Tomorrow's Kingdom (33 page)

When Azriel judged that they were a day outside Parthania, he sent heralds ahead to proclaim the news that Persephone was coming. Around mid-afternoon, she and Rachel traded outfits and places, and shortly after sunset they crested a hill and saw the great walls of Parthania looming in the distance.

Silhouetted against a sky streaked orange and red with the last light of the dying day, the walls seemed to stretch from one horizon to the other and all the way up to the heavens.

It was still the most awesome sight Persephone had ever seen. Unlike that first time she'd seen it all those months ago, however, this time she did not gape like an ignorant slave girl on her first trip to the imperial capital.

This time she gazed upon it like a queen returning home.

Turning to Azriel—who was staring at her as though
she
was the most awesome sight he had ever seen— Persephone took a deep breath, straightened her silver crown and said, “Ready, my love?”

“For anything,” he said with a flicker of a smile.

FORTY-ONE

G
ENERAL MURDOCK
slipped into the tent where Mordecai was supping with Lord Atticus. Affecting not to notice his henchman, Mordecai selected a meaty bone from the nearest platter and tore into it. In the two weeks since Murdock's unexpected arrival, Mordecai's feelings toward the man had not thawed. Indeed, they'd grown considerably icier, for while Murdock's presence had unquestionably freed Mordecai from the day-to-day tedium of running the army, it had also served to call attention to the ineptitude with which Mordecai had performed that same function. That is because Murdock had been able to quickly and efficiently address every single issue that had plagued Mordecai from the outset. After slow-roasting the training camp commander over an open fire, Murdock had established an adequate supply train, begun a brilliant campaign of retaliation against Bartok, slowed the desertion rate and generally re-established order among the troops. In short, he'd done everything in his power to prove himself a loyal, competent and hard-working servant.

Mordecai despised him for it.

After noisily sucking every last bit of marrow out of the bone and tossing it aside, Mordecai deliberately wiped his greasy fingers on the clean white tablecloth and took a long draught of wine. Then and only then did he cast a brooding look at his general and say, “Well? What is so important that it could not wait until after supper,
Murdock
?”

Not seeming the least perturbed, General Murdock— who'd long since found new clothes and regained much of the weight he'd lost during his imprisonment—stepped forward. “Your Grace,” he said, “I've just received word that Queen Persephone was spotted two days' march from the imperial capital. At the rate she was travelling, she could be at the city gates even as we speak.”

Without thinking, Mordecai put his hand over his heart. “And?” he asked breathlessly, half rising out of his cushioned chair.

“And she could not be recaptured because she and the Gypsy were riding at the head of several thousand Khan warriors,” said Murdock.

At these words, Mordecai's mouth dropped open and he fell back into his chair so abruptly that he jarred his twisted back.

Lord Atticus looked incredulous. “Do you mean to say that there are thousands of armed barbarians traipsing around the realm, and you only just found out about it
now
?” he jeered. Jabbing his dagger into a large piece of juicy rare beef, the young nobleman shoved the meat into his mouth and said, “What kind of a general are you?”

General Murdock said nothing.

As he watched his repulsive henchman's beady-eyed gaze drift from the grease-stained tablecloth to the juice dribbling down Lord Atticus's weak chin, Mordecai's mind whirled. He was furious that the queen and the cockroach had managed to find each other again, but he was deeply gratified to learn that he'd been right to suspect the tribes of uniting behind the meddling whore. If only he'd not believed that crushing Bartok was a more pressing priority than slaughtering the tribes! As a result of this miscalculation, it now seemed that there were
two
armies he needed to defeat to clear a path to the throne. And if the entwined crests on the armbands of Bartok's soldiers were any indication, the two were in league together!

Since the queen's army was nothing but a ragtag collection of savages, Mordecai did not think this development would be enough to tip the odds out of his favour, but it would
certainly
change the game.

“Your Grace, may I suggest that you march upon the imperial capital at once?” said General Murdock.

“March upon the imperial capital?” spluttered Mordecai. “Don't be stupid, Murdock! They'd slam shut the gates the very instant they saw us coming!”

“Precisely,” said General Murdock, reaching up to scratch his long nose. “And after they'd done so, your army would lay siege to the city. Nothing and no one would get in or out. Starvation or surrender would be their only options.”

Annoyed though he was for having failed to think this through for himself, Mordecai could not help being captivated by the image of the broken, defeated, emptybellied, widowed queen staggering toward him—her gown hanging from her wasted frame, her violet eyes huge above her gaunt cheeks. Swaying on her feet before falling to her knees and whispering to him that she'd do
anything
…

Lord Atticus belched richly, shattering the image. “A siege sounds like a bore and it wouldn't work, anyway,” he announced as he poured himself another goblet of wine. “In case you've forgotten,
Murdock
, Parthania is a coastal city.”

“With respect, my lord, I have not forgotten,” said General Murdock politely as his gaze once again drifted to the nobleman's juicy chin. “I've already sent an order to His Grace's fleet to stand ready to burn any ship that tries to leave or enter either the Parthanian common harbour or the royal one. The inhabitants of the city shall have no supplies delivered by sea. It is a good plan.”

You mean it is
your
good plan
, thought Mordecai, glowering at him.

“Your Grace?” said Murdock after a moment's silence. “Shall I give the order to turn south and defeat the queen before she has a chance to add to her forces?”

“No,” snapped Mordecai, straightening his uneven shoulders as best he could. “For there is something you
have
forgotten, Murdock, and that is that there just happens to be another enemy army out there—a far bigger, betterequipped, better-trained army. Would you have us lay siege to Parthania only to have Bartok march on us from the north? In the unlikely event that the cursed barbarians were allowed through the gates upon their arrival at the
city, how long do you think they'd stay behind them once they saw our rear flank being attacked?”

Lord Atticus's eyes widened in terror at the thought.

“Your Grace, if Lord Bartok had wanted to engage us in a true battle he'd have ridden out against us in full force weeks ago instead of persisting with his campaign of petty harassment,” said General Murdock, so patiently that Mordecai wanted to hit him. “I think there must be some reason he has not done so and—”

“And I think you are wrong,” said Mordecai, who was suddenly sure that it was so. “That is why we are going to follow
my
plan, Murdock. We are going to defeat Lord Bartok—”

“A difficult thing to accomplish when he refuses to order his men to stand and fight and does not seem to care how many noble manors we burn and pillage in retaliation for his attacks,” pointed out Murdock.

“I am not interested in your excuses, Murdock,” hissed Mordecai.

“Neither am I, Murdock!” brayed Lord Atticus. “Just see your bloody job done so that I can become the new Lord Bartok—a Lord Bartok who can actually be depended upon to keep his word,” he added pompously as he puffed out his flabby chest and raised his goblet to Mordecai.

Mordecai raised his own goblet in reply even though he intended to dispose of the useless drunkard long before the game was over. “Only after we have defeated the current Lord Bartok will we proceed onward to Parthania to deal with the queen, the cockroach and the barbarian horde,” he said. “Do you understand, Murdock?”

The General hesitated for only an instant before nodding.

“Good,” said Mordecai, who was already regretting his decision.

Not because he believed it unwise but because now that he knew the whereabouts of the queen, the urge to hunt her down and tend to the unfinished business between the two of them was almost more than he could bear.

FORTY-TWO

I
T WAS WELL PAST DUSK
by the time Persephone, Azriel and the others reined up before the great gates of Parthania. Though the flickering light of a dozen torches illuminated the freshly swept roadway before the open outer gates, and though Persephone could see throngs of people in the street just inside the walls, the heavy wrought-iron inner gate had been lowered.

“I warned you that something like this might happen,” murmured Cairn, who was riding beside Robert, just behind Persephone and Azriel.

Persephone did not reply or look around. She did not even look at Azriel, for she did not want her subjects inside the city walls to think that she was looking to him to tell her what to do. Instead, she locked eyes with the enormously fat lord who was leaning heavily against the gate and, without taking her eyes off his, she slid down out of the saddle. Azriel immediately dismounted and started toward her but she stopped him with a raised hand, hoping he'd understand how important it was for her to stand alone at this moment—or at least, alone except for Cur and Silver, who'd padded forward to stand one on either side of her.

Tossing Fleet's reins to Azriel to keep the jealous horse from charging after her, Persephone took a deep breath. Then, with her head held high, her belly sucked in and a trickle of sweat snaking down her back, she walked forward—not with the graceful, mincing steps of a noblewoman but with the long, practical strides best suited to slave girls and warrior queens.

She stopped three paces from the closed gate. For a long moment, she said nothing, only let her gaze drift past the fat lord to the moonlit faces of those in the jostling crowd behind him. At length, she lifted her hands in a simple gesture of greeting and said, “People of Parthania, it is good to be home.”

Her words were met with an uncertain cheer.

“Welcome, my queen,” rumbled the fat lord. “I am Lord Belmont, keeper of the keys to the city.”

“Finding the gate of my imperial capital shut against me and my army is not much of a welcome, Lord Belmont,” said Persephone, loud enough to be heard by all.

“The gate is not shut against
you
, Your Majesty,” said Lord Belmont.

Persephone made a great show of examining the gate before leaning toward Lord Belmont and solemnly saying, “Forgive me, my lord, but I could almost swear that the gate
is
shut against me.”

A burble of nervous laughter went up from the crowd.

Lord Belmont tugged at the collar of his doublet.
“When I heard that you were being followed by a barbarian horde I took … precautions,” he explained.

Persephone deliberately looked over one shoulder, then over the other. Then she turned back to Lord Belmont and, in a puzzled voice, said, “I see no barbarian horde, my lord. I see the warriors who heeded my call to arms before all others. I see men and women who've suffered much and are willing to suffer more in order to defeat the despicable traitor Mordecai. I see a people who wish me to take the Erok throne as my brother, the king, ever intended. You did well to take precautions, Lord Belmont, but as you can plainly see they were unnecessary, for I assume that your wishes and the wishes of the mighty Khan are as one?”

“Of
course
, Your Majesty—” spluttered Lord Belmont.

“Excellent,” said Persephone, so calmly that she was quite sure no one would have guessed how her knees were trembling at the chance she was about to take. “Then I command you to open the gates at once, for I would have you and the good people of Parthania give proper welcome to me
and
my brave and loyal companions.”