‘Thought you crushed some rebellion?’
‘Oh, yes, the heroic crown prince. I talked some labourers into surrendering.’
‘Well, that’s something to celebrate. Saved some lives, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Then they all got hanged.’
Rikke stared up at the ceiling herself. ‘Ah.’
‘I didn’t make it happen. But I didn’t stop it, either. Some hero, eh?’
‘I’m told a leader has to make o’ their heart a stone.’ Rikke sat up and plucked the egg out of its cup. ‘At least you know what y’are.’ And she bit the top off it.
‘I’m no Young Lion. I think we can agree on that.’
‘Thank the dead.’ And she grinned, showing him a mouthful of egg mush. ‘Man’s a fucking arsehole.’
He grinned back. ‘Do you know, I don’t think I ever met a woman like you before.’
‘And you’ve met so many.’
‘Honestly, my reputation in that regard is hugely inflated.’
‘Hugely inflated, eh? Perhaps you’re more like Leo dan Brock than you think.’ She leaned over to grab a slice of bread off the tray, and there was a rattle as the door was flung carelessly open.
‘For pity’s sake, Orso.’ A strange, sharp accent. ‘Tell me you’re not still—’
A superbly dressed woman glided into the room with all the majesty of a great ship under full sail and stopped, staring down her nose towards the bed. Didn’t take long for Rikke to realise it was Orso’s mother. Her August Majesty the High Queen of the Union. She gave a kind of helpless squeak. Might’ve done better if she hadn’t just wedged a piece of bread in her wide-open mouth, but she doubted it.
‘Who is this … person?’ asked the queen.
‘Er … this is Rikke. The beautiful and mysterious Witch of the North!’ Orso attempted an ornamental flourish, as though she was being presented to the throne rather than caught in his bed, and Rikke coughed and almost blew bread out of her nose. ‘She is an emissary from the Protectorate.’
Rikke wasn’t sure whether he’d made her look better or the Protectorate worse. She took the bread out of her mouth, shut it, then pinched the sheet between finger and thumb and ever so gradually pulled it up over her tits.
The queen made an arch of one perfect brow. ‘When it comes to building close diplomatic ties with the future King of the Union, one cannot fault her commitment.’
Rikke cleared her throat. ‘Well, it’s a key alliance for us.’ Orso smothered a laugh. His mother didn’t. Rikke thought about just keeping on pulling the sheet until it was all the way over her head.
‘Tell me this isn’t the girl you’re thinking of marrying, Orso?’
Rikke stared at him. ‘You’re getting—’
‘No!’ Orso gave a pained wince. ‘That was … all a misunderstanding.’
The queen sighed heavily. ‘It says something for the scale of my desperation that I was entirely prepared to welcome her into the family.’ And she swept out, shutting the door behind her with a precise click.
Rikke puffed out her cheeks. ‘By the dead. Your mother’s got a stare could curdle milk.’
‘I think she rather took to you,’ said Orso. ‘And it’s a hell of a compliment. When it comes to naked women, she’s quite the connoisseur.’
‘I’d best get dressed.’ Rikke sat up, peering about for her trousers. ‘In case your father comes wandering in next.’
‘I’m guessing it doesn’t take you too long?’
Rikke glanced down at herself. ‘Get my boots on and I’m pretty much there.’
‘Wonderful.’ Orso was looking down at her, too, the ghost of a smile about his lips. He brushed her neck with a fingertip, then slid it down until it caught the hem of the sheet, and started to drag that down, too. ‘We may be able to fit in a brief round of diplomacy before the parade.’
‘Well … I was sent to improve relations with the Union.’ And she kicked the tray clattering off onto the floor, spat a bit of egg after it, grabbed a fistful of Orso’s jacket and dragged him down on top of her.
No Expense Spared
‘The bloody people,’ bellowed Leo over the cheering.
‘There are a lot of them,’ Orso shouted back.
They crowded to the edges of every roadway, crammed every roof and window. The streets were canyons of humanity, the squares were seas of faces. Just when Leo thought there couldn’t be any more in the world, they’d turn a corner and another avenue would open up, smiles stretching into the distance. His wounded side was sore from all the riding, his wounded arm from all the waving, his wounded face from all the grinning.
‘Are they taking them from the back and rushing them to the front down side streets, or something?’
‘Bearing in mind my mother organised this,’ said Orso, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’
The parade itself must’ve been several thousand strong. At the front rode magnates of the Open Council, garlanded with braid and medals. Leo got an approving nod from Lord Isher as he glanced over his shoulder. An energetically shaken fist from Barezin. A self-satisfied salute from Heugen.
Further back were lesser aristocracy, officers of the army and fur-trimmed bureaucrats. Wedged between them and the glittering ranks of tramping soldiers were a group of ambassadors, emissaries and foreign worthies with a daunting array of skin tones and national costumes.
Leo realised with a twinge of guilt that Rikke was probably among them. He wondered what she’d done after the ball last night. Probably sat on her own in the darkness, plotting his doom. He turned his eyes hastily forward, towards the magnificent standard flying at the very head of the column, its white horse rearing against a golden sun. Just the sight of it made the embers of Leo’s patriotic fervour flare back into life. A relic of a better time, when the Union was ruled by righteous warriors, not copper-counting cripples.
‘The Steadfast Standard,’ he murmured, in a voice hushed with awe.
Orso nodded. ‘The very piece of cloth that fluttered at the head of Casamir’s conquering armies.’
‘Without him there’d be no Angland at all. Now there was a great king.’
‘Indeed.’ The crown prince sighed. ‘Makes one realise how terribly far the monarchy has fallen.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Orso, with a sad little smile. He looked sad in general, considering this was all partly in his honour. ‘No one has a lower opinion of the royal family than me, and that is with some savage competition. Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? Whether Casamir and Harod and the rest were really the great men history paints them as. Or were they just yesterday’s mediocrities, bloated up with centuries of stolen credit into today’s towering heroes?’ He gestured to the crowds. ‘I mean, it’s you they’re here for. You’re the one defeated Stour Nightfall. Men are wearing their beards like you. Wearing their swords like you. There’s a play about your duel, I believe.’
‘Any good?’
‘I’m sure it’s less exhilarating than the original.’
Leo had to admit he quite liked the crown prince. He’d expected him to be a real wilting dandy and, yes, you wouldn’t have called him a man’s man, but there was no doubt he was a damn good-looking fellow, and he turned out to be really quite thoughtful and generous. A hard man to hate. Leo was learning that people and their reputations rarely had much in common. He found himself, ironically, joining the Arch Lector in trying to inflate Orso’s achievements.
‘You liberated Valbeck, Your Highness. Put down a bloody rebellion.’
‘I surrounded a city and had a very good breakfast, discussed terms and had a very good lunch, accepted a surrender and had a very good dinner, then found the majority of my prisoners already hanged when I got up the next morning. My own fault for being a late riser, I suppose.’