Tomorrow's Kingdom (24 page)

T
HE INSTANT CAIRN'S KNEE
touched the forest floor Persephone's own knees began to tremble, for it was one thing to carry around the idea that she'd fight for her throne at some point down the road and quite another to find herself standing alone in a sea of kneeling men, women and children who'd just pledged to serve her even unto death.

“Um, rise,” she called to her subjects, wishing she sounded more like a queen and less like a girl.

At once, the forest was buzzing with the sounds of people scrambling to their feet, chattering and laughing. Unsettled by the sudden commotion, Fleet whinnied shrilly and cantered off across the camp (no doubt in search of unguarded tubers intended for the stewpot), the Gypsy dogs began to bark again, and Cur and Silver—the half-wolf Gypsy dog who'd been Cur's mate for months now—lifted their muzzles to the sky and howled.

Without taking his eyes off Persephone, Azriel rose with the liquid grace of a cat and slid his sword back into
his scabbard. She could tell from his expression that he knew what she needed at that moment. Unfortunately, before he could draw her into the sheltering strength of his arms and whisper assurances that she was strong and clever enough to walk the path that lay before her, Robert strode forward, planted himself in front of her and shouted, “So! What's the plan, Your Majesty?”

For the second time that day, everyone stopped talking mid-sentence so they could hear her answer.

Luckily, although Persephone didn't have anything
remotely
resembling a plan, she knew what the first step must be.

“To begin with, we must warn the tribes that Mordecai is planning to have them all put to the sword,” she said.

“What?”
exclaimed Fayla, who'd spent weeks living with the Khan after poor Tiny's legs had been broken.

“It's true,” said Persephone grimly. “Mordecai thinks it suspicious that none of the tribes tried to kill us during the quest for the Pool of Genezing—”

“The Khan released an avalanche down upon our heads,” reminded Rachel in a voice that suggested this was a point in the Khan's favour.

“Yes, but—”

“And that little pissant Miter
definitely
tried to kill us,” said Azriel with a scowl.

“Perhaps,” said Persephone, shivering as she recalled the night the Gorgishman attempted to seal them into the corpse-strewn mine shaft. “But Miter did not
succeed
in killing us and neither did the Khan or the Marinese, and now Mordecai is so fearful that they'll unite behind me against him that he is going to send his army to slaughter them all.”

Since most of the people in the clearing had never even laid eyes on a member of another tribe, few appeared to feel more than a detached sense of dismay at the prospect.

But only Cairn saw it as an opportunity.

“With the New Man army occupied elsewhere in the kingdom,” she observed, “your fight for the throne would be an easier one by far.”

Persephone stared at the Gypsy woman in revulsion for a long moment before coldly saying, “You would have me take advantage of the massacres, then?”

“I would have you always consider all of your options,” replied Cairn evenly. “I would have you rule with your head and not your heart. I would have you understand that to lead is to never have the luxury of losing sight of the ultimate objective and to ever suffer some thinking you hard and callous and even cruel. I would have you understand that war is
always
death and that as queen, the question you will
ever
face is not what you can do to save everyone but who and how many shall die by your command that others of your choosing may be saved.”

By the time Cairn had finished speaking, Persephone felt almost contrite. While she still could not say that she liked Cairn, she realized that she'd judged her without giving a single thought to the brutally hard choices she'd ever had to make.

Choices that Persephone, herself, would soon have to make.

“Your Majesty?” said Zdeno, blushing as though
embarrassed to find himself speaking. “While you might have an easier time
taking
your throne if the New Man army is occupied elsewhere, without an army of your own, I fear you will have an extremely difficult time
keeping
your throne.”

“Problem is, you can't just march out of the forest and start knocking on cottage doors,” said Robert. “Mordecai would hear of it by the time you'd gotten through the first village and would have you in chains long before you reached the second. Moreover, even if the common people support your claim to the throne—and we cannot say for certain that they do—we
can
say for certain that they'll not risk following you unless it appears that you've a decent chance of defeating Mordecai, for any who throw their lot in with you are doomed if Mordecai should prevail.”

“So she can't raise an army until she
has
an army?” asked Rachel in dismay.

Robert shrugged as though this was obvious, then turned to Persephone with an expectant look on his face. As she stared back at him, she suddenly recalled Finn describing how he'd felt the first time he'd stood alone on the Grand Balcony as a young boy king—how his neck had felt as though it would surely snap beneath the weight of the golden crown upon his head.

Persephone was not even
wearing
the thing yet and already she could feel herself trembling beneath its weight.

Fortunately, before she had to admit that she hadn't the first
clue
how she was going to solve the rather monumental problem of needing an army before she could raise one, Azriel matter-of-factly said, “The issue raised by Robert is precisely why the queen intends not only to warn the other three tribes of the danger they face but also to ask them to stand with us against Mordecai.”

Persephone's heart began to pound—not only because Azriel's idea was a brilliant one but also because as she'd listened to him speak she'd suddenly realized what the second step in her plan must be. Not wanting to make a general announcement until she'd worked out the details and broken the news to Azriel, however, she said nothing, only listened to the murmurs of surprise and apprehension that had greeted his words.

“My prince,” protested Robert, “even if the tribes send every one of their warriors to swell our ranks, we will yet be far too few to win a battle against the New Men—much less a war.”

“True,” agreed Azriel, grimacing slightly at the word
prince
. “But we may be enough to protect the queen until she can journey to the imperial capital to be crowned and anointed—and for long enough thereafter to convince the common people to throw their lot in with her.”

“And if we cannot convince them to do so?” asked Fayla in a voice hardened by grief for Tiny.

“I will convince them to do so,” said Persephone, whose mind was yet spinning with thoughts of her next step. “I will convince
everyone
to do so.”

It was too late to send anyone to seek out the tribes that night, so they spent a companionable evening sitting around the campfires that dotted the clearing—eating hare stew and dark bread, drinking surprisingly fine wine and recounting all that had happened since they'd last seen each other. Persephone could not believe the stroke of fortune that had seen the bandits track the soldiers through the forest to the Gypsy camp just in time to prevent a massacre; Robert could not believe how much Persephone could eat now that she was pregnant.

Later, as she lay in bed with Azriel's arm encircling her and her cheek resting on his bare chest, Persephone told him about the second step in her plan. His objections were numerous and fiercely stated, but she addressed each of them in turn until, at length, he rather abjectly agreed that it must be done.

“Just remember that you and the baby are the only family I've got,” he said as he languidly stroked her back. “Remember that I could not bear to lose either of you.”

Wishing she could promise him that he'd not lose either of them but knowing that the risks of childbirth alone were such that she could not, Persephone settled for saying the truest and most honest thing she could think to say.

“We could not bear to lose you either, Azriel,” she whispered. “So if you will promise to have a care what risks you take in the weeks and months ahead, I will promise to do the same.”

“Agreed,” said Azriel softly, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

Early the next morning, Persephone bade Cairn, Robert, Rachel and the three messengers that she and Azriel had settled upon to join her and Azriel at one of the breakfast fires.

After they'd all taken a seat on one of the four overturned tree trunks that ringed the fire, Persephone turned to Fayla and said, “I would ask you to carry my message of warning and request for warriors to the Khan Barka. Remind him that the last time I saw him he pledged the everlasting friendship of his people and all that implies.”

The beautiful Gypsy nodded without speaking.

Resisting the urge to warn the unhappy girl to beware of the ravenous appetite of the mother goddess of the mountains, Persephone next turned to Zdeno. “I want you to seek out the Marinese on the Island of Ru,” she said. “And before you ask, Rachel, I'm sorry but you cannot accompany him. He'll be able to travel at least twice as fast if he's on his own. Besides, the journey would require you to risk another channel crossing disguised as a man, and I can tell you from painful personal experience that sailors do not react well
at all
when they discover a woman aboard their ship.”

“I understand,” said Rachel tremulously, clinging to Zdeno as though she did not mean to let him leave her no matter how agreeable she might appear.

Smiling slightly, Zdeno said, “I will certainly do as you ask, Your Majesty. However, I fear that my word alone may not be enough to convince the Marinese of anything.”

“I fear you are right,” said Persephone. Unclasping the
silver necklace that Finn had given her for their birthday, she handed it to Zdeno and said, “Show the Marinese named Roark this necklace. He will recognize it as mine and will thus know you for my messenger.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured Zdeno as he tucked the chain into the pocket of his homespun breeches.

Lastly, Persephone turned to Big Ben. He was sitting at the far end of the tree trunk on which she and Azriel were sitting, busily trimming his fingernails with a dagger and ignoring them all.

“Big Ben?” said Persephone.

“What?” grunted the dwarf without looking over at her.

“I'd like you to carry my message to the Gorgish leader, Miter,” said Persephone.

Crumpling his slightly caved-in face in a manner that suggested he considered this request the very height of foolishness, Big Ben said, “Why me?”

“You are rude, disrespectful and unpleasant to be around,” said Persephone bluntly. “In short, you're much like Miter himself, so I'm hoping he'll get on better with you than he would with someone who was actually civilized. Moreover, my husband is one of the finest, fastest, fiercest fighters I have ever known, and I once saw you truss him up faster than a three-legged calf. You'll need that kind of skill in the Valley of Gorg, for the Gorgish are a nasty lot and no mistake.” Pausing to tug the ruby ring off her finger, she held it up and said, “I gave this ring to Miter when I first met him; it slipped from his finger the night he abandoned Azriel and me in the Mines of Torodania.
Show it to him to prove to him that you speak on my behalf—but do not give it to him. He'll receive no further gifts from me until he shows himself friend and ally.”

With a shrug and another grunt, Big Ben jumped to his feet, waddled over and practically shoved Azriel backward off the overturned tree trunk that he might more easily snatch the ring from Persephone. Affecting not to notice the prince consort's huffs of indignation (which were nearly as loud as the ones he'd emitted when his beloved wife had compared him to a three-legged calf), Big Ben jammed the ring onto his pudgy pinkie and waddled back to his spot.