed ridiculous on its face. “I’m not sure . . .”

  Janus’ expression darkened. “If they refuse to obey your orders, then you are within your rights to hang them for insubordination and treason. Senior officers on an active campaign are permitted to make summary judgments on such affairs. I guarantee it will not take many examples to make your point.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Of course. Anyone who will not accept the chain of command is, at the root, failing to acknowledge my authority. I will not tolerate it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Winter felt numb. “Understood.”

  “Official orders will be read to the entire camp tomorrow. Please keep this between you and your officers until then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing.” Janus fixed her with his bottomless gray gaze. “My reports say that you were in the thick of the fighting today.”

  “I . . . yes, sir. I suppose I was.”

  “That is all well and good for a lieutenant, but you must take greater care in the future. God knows I have few enough officers of your promise, and I cannot afford to have your career ended early by a stray musket ball. And there are . . . other duties, to which you are uniquely suited. Do you understand?”

  Winter thought she did, even the parts that Janus was reluctant to say out loud. “Other duties” had to refer to Infernivore, the demon she’d taken on herself in Khandar during the battle to secure the Thousand Names. For the most part, it lay quiescent in the darkest pits of her mind, but if she laid a hand on another demon-carrier, she could will it to come forth and devour the other creature. For Janus, that made her a weapon against what he called the true enemy: the Priests of the Black and their Penitent Damned. And we can’t have a weapon breaking too soon. If Winter died on the field, Janus would have to find someone else to bear Infernivore, and from what he’d said the success rate for invoking the demon was not high. Failure, in that context, meant an agonizing death; when she thought about the risk she’d run, all unknowing, it still gave her the shivers.

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “Good.” He straightened up and gave her his brief smile again. “Excellent work today, Colonel Ihernglass. Well done.”

  Winter paused, taken aback, then got to her feet and saluted. “Thank you, sir!”

  * * *

  As a captain, Winter rated a slightly larger tent than the usual, though it still wasn’t tall enough that she could stand up inside. She peeked between the flaps and was not at all surprised to see Jane within, sitting cross-legged on a cushion beside the camp bed. Winter let out a long breath and resigned herself to talking Jane down from the raging fury she’d worked herself up to in Janus’ command tent.

  When she entered, though, Jane didn’t explode. She didn’t even look up. Her hands rested on her knees, and her eyes were fixed on the floor. Her soft red hair, reaching almost to her shoulders now, hung around her face in dirty tassels.

  “Jane?” Winter said, slightly alarmed. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” Jane said. Her voice was thick.

  “What happened?”

  “I went to look in on . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. �
��On the injured.”

  “Oh.”

  Winter pulled off her boots and set them beside the door, then padded softly across the cloth-covered earth to Jane’s side. She sat down, silently, and snaked one arm around the other woman’s shoulders. Jane leaned against her, hunched and miserable. There were clear tracks on her face where tears had cut through the grime and powder residue.

  “Chris died,” Jane said in a whisper.

  “I know,” Winter said. “I was standing right next to her.”

  “Nobody told me. I didn’t even notice she wasn’t there.” Jane swallowed. “She’d been with me from the beginning. From Mrs. Wilmore’s. A lot of the girls have.”

  “I know.” Winter squeezed Jane’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “I went over to the cutter’s station. I thought I could . . . help, maybe. There was this girl, Forti. Short for Fortuna. You probably didn’t know her.”

  Winter shook her head.

  “We found her right after we came to Vordan City. When we were still living in the swamps. She just wandered into camp one day, a skinny little thing in rags, asking for food and cringing every time someone looked at her. Like she expected to be beaten.”

  Jane’s hands tightened on her knees, until her knuckles were white. Winter said nothing.

  “I let her come with us,” Jane said. “Nobody knew how old she was, but she’d filled out once we gave her some proper food. She wanted to come so badly, and I told her she could.”

  “Is she . . .” Winter trailed off.

  Jane pressed her head into Winter’s shoulder. “When I got there, to the cutter’s tent, they had her on the table. They had a . . . a saw, the kind of thing you’d use to chop the end off a log, and they were cutting through her arm.” One of Jane’s hands came up and closed around her own biceps, in unconscious sympathy. “She’d lost the gag they’d given her, and she was screaming, ‘No, no, no, no,’ over and over, even after they were through. One of the cutters picked up the arm and tossed it on a pile. All those hands . . . and . . .”

  “God,” Winter said softly. “Oh, Jane.”

  “I lost my lunch,” Jane said. “Or yesterday’s dinner, maybe, since I never got anything to eat today. Right in front of everyone. Then I ran for it, puke still dripping from my shirt.”

  “It’s all right,” Winter said. “They understand. Watching something like that . . .”

  “I brought them here! I was supposed to be protecting them, and I brought them here. What the fuck am I doing?” Jane looked up at Winter, her eyes wide and frantic. “We should leave. Take them all and go home, back to the city, or out into the country, anywhere but here.”

  Winter stared at her. This was a Jane she hadn’t seen before, the flip side of the fiery-tempered woman who’d wanted to kill the vicious tax farmer Bloody Cecil on the spot and had been ready to storm the Vendre in the face of cannon-fire. There was something childlike in her expression, a desperate need for reassurance that Winter felt ill-equipped to provide.

  “Let’s start with this,” she said. “You didn’t bring them here. They brought themselves, of their own free will. You know that. Everybody who came with us knew what could happen.”

  “I could have stopped them.”

  “Captain d’Ivoire wanted to stop you, but you didn’t let him.”

  “I . . .” Jane took a deep breath. “I thought it would be over quickly. But this . . .” She shook her head. “Everyone who made it through today just gets to do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I can’t just watch them all die. I can’t.”

  Tears were welling in her eyes. Awkwardly, Winter pulled her close, and soon Jane’s head rested in her lap. Jane pressed her face against the fabric of Winter’s uniform, her back heaving with muffled sobs. They stayed like that a long time, Winter’s hand resting on Jane’s shoulder as she cried in near silence. Eventually, the sobs subsided, and Jane’s breathing became slow and regular.

  “Jane?” Winter said experimentally.

  “Mm?” Jane looked up, then frowned at Winter’s expression. “What are you looking at?”

  “Sorry.” Winter let the smallest smile appear. “One of my buttons has embossed a royal eagle on your forehead.”

  Jane touched the red spot and smiled weakly. Winter leaned down and kissed the mark, gently.

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said when she pulled back. “I didn’t mean to fall apart on you like that. I just . . . I couldn’t . . .”

  “It’s all right.” Winter ran her fingers through Jane’s hair, red and silky, even tangled and dirty as it was. “Listen. Anyone who wants to leave can go, you know that. It’d be my job to stop them, and I’m not going to. But they won’t. They’re here because they think Vordan needs defending.”

  “I know. I know! I didn’t mean it. And I’d never leave you alone here, you know that, too.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  Jane’s smile was stronger this time. Winter kissed her again, on the mouth this time, but drew back after a few moments.

  “You,” she said, “taste like puke and gunpowder.”

  Jane sighed, and pulled at a tangle in her hair. “Right. I should get cleaned up.” She shook her head. “What did Janus want with you, anyway?”

  “Nothing important,” Winter said. “I’ll fill you in in the morning.”

  Chapter Two

  RAESINIA

  Claudia twirled her elegant umbrella and looked up at the gray autumn sky.

  “Well,” she said cheerfully, “at least the rain’s held off!”

  Oh yes, Queen Raesinia Orboan thought. It would be a shame if bad weather spoiled the executions.

  She held her tongue, mindful of the watchful presence of Sothe at her shoulder. Claudia Nettalt sur Tasset was twenty-five, extremely wealthy, and beautiful. Raesinia found her fascinating to listen to, because everything that entered her head via her eyes or ears immediately left it again via her mouth, with no apparent processing in between. Since they’d been herded into the royal box, Claudia had offered her opinions on the number of people who’d gathered (quite a lot), Raesinia’s dress (lovely), the color of the sky (gray), and of course the lack of rain. Now she looked around again with wide, guileless eyes.

  “They’re still working on the machine, Emil, look,” she said, indicating the center of everyone’s attention, where a black-robed scholar and a pair of assistants were indeed still working on a bulky machine.

  Her son, a boy of seven or eight, was dressed in a dark, sober suit, as appropriate for a noble still in mourning. He slumped with one shoulder against the railing of the box, immersed in a thick, leather-bound book that Raesinia recognized as the bloody adventure story Heart of Khandar. Claudia had introduced him when they first entered, but the Queen of Vordan was apparently a poor alternative to the exploits of Captain Merric and his men battling crocodiles and waterfalls.

  On Raesinia’s other side was a portly gentleman in gray, whom she recalled had something to do with the arms industry. He, thankfully, did not feel obligated to make conversation, and devoted his attention instead to scanning the crowd and occasionally muttering caustically. From the tone of his observations, it appeared that he was extremely satisfied to be placed beside the queen while his rivals were obliged to sit with the commons.

  The center of Farus’ Triumph, with its spectacular fountain and speaker’s rostrum, was poorly suited to this kind of public spectacle. Instead a semicircle of bleachers had been constructed at the north end of the great square, in front of the Hotel Ancerre, where the new government had its headquarters. In the center of the arc was a fenced-off box for the queen and her guests, which made Raesinia feel a bit like a cow penned and awaiting slaughter.

  The very ends of the arc of seats were occupied by the members of the Deputies-General, with the opposing factions pressed as far away from one another as it w
as physically possible to be. On the left were the Radicals, in the colorful, particolored coats and hats that had for some reason unfathomable to Raesinia become the fashion in their circle. On the right, Conservatives looked like a flock of crows in their black, high-collared coats. The no-man’s-land between the feuding parties was taken up by other notables of Vordan, a mix of wealthy men of common stock and aristocrats who’d thrown in their lot with the new order.

  On the open side of the semicircle, a long line of Patriot Guards in their blue and white sashes stood at attention, keeping back the mass of common folk who filled the rest of the square. The Guard carried halberds, but their vicious ax heads were shrouded in linen hoods as a symbol of goodwill.

  In the empty space between the crowd and the bleachers, two wooden platforms had been erected. One was for the five members of the Directory of National Defense, flanked by more Patriot Guards. The other, larger platform, where Claudia had directed her attention, bore a solid-looking metal table big enough for a man to lie on. Beside the platform, eight wretched-looking men in gray rags huddled together, surrounded by a double ring of guards.

  The royal box itself was filled with nobles and prominent citizens who’d been invited to share it with the queen, in thanks for their support. Claudia, for instance, was there because her father, Count Tasset, was one of the minority of noblemen who’d voiced his support for the new government. Most of the nobility had responded to the Directory’s patriotic appeals by hunkering down in their country estates, determined to ride out the storm and survive, regardless of how matters ultimately fell out.

  Sothe had arranged the invitations, of course. Until the Constitution was finalized by the wrangling deputies, Raesinia had no authority to speak of, but that didn’t stop the cream of Vordanai society from preemptively trying to win her over. Sothe had been officially promoted from Raesinia’s maid to her head of household, a position with vast if somewhat informal powers, and she’d proven surprisingly adept at managing the supplicants and favor-seekers who crowded the queen’s door. When Raesinia had asked her about it, she commented that the only difference between working in the court and in the Concordat was that the courtiers didn’t use knives.