“We’ll try anyway, Major. That’s our job. Don’t relay your doubts to your men.”

“Of course not, sir. If you’ll excuse me? Your Majesty?”

“One moment,” Michael said, speaking for the first time. “Where’s Colonel Abaca?”

“I haven’t heard anything since he ordered us into barracks.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Passing through the city’s unguarded, deserted, open western gate, Michael told Inger, “That damned Credence wanted this. Guess he figured he wouldn’t leave you much to take over. Damn. He was a good man, too.”

“I never saw much good in him.”

“You looked at him as Marena Dimura, not as a man. Till today he was a perfect soldier. But for Bragi.”

Inger didn’t respond.

“Bragi was the glue that held everything together,” Michael mused. “Even the Estates respected him. His is going to be a hard act to follow.”

“Don’t try to sell me anything, Michael.”

Shouts came from the head of the column. A squadron whooped off after a band of looters. They were rounded up, tied neck to neck, and forced to march alongside. The number of prisoners grew steadily, though Michael insisted the column keep to the quieter parts of town.

“They should be cut down where they’re found,” Inger complained.

“Part of the problem is Credence’s savagery earlier,” Michael countered. “There’s a place for savagery, but not when you’re trying to smooth troubled waters. If we butchered anybody now we’d just get more angry people. You can’t intimidate a mob. It grows faster than you can cut it apart. When you’re dealing with a more limited, planned thing, like the riots a while back, then savagery can have some value.”

He glanced over. Inger wasn’t really listening. Since departing the manor she had retreated ever farther into herself. She was realizing how much had settled onto her shoulders.

There was a mob at the palace gate. Nordmen agitators were trying to get them to break in. The Guard was showing admirable restraint by not firing on them. Inger snapped, “Wait! Let me try first,” as the company commander began dispersing for a charge.

“Your Majesty….”

“They think I’m dead. Seeing me may calm them down.”

Michael nodded. “I was right. You do have courage when it counts. Let her, Captain. Fiana used to do this sort of thing and people loved her for it.” Something touched his cheek coolly. He held out a hand. Sprinkles. He looked at the fire-bellied clouds over the Quarter. They seemed lower and fatter. “It may rain. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Inger looked at him strangely. “I’m scared to death, Michael. I wasn’t born without fear the way you were.”

Michael felt for more raindrops and replied, “That’s courage, Your Majesty. Courage is what makes you go ahead, despite your fear, and do what needs to be done. Ah. Comes the cold wind. Lovely indeed.”