“I’m with you, sir,” he said. As though that was ever in question. He wondered if Janus knew what he was going to say before he said it, whether he asked only for form’s sake. “May I ask one favor, though?”

“Of course,” the general said.

“No more skulking on street corners, please. Just give me a command in the field. A battalion of good men.” Marcus waved his hands, a gesture intended to encompass the whole city around them. “I’ve had enough of this kind of war.”

“I think I can do considerably better than a battalion,” Janus said. “The army will soon enter winter quarters, which will provide a welcome respite and a chance for reorganization. I’ll find you a place deserving of your talents.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Again, it’s the least I can do.”

“Have you had any word of Alek Giforte, or the Preacher?”

“I’m glad to be able to say they’re both well. Captain Giforte took his men deep into the forest and managed to elude the Patriot Guard pursuit, though he asked me to express his regret that he wasn’t able to provide more help. Captain Vahkerson was still awaiting trial for treason when we liberated the Directory prison. Apparently, there was something of a backlog.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir. They were both of considerable assistance.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet, straightening his cloak so it fell neatly around his sword. “Well. I have a ceremony to attend, and you need to rest. I’ll give your regards to the queen. She asks after you often, by the way.”

“Please thank her for me.” Marcus hesitated. “For . . . everything.”

“I will.” Janus turned away, red cloak billowing neatly behind him.

*   *   *

RAESINIA

The Deputies-General had spared no expense. In part, Raesinia guessed, this was to disguise their own impotence. With the Directory dissolved, the Patriot Guard disbanded, and the mob still enthralled by their heroic general, the legislature was helpless to resist Janus’ demands, and they knew it. To reassure themselves of their own importance, they’d gone into a frenzy of pomp and ceremony. Artisans had descended on the Sworn Cathedral, mending, replacing, and polishing, until every inch of woodwork gleamed and every carven saint seemed ready to spring to life.