“Something to that,” the head of the bodyguards said. “And Grus did hurt the Thervings once they’d besieged us.”
“That’s more than you can say Corvus did after he got back to the city of Avornis,” Lanius remarked. “All he did was grumble and make stupid suggestions.”
Lepturus spoke in meditative tones. “As long as he’s here in the city of Avornis, it might not be the worst thing in the world if he stayed here awhile.”
“Hmm,” Lanius said. “You’re right—it might not be. He’s caused the kingdom a lot of trouble. Not much point to giving him the chance to make more, is there? See to it, Lepturus.”
“I’ll take care of it right now, Your Majesty.” Lepturus vanished down into the palace. Lanius watched him go, nodding approval at his broad back. From what he’d seen in his not very many years, most people promised to do something, then forgot all about it as they went off to do what they wanted to do instead. Not Lepturus. When he said he’d take care of something, he took care of it.
Except, this time, he didn’t. He sent a guardsman who found Lanius a couple of hours later, after the young king had come down from the tower and was working his way through some interesting—well, interesting to him—parchments he’d found in the archives. “Marshal Lepturus humbly begs your pardon, Your Majesty—” the bodyguard began.
That was plenty to get Lanius’ nose out of the old tax documents. “What’s gone wrong now?” he asked.
“We can’t arrest Count Corvus, on account of he isn’t in the city of Avornis anymore,” the bodyguard said. “Seems he went south as soon as the Thervings went west and left him a way home. Lepturus says it’d mean civil war to try to seize him there. Is it worth it to you?”
“No,” Lanius said. “Let him go.” At the time, he thought the decision made good sense. Corvus hadn’t actually moved against the Kingdom of Avornis. All he’d done—all!—was lose a battle he might not have fought, or might have won if he’d paid closer attention. That was bad, but it wasn’t really treasonous.
So Lanius calculated then. Lepturus didn’t try to change his mind. Later, they both had plenty of chances to wonder if they’d chosen rightly.
A few days afterward, Lanius rode out of the city of Avornis to look at the devastation the Thervings had caused and to promise people he and the royal government would do everything they could to make losses good. The promises made peasants look happier. Lanius knew too well they weren’t intended to do anything else. The royal government paid the soldiers who protected peasants from invaders—or, sometimes, didn’t protect them—but couldn’t do much more than that.
“It’ll be good when you come of age, Your Majesty,” Lanius heard at least a dozen times. “High time we had a man’s hand on things again.”
Like Arch-Hallow Bucco’s? Lanius wanted to ask. The cleric had made a worse hash of things than Queen Certhia, by far. Lanius was impatient to come of age, too, but not because he thought his mother had done a particularly bad job of ruling Avornis.
When he returned to the capital, he mentioned to Certhia what he’d heard. His mother’s mouth tightened. “Yes, I’ve heard the same,” she said, no small bitterness in her voice. “And it’s not from farmers who haven’t bathed since spring before last, either. It’s from people whose opinions carry weight and whose frowns are like a wasting sickness to my hopes. Corvus was a prop, but he knocked himself out from under me when he failed.”
“What will you do now?” Lanius asked.
“Find another prop, I suppose,” Queen Certhia answered. “But who?”
“Why not Commodore Grus?” Lanius said. “Out of all our leading officers, he’s the only one who didn’t end up looking like a fool or a knave.”
“Not if you hear Corvus or Corax tell it,” his mother said. “And besides, I tried to arrest him after he wouldn’t take the Heruls across the river. Do you think he would forget?”
“To prop up the government?” Lanius said. “I think he’d forget a lot for a chance like that.”
Certhia sniffed, but thoughtfully. “He’s not a noble. He can’t have any nasty, ambitious ideas, the way Corvus or Corax would. He’d be leaning on me as much as I’d be leaning on him.” She smiled. “The more I think about it, the better I like it.”
“Let’s hope it works well,” Lanius said.
His mother’s smile faded. “It had better,” she said. “I hate needing to lean on soldiers and sailors—it’s the drawback to being a woman. But you’re likely right—he’s the only real choice we’ve got.”
As Commodore Grus walked down the gangplank from the Crocodile to one of the quays of the city of Avornis, marines formed up around him. Trumpets and drums began to play, blaring out a fierce and martial music. Anyone listening to it would have thought he was entering the city in triumph. And so, in a manner of speaking, he was. The Thervings had gone back to their own kingdom, and he’d had something to do with that. In a war where most Avornan soldiers had fallen or fled, anyone who’d gained any success looked like a hero by comparison.
That was one reason Grus chose marines as his bodyguards. The other was that they came from the flotilla he’d commanded, and so were likelier to be loyal to him than men who didn’t know him.
The music got louder. Nicator looked at the scarlet silk tunics shot through with sparkling golden threads that the trumpeters and drummers were wearing. “How’d you like to have a shirt like that?” he asked.
“A little gaudy for my taste.” Grus pointed ahead. “And, speaking of gaudy, here come the royal bodyguards.”
They wore tunics—surcoats, really—even fancier than those of the musicians. They left them unbuttoned, too, to show off the gilded mailshirts that matched their gilded, crested helms. But despite those gorgeous uniforms, the men who wore them looked tough and capable. At their head marched Marshal Lepturus. Having dealt with him before, Grus knew he was tough and capable. The two men eyed each other, sizing each other up. Lepturus spoke first. “Welcome to the city.”
“Thanks,” Grus said. “Let’s see what we can do about getting things shipshape again, shall we?”
“Sounds good to me,” Lepturus answered. He turned and gestured to his men, who opened a lane up which two sedan chairs advanced. Queen Certhia got out of one, King Lanius out of the other. The bodyguards moved to form a protective screen between them and Grus’ marines.
Grus bowed low to the head of the regency council, then even lower to the king. “I’m proud to serve Avornis any way I can,” he declared.
Queen Certhia replied—not Lanius. “I’m pleased that you have come to help me restore good order in the kingdom.”
“We can use it, Your Royal Highness, after everything that’s happened this year,” Grus said.
King Lanius nodded. So did his mother. But, by the glance she shot Grus, she still judged some of what had happened this year—maybe more than some—was his fault and no one else’s. Even so, she said the right things. “I am delighted you will support the king and protect the land he rules.” If she looked as though the words tasted bad, how much did that matter?
I’ll find out, Grus thought. Aloud, he said, “Anyone who doesn’t support King Lanius is a traitor to Avornis. Anyone at all.” Corvus and Corax wouldn’t like that when they heard about it. Grus didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, they were already traitors, even if they hadn’t openly declared themselves.
Lepturus said, “When you get to the palace, Commodore, the royal bodyguards will be pleased to take over the job of protecting you and your family.”