Raesinia was able to take this last rumor in stride. It might come to that, in the end. If Janus demanded the throne, with an army at his back, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to refuse. Worse, she wasn’t sure if she should. She’d started the revolution to take power away from Orlanko and give it to the people. So many had died—her friends had died—to keep Vordan free of tyranny. And then, as soon as war threatened, the elected representatives of the people had happily handed it all back to someone like Maurisk. Maybe Vordan would be better off with Janus in charge. Whatever his faults, no one had ever accused him of being incompetent.

There were public executions every day now in Farus’ Triumph, enough to strain even the Spike, and they drew huge, jeering crowds. There was no longer a pretense that the accused were spies for the enemy; now they were simply traitors, heard expressing approval of Janus, criticizing the government, or simply turned in by overzealous or vengeful neighbors.

She, Marcus, and Feor had returned to Mrs. Felda’s church after their escape from the Penitent Damned, and spent the next few days with their heads down, expecting another attack. Feor had been practically comatose, exhausted and feverish, and Mrs. Felda had taken on the task of nursing her back to health. Marcus, at Raesinia’s prompting, had explained what he knew of the Steel Ghost from his time in Khandar, which didn’t help all that much.

When it became clear that black-masked giants were not going to break down the doors of the church, it left them with the question of what to do next. They’d been in the midst of an endless, circular argument with far too many unknowns when the news of Janus’ march arrived.

*   *   *

“Marcus isn’t going to like this,” Andy said.

“Marcus wasn’t the queen of this particular country, last time I checked,” Raesinia said. She and Andy looked at each other, and Andy was clearly stifling a laugh. “Besides, he’s got his hands full. Someone has to think about these people.”

Mrs. Felda’s church was filling up. Some of the foreigners, mostly Hamveltai, had been sent home with the supply convoys, but lately their places had been taken by Vordanai. People from the Docks or Newtown who’d been forced from their homes by seedie “taxes,” or fled ahead of accusations of treason. It was all Mrs. Felda and her volunteers could do to feed them all and find them beds, and sooner or later word would get out to the Patriot Guard or the seedies about the church. Just having a building full of Borelgai women and children would be enough to send Mrs. Felda, her family, and everyone who worked with them to the Spike.