Tomorrow's Kingdom (28 page)

“The night you were born, the Regent summoned me to the birthing chamber,” he explained. “Thrusting you into my arms, he ordered me to murder you and get rid of your body.” He paused for a long moment before continuing. “As I left the palace, my intention was to do exactly as I'd been ordered. I was a new recruit eager to prove myself and thrilled for the opportunity to do so, you see. As I hurried through the streets of Parthania looking for a likely place to do the job, however, I kept feeling you move in my arms, and I kept hearing you make these little noises—”

“She was crying?” asked Azriel, who had placed himself squarely between Persephone and the New Man who'd supposedly saved her life twice.

“No, not crying,” mused Commander Darius. “Gurgling, more like. Cooing. Like a little dove. I tried to follow my orders, Your Majesty—even pressed my hand over top of your mouth and nose for a few seconds—but, in the end, I just couldn't do it. So when I saw a heavily loaded wagon passing by on its way to the city gates, I set you in the back of it and disappeared into the night.”

By the way Azriel was glaring at Commander Darius, Persephone could tell that he wasn't especially impressed with the man for only having smothered her for a few seconds before dumping her.

Squeezing her husband's hand to remind him that she had, in fact, survived the ordeal, Persephone said, “Commander Darius, there was a servant who saw you come for me that night. She said you had mismatched eyes.”

“And so I had,” he replied with a faint smile. “As it happens, I was set upon within hours of spiriting you from the palace. I later realized that His Grace must have chosen me for the task because I was an easily forgotten new recruit and that he must have ordered me killed to prevent me from speaking of what I'd done. In addition to having my nose badly broken and my face slashed, I lost my other eye—the brown one—in the beating. Though left for dead, I obviously survived. By the time I'd recovered, months had gone by, and I looked so different that I was able to change my name and once more join the Regent's army.”

With a derisive snort, Azriel said, “Why would you rejoin the army of the man who'd ordered you killed?”

“Soldiering was the only thing I was good at,” replied Commander Darius. “And it is a lucky thing for you that it was, for if it had worked out any other way, I would not be standing here now—and neither would you. You would be lying on the floor bleeding to death from the place where your scalp used to be and your wife would be on her way back to His Grace Mordecai.”

Azriel's eyes flashed dangerously at this, but before he could say anything, Persephone said, “It is a lucky thing, indeed, Commander Darius. I only wonder—what will you tell Lord Pembleton's daughter-in-law? She is expecting the outcome you have just described. In fact, she is counting on it.”

“I will not tell her anything,” replied Commander Darius. “After you are gone from here, I will place her under house arrest.”

“On what charge?” asked Azriel, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll think of something,” said Commander Darius with a shrug.

“For how long will you keep her under arrest?” asked Persephone, who couldn't help feeling a pang of compassion for the broken woman who would have seen her and Azriel dead.

“For as long as is necessary,” replied Commander Darius. “The realm is in an uproar, Your Majesty. His Grace has ordered the bulk of his army to the training camp north of Syon, your brother's widow is said to be pregnant, and her noble father is fast gathering an army at his country estate.”

“I don't suppose Lord Bartok is gathering an army for the purpose of helping to set me upon the throne?” said Persephone, shuddering as she considered what might have happened to her if she'd called out to Lord Atticus that night in the black stone castle.

“No,” said Commander Darius. “I don't suppose he is.”

THIRTY-FIVE

O
WING TO AZRIEL'S
grievous head injury, the journey back to the bandit camp took much longer than the journey to Pembleton Estate had done.

A few days after Persephone and Azriel's not-sotriumphant return, Big Ben returned from his journey to the Valley of Gorg. The Gorgishman Miter was trotting along at his heels—twirling his slingshot, loudly complaining that they'd walked almost the entire way and asking if all dwarves were too feeble to run or was it just this one?

Persephone immediately left off meeting with her Council to go over and perform the traditional greeting of the Gorgish.

“Greetings, illustrious one,” she intoned as she folded her arms across her chest and bowed deeply.

“Miter is here to take back the ring you stole, female,” replied the Gorgishman without preamble. “And also to inform you that you and your little war are to stay away from the Valley of Gorg unless you long for a hideous
death. And also to accept a seat on your royal Council, which would otherwise be woefully incomplete—a sacrifice for which Miter assumes he will be exceptionally well compensated.”

For the sake of her unborn son, whom she hoped would someday rule over a united realm, instead of telling Miter to shove off, Persephone said, “You are welcome to sit on my Council, Miter, but I'll not compensate you for doing so, nor will I give you back the ring you lost when you tried to kill me and my husband.”

“
YOU
MUST
DO
THESE
THINGS
!” Miter shrieked, flapping his pygmy arms.

“I'm not going to,” said Persephone, pressing her hand against her belly to calm the baby, who apparently didn't like the sound of Miter's voice any more than she did. “Especially since I see that you did not bring any warriors with you.”

“When the dwarf told Miter of your ridiculous request, Miter laughed and laughed,” replied the Gorgishman. “Miter understands a great deal about the ways of war, you see. Miter knows that no warrior worth his salt would ever follow a pregnant female into battle. That is why Miter did not even consider ordering any of his own magnificent warriors to do so.”

“Thank the gods for small mercies,” muttered Azriel, rolling his eyes.

“
YOU
WILL
NOT
BE
THANKING
THE
GODS
WHEN
YOU
AND
YOUR
STINKING
TRIBESMEN
ARE
ON
THE
BRINK
OF
ANNIHILATION
!” screeched Miter, shaking his little yellow fists in a sudden rage. “You will be begging Miter to come to your rescue, and Miter will do nothing but laugh!
AH
-
HA
-
HA
-
HA
!
A
-
HA
-
HA
-
HA
… !”

As Miter continued to demonstrate how he intended to behave in a crisis situation, Persephone decided that, upon reflection, perhaps the fact that Miter had not brought with him any of his “magnificent warriors” was not such a terrible thing, after all.

Not long after the arrival of Big Ben and Miter, Persephone was in the Council tent getting a feel for the gleaming suit of armour that the camp blacksmith had fashioned for her when she heard Rachel scream and then scream again.

Heart in her throat, Persephone turned so fast that the metal strips of her armour skirt clacked together. Forgetting that she had a newly sharpened sword in the jewelled scabbard at her waist, she unsheathed her dagger and began to run—dodging children and dogs, shouting for adults to move and elbowing them aside if they didn't move fast enough.

“Rachel!” she shouted as she tried to shove her way through the small crowd that had gathered around the place from which the screams had come. “
Rachel
!”

Breaking through the crowd unexpectedly, Persephone stumbled forward and very nearly buried her dagger into Zdeno's kidney—a mortal wound he probably wouldn't have noticed, given the way that Rachel was kissing him.

Sabian—who was standing nearby with Mateo and Raphael—looked up at Persephone with wide eyes, cupped one pudgy hand around his rosebud mouth and whispered, “They're
kithing
.”

“I can see that,” said Persephone as she sheathed her dagger.

At the sound of Persephone's voice, Rachel broke off kissing Zdeno and looked over at her. “Zdeno's returned!” she announced joyfully.

“I can see that too,” said Persephone, smiling in spite of feeling her spirits sink upon seeing that Zdeno was not accompanied by even
one
Marinese warrior, let alone an army of them.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” said Zdeno, bowing his head toward her without letting go of Rachel. “Apologies for my late return. The journey was … eventful.”

“Anything I should know about?” asked Persephone, eyeing several half-healed wounds, any one of which looked as though it probably could have killed him.

Zdeno shook his head. “But you should know that the Marinese aren't coming, Your Majesty—for the time being, they're not even sending an ambassador,” he said soberly. “The Elder named Roark said that I should tell you that as a daughter of the tribe you shall ever have a place among them but that he does not believe Mordecai would attack a reclusive island people who have ever shown themselves willing to yield to the demands of the more powerful. He also said that it is not the Marinese way to get involved in matters that have nothing to do with them.”

“Nothing to do with them!” exclaimed Persephone. “But defeating Mordecai has everything to do with
everybody
!”

“That is exactly what I told Roark,” said Zdeno, seeming pleased that she agreed with his way of thinking. Reaching into the pocket of his homespun breeches, he withdrew the silver necklace Persephone had given him to convince Roark that he was her messenger. Handing it to her, Zdeno said, “Nothing I said would budge the Marinese Elder from his position, Your Majesty. I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Zdeno,” said Persephone, so quietly that only he and Rachel could hear. “We'll just have to hope that the Khan see things differently than the other two tribes, for without an army, I dare not journey to the imperial capital to be crowned— and if I am not crowned soon, I fear it will be too late.”

That evening, Persephone informed her Council that the time had come to take the risk of contacting Lord Bartok to find out exactly why he was gathering an army.

“We know why,” spat Robert, who disliked noblemen almost as much as he disliked New Men. “His daughter is pregnant by your dead brother, and Bartok means to set this royal grandchild upon the throne.”

“The problem with that theory is that Lady Aurelia isn't pregnant,” reminded Azriel. “As Persephone has already told us, one of the last things Finn said before he died was that he'd ever been too sick and too weak to perform the act.”