Tomorrow's Kingdom (36 page)

After ending the Council meeting and checking on Moira, Persephone spent the rest of the day receiving the legions of Parthanian citizens who were eager to be among the first to pledge themselves to her. Azriel and the other Councillors, meanwhile, rode out into the city to assess the supply situation and to determine all that must be done to protect the city and ready themselves for war.

That evening, a great feast was held in honour of Persephone's return. Since nearly all of the nobility had long since departed the city, and since Persephone did not intend to favour lords and ladies above all others in any event, she commanded that all manner of subjects be invited to the feast. Therefore members of the royal Council, Khan warriors, Gypsies, merchants, farmers, lowborns and even slaves all sat side by side in the Great Hall, enjoying the marvellous and exotic dishes that were presented to Persephone by servants on bended knee, that she might taste and praise them before sending them onward to be shared by all. The atmosphere was undeniably strained as people from different tribes and stations struggled to find common ground. However, this struggle was much eased by the continuous flow of good wine—so much so that by the end of the meal when six kitchen servants carried out the giant confection that had been so cunningly wrought by the royal pastry chefs, the bleary-eyed revellers were as one in their roar of approval. Barka, in particular, was delighted by the edible re-creation of Persephone and her army marching through the city gates, though he later ate so many little almond-paste Khan warriors that he gave himself a bellyache.

After supper, the music and dancing lasted until late into the night. Finally, when half the people in the hall were slumped face first in their platters, and Persephone could hardly keep her eyes open, Azriel leaned over and whispered, “Is it
finally
time to tuck you into bed?”

“N-n-not quite,” replied Persephone, yawning enormously. “There is one last thing I would do this day.”

Persephone stood silent and still at the threshold of the royal chambers.

She was barely aware of Azriel quietly walking around the room lighting candles; instead, she was smiling slightly as she recalled the first time she'd stood at this same threshold. How nervous she'd been to greet Finn as brother for the first time, how she'd curtseyed so low that her legs had given way beneath her. How, instead of taking Finn's hand when he tried to help her up, she'd scrambled to her feet like a slave girl knocked off her milking stool. If she listened closely, she could almost hear the echo of Finn's beautiful laugh … and his terrible cough.

Could she really have known her twin for only a few weeks? She could have sworn that they'd shared a lifetime of memories.

As Azriel continued to light candles and the chamber steadily grew brighter, Persephone's gaze fell upon the desk in the corner. Tiptoeing across the polished floor, she frowned down at the immaculate desktop that should have been strewn with the untidy evidence of Finn's neglected studies. Absently opening one of the drawers, her breath caught at the sight of a worn deck of playing cards and a pathetically small pile of white beans. Reaching into the drawer, Persephone turned over the top card and was somehow not surprised to see a joker. Sliding the drawer closed, she wandered over to the mahogany table at which Finn used to take his meals in private. The golden fruit bowl in the middle of the table was empty and for some reason it made Persephone vaguely uncomfortable to know that the snap of her fingers would see it filled to overflowing with the rarest, most perfect fruit in the kingdom. Setting this thought aside, Persephone next let her gaze drift to the bearskin rug by the fire. Though it briefly called to mind the memory of the mother bear that had tried to eat her on the Mountains of Khan, the more vivid memory was that of her and Finn eating supper on the floor by the fire as they might have done when they were children—and later, playing cards by moonlight for so long that her charmingly disgruntled twin had been left with but a single white bean to his name.

“Oh, Finn,” whispered Persephone, feeling tears well in her eyes.

Azriel came up behind her then but did not touch her. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

When she nodded shakily and started toward the bedchamber door, Azriel did not move to follow. Persephone felt as though her heart might burst with her love for him, this husband of hers who understood her well enough to know when she needed him there and not there, all at the same time.

Upon reaching the bedchamber door, Persephone stood with her forehead pressed against the varnished wood for a long moment, recalling the sights and smells and sounds that had greeted her the last time she'd stepped through it. Then, steeling herself, she abruptly turned the knob and flung open the door.

Persephone held her breath as she waited for Finn's spirit to come to her, to envelop her, to wash over her.

But instead of feeling her twin's palpable presence, as she'd half expected, Persephone felt nothing at all.

The chamber was empty save for the beautifully carved canopy bedstead, the recently re-stuffed mattress, the freshly laundered bed linens and half a dozen tapestries.

Finn was gone.

With a soft sigh, Persephone turned and looked at Azriel, who was watching her from across the room. Wordlessly, he came and held her in his arms for a moment before leading her over to the door of the outer chamber and out into the corridor beyond.

As they approached the end of the corridor, Persephone heard someone running toward them from
the connecting corridor. Before she could jump out of the way—indeed, even before Azriel was able to step in front of her—a figure in green rounded the corner and barrelled into her with such force that she'd have fallen backward if Azriel had not been there to catch her.

Heart thumping madly, Persephone scrambled to find her footing.

“
OH
,
FORGIVE
ME
,
YOUR
MAJESTY
!” cried the little pageboy, his hands thrown up as though to ward off a blow.

“It's … it's all right,” gulped Persephone, smiling weakly to show that she was not angry.

With a darting glance at Azriel—whose face was like thunder—the boy bowed awkwardly and bolted down the corridor as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.

“I don't know what I was
thinking
,” muttered Azriel savagely, his blue eyes blazing. “I should have had guards assigned to you the moment we walked through those bloody gates. By the gods, what if that had been a bloody
assassin
—”

“But it wasn't an assassin, Azriel,” said Persephone, slipping her arms around him. “It was nothing but a boy.”

Azriel looked down at her with something akin to fear but all he said was, “Can I tuck you into bed now, Persephone?
Please
?”

“Yes,” she murmured, going up on tiptoes to brush her lips against his. “
Now
you can tuck me into bed.”

The first thing Persephone did after breaking her fast the next morning was to command the chamberlain to move her and Azriel to the royal chambers.

The second thing she did was pen a letter to several key noblemen, including Lord Bartok, inviting them to attend her coronation two weeks hence and also to join her royal Council.

“You would invite Bartok even though his daughter refused to attend your feast and insists upon continuing to pretend to be with child?” asked Azriel incredulously.

“Lady Aurelia's behaviour is cause for concern and caution,” admitted Persephone as she rubbed her belly, which seemed to have doubled in size overnight. “Yet we cannot say for certain that her father supports or even knows about the charade, and I cannot ignore that he's done everything I asked of him and more. I've only been here a day and already armed men are flocking to the city to pledge their allegiance to me. Lord Bartok bought me time to take control of my capital and swell the ranks of my army, Azriel. It is time to find out why he did so.”

FORTY-FIVE

“M
AKE WAY!”
roared the soldier at the front of the small cavalcade of blue and gold caparisoned horses. “I say, make way and be quick about it, you sorry bastards!”

From high upon his own mount a dozen paces behind the roaring soldier, Lord Bartok looked around him, unable to believe the number of lowborns milling about the streets of Parthania, unable to believe the
stench
of them all. And there had been more of them crowded up against the city walls outside the gates and more still on the road heading into the capital. Of course they'd all come for tomorrow's coronation—or, more specifically, for the free wine and meat that were rumoured to have been promised to one and all.

Lord Bartok pursed his lips. Crowded streets, wasteful promises to nobodies—not to mention cobbling together a ragtag army consisting primarily of the filthy mountain Khan—it was well that the queen had sent for him at last,
for it was clear that she needed the firm hand of a strong man to guide her.

And if the gods were willing, that man would be him.

To be sure, for a time it had seemed as though the gods would
not
be willing. After receiving the queen's initial letter commanding him to begin harassing the cripple's army, Lord Bartok had heard nothing more from her, and as the days of silence had stretched into weeks, he'd begun to question the wisdom of his decision to make a show of loyalty. He'd started to believe that the queen either did not understand or did not care about the respect due him, that he'd therefore never be able to make her see the advantage of selecting him to be her consort and that he'd have to find a different path to the throne, after all.

Then, a little more than a week ago, her second letter had arrived.

Even now, Lord Bartok did not like to admit how relieved he'd been when he'd read it. For although it had made passing mention of the need to discuss Aurelia's “pregnancy”—a potentially awkward matter, to be sure— the queen had lavished him with praise for his success wreaking havoc upon the New Man army. She'd also offered him an honoured role in the upcoming coronation and invited him to join her royal Council. Smiling slightly, Lord Bartok reached up and felt for the ivory king and queen he'd slipped into the pocket of his doublet after reading her words of praise and favour. Nestled together in the darkness, the chess pieces were a constant reminder that if he played the game right, he would bring his family
more land, more riches and, above all, more glory than any Bartok man who'd come before him had done.

Feeling a swell of satisfaction at the thought, Lord Bartok spurred his horse to a canter, giving those in the crowded streets before him the choice of getting out of his way or getting trampled. In short order, he was clattering through the watchtower passageway and into the main courtyard of the imperial palace. Sliding out of his saddle, he tossed the reins to a waiting groom without looking at him or waiting to see if he'd catch them. As he began to stride toward the palace, one of the trusted servants he'd left behind to protect his interests hurried toward him.