Tomorrow's Kingdom (38 page)

“Tomorrow morning, you shall give out exactly that,” said Lord Bartok.

“What?”
cried his daughter in dismay. “But if I do that, people will expect me to stay abed resting, and I will miss the coronation and the feast that will follow! And I thought you had plans to get me an infant that I could pass off as—”

“I have new plans for you, Aurelia,” interrupted Lord Bartok. “Plans that require you to put aside the padding of your false pregnancy and to remind yourself that it is ever your duty to obey me without questioning.”

Lord Bartok saw the sudden alarm in his daughter's eyes but did not try to comfort her by elaborating. Mostly this was because he felt no need to do so, but partly it was because he knew that telling her of his new plans for her would have offered her no comfort at all.

In fact, they would almost certainly have caused her to scream with such horror that the gods themselves would have shuddered.

FORTY-SIX

“
O
H, YOU LOOK
beautiful
, Your Majesty,” breathed little Meeta as she ran the brush through Persephone's glossy dark hair for the final time before stepping back.

It had been Rachel's idea that Persephone leave her hair down for the coronation. In her practical way, Rachel had pointed out to Persephone that she might have trouble trying to jam the heavy ceremonial crown down on top of an elaborate updo.

As she stared at herself in the looking glass, now, Persephone was glad she'd taken Rachel's advice for it made her feel more like herself. Indeed, if she ignored the diamond rings that twinkled upon her fingers, the cloth-of-silver gown that shimmered like liquid sunlight and the snowy ermine cloak that so cunningly hid the swell of her belly, she could almost have believed that she was back on the owner's farm preparing to milk the cows.

She could almost have believed it … but not quite.

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” asked Martha hesitantly, as though she wasn't sure she should be asking.

“Like I'm going to throw up,” said Persephone at once.

As Meeta covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a giggle, Martha said, “There is no need to feel nervous, Your Majesty. This is a great day for you
and
the kingdom.”

Persephone nodded as she nervously listened to the cheers of the crowds that waited for her on the other side of the palace walls. They'd been lining the procession route since long before dawn—indeed, she'd awoken to the sound of them calling her name.

“They love you already,” Azriel had murmured drowsily as he'd tucked his arm around her.

Persephone had trembled at his touch
and
his words. She'd hoped that her subjects would answer her call to arms, and each day for the last fortnight they'd arrived by the hundreds. Yet as she'd lain there in the predawn gloom, feeling the heat of Azriel's body so close to hers, it had suddenly seemed to Persephone a heavy thing to bear the love of so many people. It was like being mother to thousands who depended upon her as a child does a mother—with a simple faith that she knew what she was doing, with the unquestioning belief that she'd ever care for them and keep them safe from harm.

But she was
not
going to keep them safe from harm. She was going to send hundreds—perhaps thousands— to their deaths. The inevitable battle against Mordecai's New Men was fast approaching, for though the noblemen continued to engage them in petty skirmishes, they would not be able to hold them off forever. Especially now that Mordecai knew she was raising an army—especially now that he knew where she was …

The sudden sound of the Khan bodyguards gruffly accosting someone outside the chamber door was followed by the sight of the door opening just enough for Rachel to slip inside.

Persephone smiled at the sight of her lookalike friend hurrying across the chamber toward her, for she looked uncommonly beautiful, and it wasn't just the new gown or fancy hairstyle that made her so either—it was the glow of a girl in love for the first time.

“Azriel says that it is time to go,” said Rachel. “He also says to tell you that Lady Aurelia will not be attending the coronation. Less than an hour ago, her noble father announced the sad news that late last night she went into labour and gave birth to a dead son.”

Even though she was relieved that Lord Bartok had done as promised—and even though she knew that no baby had actually died—Persephone could not help shuddering inwardly at these words.

She evinced an outward calm, however, as she rose and followed Rachel out of the royal chambers. Flanked by her bodyguards, she walked sedately and without speaking through the flagstone corridors, down the grand staircases and into the main entrance hall.

There, Persephone paused to take a deep breath, straighten her back and lift her chin.

Then, with a fleeting thought that it all seemed like a dream, she ordered opened the great doors to the courtyard where Azriel and her golden carriage were waiting and stepped out into the blinding light of day.

FORTY-SEVEN

“A
ND HOW DID SHE LOOK?”
asked Mordecai, his dark eyes glowing. “The queen, I mean.”

The kneeling New Man who'd witnessed the coronation a week earlier clutched his cap tighter in his dirty fingers. Of the half-dozen soldiers who'd been dispatched to Parthania more than a fortnight earlier with orders to bring back news of the queen's war effort, he was the only one to have returned to make a report.

Clearly, the others had either deserted or been killed, the useless bastards.

“She looked beautiful, Your Grace,” the soldier admitted nervously. “She was dressed beautifully, of course, in an ermine cloak and a cloth-of-silver gown with a train at
least
twenty feet long, but it was more than this. It was
her
, Your Grace—she … she was radiant beyond description.”

Mordecai felt his sunken chest tighten at the thought of the queen glowing as though lit from within. “What about her hair?” he demanded—harshly, to avoid betraying
himself with even the
hint
of yearning. “What about her demeanour?”

“She wore her hair loose about her shoulders, and she smiled easily and waved at
everyone
,” reported the soldier, who started to smile at the memory before hastily remembering himself. “You'd have thought this would've made her appear less of a queen, but somehow, her familiarity had just the opposite effect. It made her seem
more
of a queen and I'm afraid the common people loved her for it. Never have I heard such an outpouring of love—not even for her brother, the dead king. And then after the coronation …”

“Yes, yes?” said Mordecai impatiently.

“When she appeared on the Grand Balcony, and the bells began to toll, and the criers in the streets began shouting the news that the newly crowned and anointed queen was married and with child—well, the people went quite mad for joy.”

“And how did they react when they learned that the bitch's husband was nothing but a Gypsy?” sneered Lord Atticus, who was sprawled on a couch nearby with his shirt untucked and his codpiece askew.

“That is the thing that surprised me most of all, my lord,” said the soldier, who'd flinched at the nobleman's crude name for the queen. “For upon learning that the Gypsy was her husband, the common folk went even
madder
for joy. It seems that the prince consort—that is to say, the loathsome Gypsy—has won the love of the people in his own right.”

Lord Atticus twittered derisively—a jarring, high-pitched noise that earned him a look of disgust from Mordecai.

“And what, exactly, has the cockroach done to win the love of those worthless nobodies?” asked Mordecai softly, his gaze sliding back to the kneeling New Man before him.

“It ... it seems that since arriving in the imperial capital, he has made it his business to spend hours in the streets each day,” stammered the man, whose clutching hands had begun to tremble slightly. “He … he is the general of the royal army and as a consequence, much of his time has been spent training his troops, establishing a supply train in preparation for the day the army moves out and ensuring the city is properly defended in the meantime. Yet he has somehow managed to become known to one and all as a man hard enough to earn the respect of men, charming enough to earn the admiration of women and beloved enough to earn the love of children and animals with the exception of certain dogs and horses. And since the royal Council repealed the law naming Gypsies outlaws—”

“When did they do
that
?” barked Mordecai, his stomach in knots at the thought of the cockroach being respected, admired and
beloved
, even if it was by nobodies.

Startled by the sharpness of the former regent's tone, the soldier jumped. “Two days after they arrived in Parthania,” he blurted. “They also made scalping Gypsies a crime carrying an automatic sentence of death, and they ordered the dungeon emptied and the entrance boarded over.”

Mordecai slumped in his chair, glaring at the kneeling man as though it was
his
fault that things just kept getting worse. It had been bad enough when the queen had ruined his plan to marry and get sons upon her—and then when his plan to swiftly descend upon the noblemen's army had failed—and then when Bartok's soldiers had begun descending upon his like a pestilence. Now the pregnant queen was crowned and anointed, with a handsome husband who was not just accepted by the people but
beloved
by them? And by all accounts, her army was growing stronger each day—even as his own continued to weaken through desertion and harassment?

If her fortunes continue to rise while mine continue to decline
, thought Mordecai, looking down at the hands clenched tight in his withered lap,
it is actually possible that the unthinkable might happen and—

“Your Grace?” came a familiar voice.

“What?” snarled Mordecai, so loudly that the kneeling man bleated and Lord Atticus swore. Jerking his head up, Mordecai saw General Murdock standing just inside the tent. “What?” he repeated more quietly, but no less irritably.

“Several of my soldiers apprehended Lord Bartok and his daughter half a mile outside camp,” he said.

“
WHAT
?” shrieked Lord Atticus, leaping to his feet only to immediately lose his balance and crash back onto the couch.

General Murdock glanced at him briefly before turning his attention back to Mordecai. “Lord Bartok
made no attempt to resist capture,” he reported. “In fact, my men said that it was he who approached them.”

“Has he gone mad?” murmured Mordecai in a wondering voice, his problems temporarily forgotten.

“I don't think so, Your Grace,” said General Murdock. “Lord Bartok told the men that he wanted to see you. He said that he had a proposal for you.”

“Did he say anything about me?” whined the worm.

“No,” said General Murdock shortly before turning his attention back to his master. “Lord Bartok and his daughter are waiting outside, Your Grace,” he said, sending the nobleman's worthless son into an absolute frenzy of panic. “What would you have me do?”

Mordecai was so intrigued that he barely hesitated.

“Show him in, but stay close, Murdock,” he said. “And if the high-and-mighty bastard so much as looks sideways at me, tear his liver out.”

General Murdock said nothing, but his beady eyes gleamed.

FORTY-EIGHT