RAESINIA
A string of three carriages took them the short distance from the Twin Turrets to the edge of Farus’ Triumph, across Saint Vallax Bridge. Raesinia sat in the center one with Marcus and a pair of guards, while the rest of the squad rode in and on top of the other two. Janus clearly remembered what had happened last time, and he’d ordered the escort to take no chances.
Perhaps he has a specific reason to be worried. Raesinia had heard a dozen versions of the story of Danton’s assassination, but all agreed that the killer had worn a strange, glittering black mask. Most people assumed this was only the odd affectation of a lunatic-a man who had vanished in the midst of the crowd moments later-but Raesinia knew better. A mask like that figured in her darkest memories, reflecting the light of dozens of candles ringing her deathbed. The man who’d worn it had led her through an incomprehensible incantation, pausing every few moments as she coughed a little bit more of her life away. Raesinia, terrified and in pain, had done as she was told, even as she felt the binding trying to tear her soul to pieces. And when she’d finished. .
The masks belonged to the Priests of the Black, the inquisitors of the Church, supposedly extinct for a hundred years. Where they’d struck once, they could strike again.
Of course, it would take more than a pistol for them to assassinate me. But getting shot in public would be extremely inconvenient, and it made her glad of Janus’ precautions.
The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun beat down with all the force of late summer. Farus’ Triumph was crowded, as it had been when Danton made his speeches, but something in the air had changed. Those assemblies had possessed a palpable, crackling energy, leaping from man to man, cresting in wild waves whenever the great orator reached a crescendo. Today the people looked tired and suspicious, wilting in the heat. The enthusiasm had been replaced by fear.
They’d demanded Vhalnich, and now they had him. But, each man asked his neighbor, what could even Vhalnich really do? They had no troops, no weapons, just a few hundred fools in black sashes and a lot of empty promises, and bread was more expensive than ever. Wouldn’t it be safer to hand the whole lot over to Orlanko? Hadn’t things, some might say, been better under the Last Duke? Say what you like, he’d made things work. The Concordat might have been brutal, but they were certainly efficient.
With the windows closed, Raesinia could hear none of this, of course. It was only a story she constructed in her mind, watching the sour faces as the carriages rolled past and imagining the whispers that followed in her wake. Marcus was staring out the windows, too, though she guessed he was more focused on potential threats. She felt better, having him along. There was something very solid and reliable about the captain, although she still missed the comforting knowledge that Sothe was out there watching.
The crowd was densest around the central fountain with its speaker’s rostrum. At Marcus’ suggestion, they halted the carriages and disembarked, the Mierantai guard forming around the pair of them in a tight cordon. People drew back from the unfamiliar uniforms, and protected by this flying wedge of soldiers Raesinia and Marcus made their way to the base of the fountain, where a clear space had been carved out by a ring of Patriot Guards. There was a moment of tension as the Mierantai and the Patriots faced off, but Janus’ orders had been specific. Most of the Mierantai peeled off, reinforcing the outer cordon, but four of the soldiers stayed with the queen and the captain as they passed beyond the ring of Patriots.
Inside the cordon of Guardsmen, the Deputies-General were milling around, staring up at the still-empty rostrum and fingering their black sashes. Raesinia saw Maurisk, his sash edged with gold, in the center of a knot of deputies. Winter and Cyte would be in there, too, she thought, but this wasn’t the time to seek them out. Let’s see how the speech goes over first.
A few eyes were turned in her direction, but for the most part people took little notice of her. There was nothing to mark out this girl in mourning dress as the queen. No great nobles or retinue attended her, just a few of Janus’ men and one blue-uniformed captain. Marcus drew more stares than she did; Royal Army uniforms were an uncommon sight in the city.
The agitation of the crowd warned her of Janus’ approach, accompanied by another wedge of Mierantai. There were even a few cheers, though these died quickly, like sparks falling on damp tinder. Janus himself strode ahead of his men, stopped in front of Raesinia, and bowed low.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”
“It seemed polite,” she said, “after your men rescued me from the Vendre.”
His lip quirked. “Do you have your speech ready?”
“I do.” It was written out on a few folded pages in her pocket. “Would you like me to start?”
“Please.” Janus clicked open his pocket watch, frowned, and returned it to his pocket. “A reasonably brief address would be best.”
“Why?”
He smiled again but said nothing. Raesinia exchanged a knowing look with Marcus, and shook her head.
“Captain,” she said, “would you do me the honor of introducing me, and asking for quiet?”
Marcus bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
They started up the circular staircase that led to the platform halfway up Farus V’s fantastic monument. It was, Raesinia noted inanely, quite high off the ground. For someone who had jumped from a tower roof on a regular basis, the little thrill in the pit of her stomach seemed ridiculous, but she felt it anyway. Two of the Mierantai stationed themselves at the base of the stairs, while the other pair followed her and Marcus up to the rostrum and waited just out of sight.
A startled, unsteady cheer rose from the crowd when she appeared, and people finally realized who they were looking at. For most of the people, she knew, this would be their initial look at the new queen. For the first time in her life, she wished that she were wearing something more impressive.
Marcus stepped to the edge of the rostrum and held up his hands, waiting for the cheers to die away. A hush fell over the square, a silence full of murmurs and rustles. When Marcus spoke, his words dropped into it like pebbles tossed into a bottomless pit.
“Welcome,” the captain said, then cleared his throat. “I have the honor to present Her Majesty Raesinia Orboan, Queen of Vordan. May God grace her and Karis’ favor protect her.”
The archaic form was echoed, first by the deputies, then by the crowd, in a ripple of muttered words spreading out from the fountain. Marcus bowed low to Raesinia and stepped out of the way. She squared her shoulders and walked to the edge of the platform.
She’d never done this. Arguing in the back of the Blue Mask was one thing, with a few friends who were half-drunk and wouldn’t hesitate to shout you down if they thought you were being a bore. Trying to convince the crowd in its gathered thousands, while they stared up in respectful, quizzical silence, was quite another. Raesinia felt her heart flutter, and she thrust one hand in her pocket and closed it into a fist around the folded copy of her speech. Down below, lined up at the edge of the fountain, the deputies waited. Maurisk’s piercing eyes were in the front row, glittering with rancor.
“The Kingdom of Vordan,” she said. She hated the sound of her voice, a little-girl voice, not the voice of a queen. At the moment, she would gladly have parted with her right arm for Danton’s effortless, rolling baritone. Concentrate on the words, she thought. Those, at least, had always been hers.
“The Kingdom of Vordan is the only nation in the world that came into being through the will of its own people. In the year nine hundred ninety-two, the year of the Great Flood, the people of Vordan became fed up with the petty barons who liked playing at war better than serving their people. They elected the Deputies-General to speak for them. Those deputies went to the one baron whom the people trusted, the one ruler whose land had prospered, the man who had defended his people in times of war and cared for them in times of trouble. To this man, they gave the crown, and said, ‘Please rule over us. Care for all the people, as you have cared for your own.’