Her friend—the only person in the world she could call that—was riding off to attempt to rid the world of a tyrant, a man who had become far too powerful for Gill to have much hope of defeating. Gill understood that, yet Solène knew he would do his best to succeed, without hesitation or complaint. Helping Gill meant facing every fear she had, and Solène didn’t know how she would remain true to herself. She turned back to face the direction she had come from. She would have to find a way. She knew where she needed to be. What she had to do.
As the river barge drifted downstream, needing only the gentlest of guidance from the ferryman, Ysabeau watched the spires, walls, and towers of Mirabay shrink into the distance. She knew in her heart this was the last she would ever see of the city, but to her surprise, the thought didn’t bother her in the least. During her year away, she had thought she missed the city, but she realised that she had missed the idea of it, not the reality.
It had been a relief when she had returned to the dragon cage and found it empty. She had intended to release the magnificent creature, regardless of her father’s desires. Those great, blue, mournful eyes would be with her forever, would make her question much of what she thought she knew about the world. Her father had to know by now. She wondered how he’d reacted.
Putting her back to the city, she looked downstream. The barge would take her to the Port of Mirabay, and from there?
She had spent enough of her life living by the blade. Perhaps it was time for a change. She reckoned that, between her magic and the sharpness of her mind, she could turn her hand to whatever she chose. Not just what she thought might impress her father.
Ah, her father. Ysabeau knew the people had long since abandoned him. She only regretted that it had taken something as terrible as the massacre for her to do the same. He’d manipulated her, just as he had everyone else. Just as he had her mother, taking what he wanted before abandoning her, never caring what the consequences might be.
The Prince Bishop had always claimed he had not known of Ysabeau’s existence until after the Intelligenciers had arrested her. Her mother had called on him as a last resort. The thought left a bitter taste in Ysabeau’s mouth. He could have checked in on her mother at any time over the years, had he a shred of decency in him, but he hadn’t. She wondered if he’d have shown any interest in her if the City Watch had arrested her, if she’d been taken into custody for theft rather than on charges of witchcraft. Probably not.
She’d been useful to him. A disposable tool. Nothing more.
There would be no more backwards glances, Ysabeau determined. No more regrets. No more need for acceptance. Only what lay before her, whatever that was.
CHAPTER 47
An army on the morning of a battle was a magnificent thing to behold. Armour and weapons were polished, banners and flags freshly cleaned. By the end of the day, they’d be covered in mud and blood, and half the men now laughing and joking, doing their best to show how unafraid they were, would be food for crows. Gill couldn’t help but think that if Amaury was one of those men, then it would all be worth it. Sometimes all that carnage, all that suffering, really was the only way to address a problem.
The king’s new army was cobbled together from his traitorous cousins, nobles who had come out of the woodwork only when the king looked likely to win, young bannerets and aristocrats with nothing to lose but everything to gain, and now, it seemed, hundreds and hundreds of men who had deserted the city. It looked like well over half the Royal Guard had come over, and there were a couple of other regiments that were showing good strength. No one had a clue how many men Amaury would bring to the party, nor what type of magical malfeasance, but Gill reckoned things at that point could have looked quite a bit worse. By the end of the day, no doubt they would.
They were arranged regiment by regiment, in as much order as the newly appointed and inexperienced commanders who led most of them were capable of imposing. A quick glance could tell which were the standing regiments with seasoned sergeants, and which were not, even without the guide of banners and tunic colours.
The cavalry skulked in the background, ready, but useless unless Amaury chose to bring his army out onto the open field. It remained the great uncertainty, how the tyrant would respond to the army at his door. Gill didn’t know what he would do if their situations were reversed—remain behind the safety of his walls, or deal with his enemy head-on. As it was, the king had asked Gill to remain with his staff, on hand to offer whatever advice Boudain felt he needed.
Gill still wasn’t comfortable with this—he found it hard to believe he was now one of the men influencing the big decisions. By comparison, standing on the front line with a sword in hand was almost an attractive proposition, facing all the danger that entailed. Of course, that was nonsense, but it was the role Gill knew and understood. With each day, he continued to struggle to make sense of the world. He’d always thought that was something that would get easier. It seemed that was another thing he was wrong about.
The army advanced a little closer to the walls, but halted out of range of bowshot. So much of what was happening was second nature to Gill, the sound of the march, of the movement of men and horses and armour, drums and pipes and shouted orders, that for brief moments he lost sight of the fact that they were advancing on Mirabay—their own city. He wondered if everyone felt the same way, or if each man viewed the day through his own lens.
As the moment they all waited for grew inexorably close, the tension in the air thickened. They had not been stopped for long when the gates opened, much as Gill had expected they would. No man who wants to hold on to a city will stand by while it is destroyed, and Amaury, for all his flaws, did seem to want the city to stand.
Troops started to rush out of Mirabay, many wearing colours that Gill didn’t recognise—most likely some of the smaller mercenary companies that Amaury had collected over the previous weeks. After them came the cream and gold of the Order. No one was sure what they were capable of, but word of what had happened at Balcony Square had spread quickly, fuelling anger and bolstering the men’s resolve to fight. There would be little quarter given to any who fought for Amaury that day, and less for his mages.
Gill could see some of the younger commanders glancing back toward the king’s banner, and all his gallopers, who remained stock-still with no orders to deliver. The eager young officers might wonder why Amaury was being allowed bring his army out and form them up, but to advance into the killing zone beneath the walls and into range of all of its artillery would spell disaster for the king’s army—they would be devastated by ballista bolt, catapult shot, and arrow.
By the time the so-called Lord Protector’s forces had finished mustering below the walls, there were more men gathered there than Gill had hoped for. Far more. In fact, to the casual observer it looked like the Royal Guard was present in full strength. Gill supposed Amaury could have dressed mercenaries or conscripts in spare uniforms, but from a distance, it was hard to tell.
A group of horsemen formed up at the front of the enemy army; squinting, Gill reckoned he could make out Amaury amongst them. A white flag was raised and the horsemen started forward.
The king looked about, assessing his staff. “Savin, Coudray, with me. You too, Villerauvais.”