“But how can we send them out if we know that might happen to them?”
“We fought the Redeemers, who liked to burn their prisoners alive and, some said, to eat them. There was also the option of impalement, which I understand involves a wooden spear inserted via the anus and positioned in such a way as to leave the victim alive for days while he’s mounted on the city wall. The Desoltai tortured, gelded, and murdered our scouts and left them for us to find. Against any of these enemies, did you hesitate to order your men forward because you were worried about what might happen to them?”
“But these aren’t men. They’re-”
“Captain d’Ivoire,” Janus growled. Marcus had only heard the colonel raise his voice in anger once, in a temple on Ashe-Katarion’s sacred hill. This was only a shadow of that violent outburst, but it carried an echo that made Marcus’ skin crawl. “You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension, and perhaps I am to blame. Our victories in Khandar have made many in the Colonials overconfident, and their estimation of my own abilities has risen to frankly unjustified heights.
“I know my worth, Captain, but I have no magic trick to pull out of my bag here. Orlanko has more trained men than we do, and they are well equipped. He has more guns, and he has a regiment of cuirassiers to our few hundred light horses. All I have to set in our side of the balance pan is the assistance of the people of Vordan City, to whatever extent they are willing to offer it. If we lose, you and I, not to mention the other officers of the Colonials, will almost certainly lose our heads, and our queen will become a slave in all but name. Under the circumstances, please believe I mean what I say when I tell you I will take any help I can get. I am not going to turn away two hundred highly motivated volunteers because you have scruples about their gender. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus drew himself up and saluted. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” Janus’ expression calmed, as though the brief burst of anger had never been. A moment later, he flashed a smile. “If you have any further objections, I suggest you take them up with Her Majesty. I have no doubt she would be happy to listen.”
WINTER
Putting on her uniform, straight from Janus’ laundry, felt more comfortable than Winter could have imagined. Her specially tailored undershirt, tight across the chest in the right places, tucked into blue trousers with razor-sharp creases. A proper lieutenant’s jacket, with a double row of gleaming buttons and the white stripes sewn on the shoulders. And the brimmed cap, which sat differently than she was used to. Winter puzzled at this until she realized she hadn’t had her hair trimmed in weeks, and her usual close-to-the-skull cut was getting distinctly shaggy.
It was all as familiar and comfortable as an old glove, but during the walk across the palace grounds she found herself tugging nervously at the seams and sleeves. The problem was Jane’s unaccustomed gaze. In Khandar she’d managed to forget that her disguise was a disguise, but with Jane watching she couldn’t put it out of her mind.
Finally, out of earshot of the outer ring of sentries, she muttered, “You don’t have to stare at me like I was a dancing bear.”
“Sorry,” Jane said, with a smile that was anything but. “I’m still getting used to this. Do you know you even walk differently?”
“This is going to be awkward enough,” Winter said, “without you making me nervous.”
“All right, all right. But promise me something?”
“What?”
Jane’s grin turned wicked. “Wear that outfit to bed sometime? I can’t look at it without thinking about how I’d peel it off you.”
Winter rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a little blush. So now I have that image to keep me company. She started off again, and Jane fell in behind her. Winter could almost feel her leering gaze. Jane could out-ogle any tavern full of sailors Winter had ever encountered, when she put her mind to it.
The First Colonial camp was laid out directly in front of the palace itself, split by the broad main drive and occupying the grass lawns that spread out from the cul-de-sac with its fountain and statue of Farus IV. Farther down the drive was the space they were using as a drill field, and the new recruits, lacking tents, were bedding down in the offices and hallways of the various ministries. The notorious Cobweb had been mostly gutted by fire, started by Orlanko’s minions as they’d fled. The drill sergeants had been using targets chalked on its facade for target practice, so the once-smooth columns and frontage were now scored and pitted as well as black with smoke.
All the drills thus far had been with weapons, without even a token effort to teach march discipline or camp skills. Jane’s girls, given a hallway of hastily abandoned offices in the Ministry of War, had organized a cooking schedule and set watches on the doors with the thoroughness of long practice, but the rest of the recruits were not nearly so organized. Fires burned at random among the once-perfect grounds, and carefully trimmed trees and shrubs were hacked to bits for wood. Rough-looking men filled their buckets from the ornamental fountains, and the specially bred black-and-white carp in the Ministry of State’s reflecting pool were quickly captured and eaten.
The First Colonial camp was far more organized, with the familiar torchlit avenues between rows of faded blue canvas tents. One ring of sentries surrounded the camp, and patrols with lanterns walked around the palace, protecting it from looters. There weren’t enough men to guard the entire vast estate, but Janus had asked that the royal residence, at least, be spared wanton destruction.
Once they were among the tents, Winter was at least spared Jane’s continued attention. The familiar scene of an army camp was entirely new to her, and she looked around eagerly at the tents, the stacked arms, and the big kettles where the men were cooking dinner. Her stares were returned from every quarter, and as they passed, men poked one another and whispered. Rumors had obviously started to spread about the girl soldiers. For a moment, Winter felt the familiar urge to shrink in on herself, but a glance back at Jane steadied her. She straightened up and walked a little faster.
When they found First Battalion, Seventh Company, the first few men they passed looked up and froze, unable to believe their eyes. Before she’d taken a dozen steps, though, Winter found herself at the center of an instant crowd, drawing soldiers out of their tents with almost magnetic force into a narrow circle around her and Jane. They were all shouting at once, greetings, questions, gossip, and Winter had to hold up her hands for silence. She could hear Jane laughing.
“It’s good to see you all,” she said, when they’d calmed down a little. “No, I’m not back for good. Not yet. The colonel said he would see what he could do. For now, can you tell me where I can find the corporals?”
A young man with a peach-fuzz beard and a pip on his shoulder was pushed forward. Winter recognized him vaguely but couldn’t recall his name. He saluted, nervously, and said, “I’m Corporal Morraz, sir. But I think you mean Sergeants Forester and Folsom. They’re with the lieutenant. Follow me, sir.”
The corporal pushed his way through the crowd, and the men made way as Winter and Jane followed. He led them to a tent, marked out from the others only by the light of a candle burning inside.
“Shall I introduce you, sir?” the corporal said. Then, glancing at Jane, he added, “Miss?”
“I can manage, Corporal,” Winter said. “Thanks.”
Morraz saluted and scurried off. Jane looked at the tent, whose highest point was barely above her nose, and gave a low whistle.