“Let me speak plainly, Your Majesty.” Janus put his hands on the table. “I will not take the throne. Not only would it be against every oath I have sworn, as an officer and a nobleman, but I don’t want it.” He gestured down at his uniform. “War is where my talent and interests lie. Once peace returns, I wish to . . . withdraw.”

Raesinia blinked. “Then what are you going to do?”

“What I swore an oath to your father to do. What I told you I would do, before the revolution.” He smiled again, there and gone in an instant. “I am going to win the war and make you the queen your father would have wanted you to be.”

*   *   *

MARCUS

There was a knock at the door. Marcus put down the paper he’d been reading—a rather lurid account of the battle of Jirdos, from one of the newly reopened presses—and pushed himself up a little higher in bed. His thigh throbbed abominably with every movement, and the skin itched under the wool bandages, which was almost worse.

“Yes?” he said.

“I wondered,” came Janus’ voice, “if you might spare a few moments.”

“Oh! Come in, sir.”

The door opened, and the general entered. Marcus was mildly surprised to see that he was in the dress uniform he’d worn to Cabinet meetings before the revolution.

He saluted, as best he could from his seated position, and said, “Sorry that I can’t stand to attention, sir, but—”

Janus waved a hand airily. “Enough of that. How are you feeling?”

“Not quite as bad as I was.” He’d nearly bitten through the gag when the surgeon extracted the metal fragment from his thigh. “Doctor-Professor Haartgen says that if the wound was going to fester, it would have done it by now, so I’ll probably keep the leg. He says I may come out of it with a bit of a limp, but considering the circumstances I’d count myself lucky.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Janus pulled a chair across the room and set it beside the bed, then sat, careful not to tangle his cloak or the decorative sword at his side. They were back at the University, something Marcus couldn’t but find a little disconcerting given what had happened, but Haartgen had insisted that the facilities were superior. He had to admit it was more comfortable than his cot in the converted office building that housed most of the other casualties, although the vast, echoing emptiness of the halls attested to how few of its residents had returned.

“It’s good to see you, sir,” Marcus said.

“Likewise,” Janus said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, but matters have been . . . unsettled, as I’m sure you can imagine. I can’t stay long, I’m afraid.”