“I know.” Abby kissed the corner of Jane’s jaw, then her cheek. “Just for tonight, all right? Just once. Please.”
“Abby. .”
“Call the guards, if you like. Throw me in the dungeon.”
Abby kissed Jane full on the lips, and after a moment’s resistance Jane’s arms came off the table and wrapped around Abby’s shoulders. Abby’s hands roamed upward, running gently over Jane’s flanks, her fingers tangling in the hem of Jane’s shirt.
Jane moaned, very quietly, but Winter was no longer there to hear. She stalked away down the corridor, leaving her bottle by the doorway, eyes brimming with unwanted tears.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RAESINIA
For the moment, they were letting Raesinia remain in her chambers in the Prince’s Tower. Eventually, she assumed, some court stickler for protocol would probably demand that she move over to the Royal Apartments, but that would require refurnishing, and the staff of the palace was fully occupied. So many of the more cautious nobles and their retinues had departed for the country as the riots had developed that the royal household had been left with a skeleton crew, managing a building that was suddenly vastly too large for its inhabitants. The task of putting the palace in its mourning garb was big enough to occupy an army, even without considering all the changes to the lists of precedence that would be required by so many departures and the consequent adjustments to social calendars, place settings, and so on.
Raesinia was happy to leave well enough alone. Sothe was adamant that her days of sneaking out to visit the revolutionaries were over, but it was nice to know that she still had her convenient-if-painful escape route from the tower. New rooms would come with a squadron of new servants, too, with all the complicated negotiations that entailed. Here in the Prince’s Tower, Sothe ruled with an iron hand, and she had a very simple protocol-when Raesinia was present, Sothe met visitors at the door and no other menials were allowed to enter. The cleaning and laundry staff had learned to pounce on the room the moment Raesinia stepped out the door.
This morning, Sothe brought breakfast to her table, as usual, together with a stack of the morning papers. One advantage of being queen was that she could pay attention to current events more openly, without having to play the part of the brainless princess.
There was no news except the Revolution, as the papers were already starting to call it. Several woodcuts of Danton looked up at her, including a rather good profile in the Barker. The Deputies-General, scheduled to open today, had driven everyone into renewed frenzies of excitement. A more or less permanent camp of revolutionaries, centered on the occupied Vendre, was surrounded by a temporary mob whose size varied with the mood of the public. Today, Raesinia read, they occupied most of the Island, leaving only a small clear space around the cathedral in the hands of the Armsmen. The South Bank was boiling, and even the North Bank was starting to rumble, centered on the University and the Dregs.
Not all the news was good. Fresh water was becoming scarce on the Island, in spite of the best efforts of the merchants selling it at ruinous prices, so some of the gathered thousands had been reduced to drinking river water. The result was an epidemic of the bloody flux, which had already laid low hundreds and was claiming several victims a day. One paper even helpfully provided a cartoon, which showed Raesinia herself walking over the bridge to the Island in full regalia only to be met by a tidal wave of oncoming diarrhea.
In addition to disease, the prostitutes and thieves who gathered wherever there was a crowd to fleece were out in force, and with the Armsmen banished there was nothing to restrain their street feuds. Still, it looked to Raesinia as though everyone was behaving remarkably well under the circumstances, and the view of the papers seemed positive. The people believed in the deputies, which was exactly what the deputies needed in order to be effective.
The people also believed in Danton. Several papers reprinted the text of his latest speeches, beside columns calling for him to have some kind of a role in government even before the deputies had met. Or Raesinia should marry him, and make him king, so his wisdom could lead Vordan to a new golden age.
“Look at this nonsense,” Raesinia said, rattling the paper. “He’s telling everyone to stay calm, which is all well and good, but then he goes on and on about the nature of the social compact and the theory of a just monarchy. That’s Maurisk’s writing, obviously.” She turned the paper over and rolled her eyes. “It goes onto the back, in small print. He never did know when to shut up.”
Sothe didn’t comment. Raesinia tossed the paper aside. “You delivered his speech for today?”
It had taken her most of the previous week to write, and Raesinia thought it was a pretty fine piece of work. As the keynote address to the new Deputies- General, coming out in Danton’s glorious golden voice, it would go a long way toward setting the tone.
“I did. The others accepted that it was something you’d written before you. . died.” Sothe was frowning, and Raesinia thought she knew why. She decided it was better to bite the bullet.
“And? Did you see Cora?”
“I saw her.”
“And?”
Sothe sighed. “Pri-my queen. I’ve said before that the farther you stay away from her and the others, the safer everyone will be.”
“That’s why I sent you to look in on her instead of going myself.”
“It’s still an unnecessary risk. I could be recognized, followed.”
“We both know a dozen bloodhounds couldn’t follow you across fresh snow.”
“It’s a possibility,” Sothe insisted. “And I worry that you won’t be content to simply ‘look in’ forever. It’s better that you make a clean break, my queen.”
“I just want to know if Cora is all right,” Raesinia said. “Maurisk and Sarton can take care of themselves, but Cora’s just a girl.”
“She seemed fine,” Sothe said, relenting. “She has taken your ‘death’ hard, but otherwise she appears to be in reasonable spirits. I believe Maurisk has been talking to her about the need to carry on, ‘for Raesinia’s sake.’”
Raesinia clapped her hands. “He’s not completely clueless, then. Sooner or later, I want to find a way to bring Cora in.”
“Much too risky. She’ll recognize you, and then the secret is as good as out.”
“Not if we asked her to keep it. Cora would never betray me.”
“The same as Faro?” There was a long, painful pause. “I’m sorry, my queen. But the stakes are extremely high. Perhaps, in time, I might be able to find a way.”
“Think about it,” Raesinia said. “You’ve seen how talented she is with money. We’re going to need all the coin we can get if we’re not going to continue Orlanko’s policy of mortgaging the kingdom to the Borels.”
Sothe nodded, lips pursed. There was a knock at the door, and she got up to answer it. Raesinia read a few more paragraphs of Danton’s speech, then pushed the papers away in disgust.
I’m going to have to have a talk with Maurisk. Then she remembered that she couldn’t, not now and probably not ever. As far as Maurisk was concerned, Raesinia had fallen from the Vendre’s walls with a bullet in her skull, dragging the traitor Faro to his death. A whole chapter of her life had ended, almost as though she had died. Rationally, she could agree with Sothe that it was probably for the best. Now that her father was dead and she was under greater scrutiny, sneaking out would be too risky; besides, the conspiracy had served its purpose. The will of the people, expressed through the Deputies-General, would give her the means to rid the country of Orlanko. With Janus as an ally on the Cabinet, she might be able to start putting things right.
Orlanko still held his trump card, the threat to expose her as demonically possessed. But the very power of that move would make him afraid to use it. Without being able to install himself as regent and thus as a clear successor to the throne, the result could only be chaos, possibly even another civil war. Raesinia’s reign would have to be short, in any case, since eventually the public and the court would become suspicious of their unaging queen. Unless Janus finds a solution in the Thousand Names. But I can’t count on that. She would have to marry someone she trusted to be the kind of king the country needed, the kind her father would have wanted and that her brother would have been. Then Raesinia could “die” with a clean conscience, and after that-something else. She had never allowed herself to think that far in advance.