“The fourth duty of a citizen,” he was saying, “is to at all times keep in mind the condition of the implements of labor given into his care-the land and its improvements, the seed stock and herds, the tools of his trade, and everything else that tends to the increase of his prosperity. It is his duty to his country to maintain and improve these tools, both for the sake of his own descendents and so that the nation as a whole shall progress toward a greater prosperity in accordance with God’s design. However, this duty shall not conflict with the first, second, or third duties, and a citizen shall not. .”
There was more in that vein, a great deal more. Winter wasn’t sure she could have struggled through more than a page if it had been laid out in text. In Danton’s great, booming voice, it had a certain ring to it, but it was still not exactly passionate stuff. And yet the crowd all around Winter showed every sign of being enthralled, standing in total silence so as not to miss a word of the great man’s explanation of why, for example, potatoes were a superior crop to turnips and encouraging their growth was in the national interest.
Probably at this point he could be reading out of a dictionary and people would stand at rapt attention. Danton was certainly capable of a good turn of phrase-his speech to the prisoners on the night the Vendre had fallen had been stirring, even to Winter-but he clearly had not exerted his rhetorical talents here. She wondered idly which was the real Danton, the man of action beloved by the crowd or this intellectual with his obsession with potatoes.
Something tingled at the base of her spine. The Infernivore was restless, like an anxious child rolling over in its sleep. Ever since her near contact with Raesinia had roused the thing, she’d been more aware of its moods. Danton, apparently, made it nervous, and Winter slipped away from the crowd and back toward the prison.
Raesinia. Winter had wanted to get a message to Janus about her, telling him about the Infernivore’s strange reaction, but the girl had been assassinated before she had a chance. According to those who’d been on the parapet, she’d been shot in the head by a Concordat spy, who had subsequently fallen to his own demise on the rocks below. After what she’d seen from Jen Alhundt in the Desoltai temple, Winter wondered if there wasn’t more to it than that. If Raesinia really was some kind of wild talent, maybe the Black Priests sent someone to eliminate her. She decided she would have to tell Janus after all, if they ever had the chance to meet in private.
Behind her, Danton droned on. Ahead were the walls of the Vendre, where Jane would still be engaged in oh-so-important business. In between, the street was full of happy people, drinking toasts, singing traditional café songs, and even gathering round for impromptu dances. Someone had hauled out a fiddle and was playing it with more enthusiasm than skill, which suited the caliber of the singers perfectly.
Winter popped the last of the chestnuts into her mouth, balled up the bag, and wandered.
RAESINIA
At the door of Lady Farnese’s Cottage, now surrounded by Janus’ red-and-blue-uniformed guardsmen, Raesinia turned to address the small horde of servants and courtiers who had followed her from the palace proper. She took a deep breath, or tried to. The mourning dress was simple by court standards, but still uncomfortably stiff.
“I need to speak to Count Mieran on a number of important matters,” she said. “I must ask you all to excuse me.”
She jerked her head at Sothe, who stepped up to her side. Janus opened the front door, and a cordon of Mierantai stepped between the new queen and her followers. A babble of protest rose immediately, and Raesinia turned again.
“My lords, please. There will be time later for formalities, but the affairs of state will not wait. I thank you all for your concern.”
Once she was inside, with the door shut behind her, she let out a sigh. Is the rest of my life going to be like this? It seemed depressingly likely.
“I’m sorry to impose on Your Majesty by asking you to come here,” Janus said. “But I imagine you are no more eager to have our conversation reported to His Grace than I am.”
“You think we’re safe here?” Raesinia looked around. No guards or servants were in evidence, but that didn’t mean much. Ohnlei was a labyrinth full of hidden doors and back corridors, ideal for eavesdroppers.
“As safe as I can make us,” Janus said. “Miss Sothe has looked over my arrangements.”
Sothe nodded. “Unless Orlanko has gotten a lot smarter since I left, I think we should be secure.”
“Good.” Raesinia paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Then how about the two of you tell me what the hell is going on?” She glared at Sothe. “You never mentioned a word about knowing Count Mieran.”
She was surprised how much that stung. Sothe was the one person Raesinia had placed her full trust in, unreservedly, and finding out that she’d been keeping secrets hurt badly. I should have expected it, though. Sothe came from a world of secrets.
“I assure you,” Janus said, “our acquaintance is recent. After I heard about your. . fall, I contacted her to offer my assistance.”
“Then you knew-” Raesinia blinked. Everything. “How?”
“It would be best,” Janus said, “if I began at the beginning. Please, have a seat.”
He gestured. They were in the cottage hall, and beyond was an entertaining room with a sofa and chairs. Raesinia followed the count’s gesture and sat down, carefully, on the sofa, the black dress folding and crinkling around her. Janus took the chair opposite, and Sothe remained standing.
“I would offer some refreshment, after what has been a very long night,” he said. “But in Your Majesty’s case, I gather that there would not be much point, and in any event I have banished the servants so we may speak in secrecy even from my own people.”
Raesinia gave a curt nod. “Thank you. Now-”
“What the hell is going on?” Janus leaned back and smiled, just for a moment. “A fair question. For the sake of brevity, I will leave aside my own history and simply state that I am a scholar of the arcane and the occult. The dark arts, as some would have it. Demonology. Magic.”
“That’s a dangerous line of work,” Raesinia said, determined not to let any surprise show on her face.
“Indeed. There are places where it flourishes, however. In the eastern League cities, chiefly, where the grip of Elysium is at its weakest. It was there that I went to further my studies, and it was there, three years ago, that your father’s agents found me.”
“My father’s agents? Do you mean the Concordat?”
“Emphatically not. While the duke was, of course, a part of His Majesty’s government, in this matter the king and the Minister of Information had. . differing views. The man who contacted me had been well paid, through a very indirect route, to seek out someone with knowledge of the arcane arts and bring them before the king. Enormous precautions were taken to ensure that the Last Duke remained in ignorance.”
“Why? What would my father want with a magician?” As far as Raesinia knew, her father had never believed in magic, like any sensible person of the modern age. If not for her own unique experiences, Raesinia doubted she would have believed in it, either.
“His Majesty wished to consult me on a very delicate matter.” Janus coughed. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but he wanted to talk about you.”
“About me? That doesn’t make-” Raesinia shook her head, then froze. Her voice came out as a whisper. “He knew?”