The great and powerful were streaming back into the capital now that the fighting was done, eager to get back to the business of suckling at the national teat. Carriages were lined up four deep in the square outside the Cathedral, and soldiers of the Army of the East formed a human fence that kept the mobs at bay. The royal procession, however, was waved past the lines of those waiting to disembark, and the driver brought the coach to a halt in front of the main doors, in a space kept empty by a pair of women in blue uniforms. A female captain waited between them while another young ranker fetched a set of cushioned steps to enable Raesinia to get down without jumping.

“Your Majesty,” the captain said, saluting.

“Captain,” Raesinia said.

“May I say how honored I am that you requested the services of our battalion as your escort?”

“It seems only fitting,” Raesinia said. “Is Colonel Ihernglass here?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty,” the captain said, frowning for a moment. “The colonel is . . . resting.”

“Understandable. May I ask your name, then?”

“Captain Abigail Giforte, Your Majesty.” She saluted again, then extended a hand. “If you’ll follow me?”

The two rankers fell into step behind them as they went inside. More soldiers had cordoned off a path, but beyond them, the cream of Vordanai society had gathered to gawk at their young queen. Raesinia found herself falling back into her old habits, walking with neatly upright posture and eyes carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze, as her old tutors had taught her. Give them a chance to stare. That’s what you’re here for. Don’t send any signals that you don’t mean to send. It had been drilled into her until it was unconscious instinct.

“You serve under Colonel Ihernglass, then?” Raesinia said as they walked at a dignified pace down the long hallway.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I command the Girls’ Own—that is, the First Battalion of the Third Regiment of the Line.”

“I owe your men—your soldiers, I mean—a great deal.”

The captain dipped her head. “They’ll be honored to hear it, Your Majesty.”

The great arch was before them, and beyond it the main hall. The last time Raesinia had been here, it was a wreck, but the Deputies-General had refurbished its meeting place and left very little trace of its original sacred purpose. Two long, tiered benches lining the walls provided seats for the actual deputies, while a visitors’ gallery occupied the space where the altar and pulpit had once stood. Between them was the speaker’s rostrum, a polished wooden podium set atop a marble plinth with room for five or six people to stand. Sothe was already there, along with four more women soldiers. Raesinia’s head of household curtsied as she approached, and whispered in Raesinia’s ear as she passed.