Andreas had drawn his own sword, but for a moment he seemed unsure what to do. Sothe took advantage of the confusion to vault the injured Gray in the foyer door, picking up a dropped sword as she went. A wild slash scattered the two confused guards near the outer door, and then she was through.
“Tell the Last Duke,” she shouted over her shoulder, “that if he wants to catch the Gray Rose, he should send someone who will make a proper job of it!”
Andreas’ lip twisted into a snarl. “I’ll handle her,” he snapped at the nearest Gray. “Kill the damned Armsman, and bring the queen to the Cobweb.” Sothe was running down the corridor, and Andreas sprinted after her, well behind but gaining ground with every stride.
Marcus backed through the doorway, thrusting to drive back the Gray who tried to follow. Raesinia slammed the door in the guard’s face before he could close back in, and shot the bolt, for all the good it would do.
“Sothe will be fine,” she muttered. “I knew she would be fine. She’s-”
“We may want to attend to our own problems,” Marcus said. “We have to get to the gardens.”
“The gardens? Why?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.” He grinned tightly. “Or if not me, then my lord Count Mieran.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Raesinia nodded. “All right. There’ll be men on the path outside, but they may not be expecting us. You go through as soon as I’ve cleared the way.”
“Your Majesty?”
There was a thud from the door. They didn’t have more than a few seconds. Raesinia grabbed a heavy brass candelabra from the corner, hefted it thoughtfully, and looked at the windows. She’d often cursed those windows-if they’d only been proper modern windows, with a sash and a latch, she wouldn’t have had to begin every night by throwing herself off the roof. She’d fantasized about this exact moment, if not under these precise circumstances.
Raesinia pivoted on the ball of her foot and brought the end of the candelabra around in a whistling arc. The delicate repeating pattern of colored glass shattered into thousands of razor-edged shards as the web of lead struts that contained it bent and splayed outward. She was surprised to see that it didn’t give way entirely; a curtain of leadwork hung from the edges of the frame, like torn and tattered lace, with bits of glass still clinging to the edges. She brought the candelabra around again, and the second blow ripped through the soft metal and tore the whole thing away.
Marcus hurled himself through as soon as the frame was clear. It was a short drop to the gravel path outside, and he absorbed the fall with a crouch, then popped to his feet before the musket-armed Gray standing in his way could do more than raise his weapon. Marcus’ saber caught him in the stomach and doubled him over, and a kick sent him sprawling. Raesinia dropped the candelabra and jumped through, her stupid court shoes twisting under her weight as she landed in the gravel. She kicked them off and started running, and Marcus lumbered into motion after her, the medals and ornamentation on his dress uniform clinking gently. Behind them, a shout had gone up, and she could hear gravel crunching under the feet of more Grays as they took up the chase.
The path curved around the back of the palace and cut up toward the edge of the gardens. Continuing on would bring them to the vast lawns that flanked the Ministry buildings, which she assumed was Marcus’ intention. Instead he grabbed her hand as they passed a stone arch, which marked the edge of a set of walled and hedged gardens called the Bower of Queen Anne, planted by one of Raesinia’s illustrious ancestors in honor of his deceased wife. These were a set of narrow walkways, planted round with hedges, connecting several little clearings set with garden furniture and wound through with carefully manicured streams and beds of flowers. There was another arch at the far end, near the main drive, and one more that led directly into the building. But-
“He’ll have men out front for certain,” Raesinia said. “We’ll be trapped in there.” She tugged her hand free of his and pointed out toward the lawn. “That way-”
“The Grays have a cavalry company,” Marcus said. “We can’t risk open fields. You said you would trust me, Your Majesty.”
She grabbed his hand and followed him into the shadows of the walled garden.
Raesinia had not spent much time in the Bower of Queen Anne, but evidently Marcus had, or at least he’d done a thorough job of memorizing the layout. It wasn’t exactly a hedge maze, but it had been designed to let small groups have private garden parties in little out-of-the-way spaces, and the hedged-in paths were always going through unexpected switchbacks and right-angle turns and branching at intersections marked with trellises of climbing roses. The hedges were tall enough to cut off the morning sun, so they ran through shadows except when the path curved to the east and Raesinia had to shade her eyes against sudden brilliance.
Marcus pounded through the first two intersections without even slowing down, and broke out through an archway onto an open section. Raesinia followed, working hard to match the captain’s longer strides. For all his impression of stolidity, Marcus kept up a fair turn of speed once he got going, and it was only the binding’s soothing passes through her overworked legs that let her keep up with him. Something went pop in her ankle-she’d rolled it jumping out the window-but the muscles and tendons reknotted before her foot came down again.
The Grays were not far behind them. A half dozen of them burst into the clearing when she and Marcus were halfway across, dodging through the garden furniture. Four of the guards kept running, but two dropped to their knees and leveled their bayoneted muskets.
“Halt!” one of them shouted, with a heavy Noreldrai accent. “Or we fire!”
“Bluffing,” Raesinia gasped. “No good. To them. Dead.”
Marcus nodded, swerved around an errant chair, and ducked through the arch at the other end of the clearing. Raesinia flinched at a shattering crack of musketry from behind them, but the shots had been aimed well over her head, and she heard the balls zing merrily past. Someone swore in Noreldrai before the curve of the hedgerow cut them off again.
It was hard to keep track of directions, but Marcus seemed to be leading them deeper into the Bower. She’d thought they would try to pass straight through, perhaps commandeer a carriage out on the main drive, but he kept turning back toward the palace. There was another exit there, but it would surely be guarded. In fact, they could go around that way and cut us off-
No sooner had she had the thought than they reached another triangular intersection as a trio of Grays turned up from the opposite direction. The guards were as surprised as Raesinia was, and pulled up short, but Marcus let his momentum carry him into them, narrowly avoiding being skewered on a protruding bayonet. He lowered his shoulder and knocked one Gray off his feet and into the man behind him, then came around with a wild swing of his saber that opened a long cut across the stomach of the third.
“That way!” Marcus gestured with his free hand toward the third branch of the intersection. “Get to the fountain!”
That seemed to be the only available direction, and Raesinia was already headed toward it. The word “fountain” filled her with an unexpected chill, though, and she struggled to remember why. Sparkling lights danced in front of her eyes-the binding was working hard to keep her legs functioning, and had no energy to spare for small matters like a lack of blood to the brain.
The two unwounded Grays disentangled themselves, retreating a bit from Marcus’ furious swings, and were caught off guard when he turned his back on them and ran. Both raised their muskets, trying to get a shot off before he disappeared around a corner, but only one went off-the captain’s bull rush must have knocked the second hard enough to spill the powder from the pan. Raesinia heard the ball zip by and crash noisily into the hedges.