That had been the night Ben died, another stupid sacrifice for her sake. Raesinia’s chest went tight for a moment, but she fought back the wave of guilt. “I’ll be careful. And I still have contacts from the old days—”

“No one I trust.” Sothe shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. You’d have no backup if something went wrong.”

Raesinia paused. “Do you trust Janus?”

“For the moment,” Sothe said. “But he’s with the Army of the East, off in the League.”

“Marcus d’Ivoire is here, and Janus trusts him.”

“It’s an idea,” Sothe admitted. “You think he’d agree to help?”

“I don’t think he’ll like it,” Raesinia said. “But I am the queen, and I don’t plan to give him a choice.”

*   *   *

“No,” said Marcus. “Absolutely not. The whole idea is ridiculous.”

They sat in the drawing room at Twin Turrets, the manor house that had served as Janus’ command post during his defense of Vordan City. Most of it had at one point been converted into a barracks for Janus’ personal guard, a company of Mierantai Volunteers, expensive furniture dragged aside and stacked in the halls and polished floorboards scuffed by the passage of many boots. This room still had its original high-backed leather armchairs, set in a half circle in front of the fire, but it was crowded with tables, dressers, and other detritus.

Most of the Mierantai had gone with Janus on his campaign, but a few remained with Marcus. Since Raesinia was proposing to place herself under their protection, she was glad to see that they seemed reassuringly professional, even if they often spoke with a gravelly mountain accent so thick she could hardly understand them. Every man carried a rifle as long as he was tall, and wore a dark red uniform cut to the standard army pattern.

Marcus had received her courteously, but his expression was grim. Raesinia hadn’t spent much time with him since the day he’d fought by her side, escaping from the traitorous Noreldrai Grays. His face was more lined with care than she remembered, and there were hints of gray in his close-cropped beard. He wore crisp army blue, instead of the Armsmen green uniform she remembered, and the silver of a colonel’s eagles sparkled on his shoulders.

Raesinia sat in one of the big chairs, which made her feel tiny. Sothe stood at her right hand, playing the dutiful servant. Marcus knew that Sothe was more than she seemed—he’d seen her cut down a half dozen Grays—but not the full extent of her service. Most important, Janus had told her that Marcus didn’t know about Raesinia’s own secret. That made sense—the fewer people who knew, the better—but it complicated the situation.

“You’ve heard what happened this afternoon?” Raesinia said.

“I had a report,” Marcus said. “I was glad to hear you were safe.”