Tomorrow's Kingdom (47 page)

Persephone fidgeted with impatience for what seemed a very long time but was probably not more than a few minutes. Then, without warning, Azriel stepped into the tent. In spite of looking as though he hadn't slept in a dog's age, he was as devastatingly handsome as ever. Even so, Persephone barely spared him a glance, so riveted was she by the sight of the tiny, mewling bundle in his arms.

Smiling as though he well understood why he was being so heartlessly ignored by the wife at whose bedside he'd kept vigil for eight long days, Azriel wordlessly walked over and placed the bundle in her arms.

Persephone said nothing, only stared down at her son in amazement.

He was breathtaking.

His head was covered in auburn fuzz, and his eyes held the promise of blue. He was tightly swaddled and did not look best pleased to be so. Persephone stared in fascination at the indignant expression on her son's face and listened to the grunts he was making as he struggled to free his limbs from the constricting wrap. Then she carefully laid him on the bed and un-swaddled him that she might undertake a more thorough examination. He had ten perfect fingers, ten tiny toes and skin as soft as cream. Persephone tentatively placed a finger in the palm of his hand and marvelled at his strength when he clutched at it. She tickled his lower lip and laughed when he abruptly latched onto her fingertip. She laughed again when, upon realizing that no milk could be drawn from the fingertip no matter how vigorously he sucked, he spat out the offending thing and bellowed with outrage. Utterly delighted, Persephone reverently planted a kiss on his little naked belly. Then, with exaggerated care, she rewrapped him (taking care not to wrap him too tightly), lifted him up, nestled him against her breast and, without looking up at Azriel, said, “Husband, I regret to inform you that I have fallen in love with another.”

Azriel's chuckle earned him a glance at last. “You did well, Persephone,” he said, leaning down to give her and the baby a kiss.

“Yes, I did, didn't I?” replied Persephone gloatingly. “What shall we call him? And do
not
suggest Poddrick.”

Azriel chuckled again and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Actually, I was thinking that we might name him after his uncle,” he said.

“His uncle?” said Persephone perplexedly. Then her face brightened with sudden understanding. “Oh! You mean Finn!”

“Yes, I mean Finn,” agreed Azriel, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair back from her face. “Your brother was a good and brave man, Persephone. And though I must admit there were moments I could have gladly wrung his neck for having made you promise to fight for your throne, I'd be entirely content to see him remembered in our son.”

Persephone crooned the name at the baby several times before looking up at Azriel and saying, “I like it!”

“I thought you might,” he replied. “Zdeno has asked to be named his sworn protector, and I have agreed. I hope you don't mind.”

“Of course I don't mind,” said Persephone. Hugging Baby Finn to her a little tighter, she asked, “How is Zdeno doing?”

“He is heartbroken and grief-stricken,” said Azriel quietly. “Fayla is trying to help him through it but there is only so much she can do.”

Persephone nodded, the terrible memory of Rachel's final moments coming back to her in a rush. “And how is everyone else? Where do things stand?”

“Your plan to trap the New Men soldiers in the canyon worked better than we could have hoped. Most were killed; the few who put down their weapons and surrendered were taken into custody,” said Azriel. “Many on our side were for beheading them on the spot, but I did not think you'd approve.”

“You were right,” said Persephone, grateful not to have the mass murder of unarmed men on her conscience.

“We suffered only minimal losses,” continued Azriel. “Besides Rachel, none of the other Council members were killed.”

“How on earth did
you
manage to avoid being skewered after you tripped over Zdeno during the fighting?” asked Persephone, remembering the New Man with the raised sword.

“Cur,” said Azriel.

“Cur?”

“He tore out the soldier's throat before he could finish me,” explained Azriel. “Either your flea-bitten dog finally decided that he liked me or else he wanted to spare you the loss of your devilishly handsome husband.”

“Or else he mistook the New Man for you,” offered Persephone mischievously. She smiled at the scowl this suggestion brought to Azriel's face, then her smile faded as she suddenly remembered that according to Lord Atticus, Lady Aurelia had been given to Mordecai. Persephone had never liked the little noblewoman, but she'd never disliked her enough to wish
that
upon her. “What about Lady Aurelia? Did you find her in the enemy camp?”

“Yes,” said Azriel. “Fayla got to her before the men did—”

“Thank the gods,” said Persephone with a shudder.

“I wouldn't be so quick to do so,” said Azriel as the baby began to fuss, “for it appears that Lady Aurelia is afflicted with the same cough that killed your brother, and
on top of this, she has gone completely mad. I've ordered her cared for and kindly treated.”

Persephone nodded her agreement with his decision. “And so: what about Mordecai and his general?” she asked as she began gently bouncing Baby Finn in her arms to settle him. “Are they dead, or do we have them in custody?”

“Neither, as far as we know,” Azriel replied grimly. “We found the charred remains of two bodies in the smoking ruins of their camp tents, but we've no way of knowing if the bodies are those of Mordecai and his general. I would lay odds that they are not.”

Persephone felt a stab of alarm. Hugging Baby Finn closer to her, she said, “We should send out tracking parties to—”

“Try to find them? Already done,” said Azriel. “We've found no trace of them, Persephone. We'll keep looking, but if I had to guess I'd say that if Murdock and Mordecai are alive, we'll never see them again.”

Feeling as though she'd been holding her breath for a long time without realizing it, Persephone exhaled slowly and steadily. As she did so, the surge of energy that had sustained her suddenly vanished. She yawned at the exact same moment as the baby did.

Looking filled up by his love for them both, Azriel gently took Baby Finn from Persephone's arms and bade her lie back down and get some rest. Protesting through her face-splitting yawns that she did not need any more rest, Persephone laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.

“Azriel?” she said drowsily as she felt him drawing the blankets up to her chin.

“Yes?” he said.

“I cannot be certain, but I think I promised myself I'd give you a goodly pinch for the way you spoke to me during my ordeal,” she murmured.

“You must be mistaken, wife, for that doesn't sound like you at all,” he replied with a smile in his voice. “Now sleep. Your menfolk would see you recovered as soon as may be.”

It was more than a week before Persephone was recovered enough even to leave her sickbed, and more than two weeks after that before she was recovered enough to make the arduous journey back to the imperial capital.

Since news of the victory over Mordecai and the birth of the prince had long since spread throughout the kingdom, the progress back to Parthania was like a victory parade. Indeed, when, at last, they passed through the great gates of the city, it seemed to an exhausted but exhilarated Persephone that there was not a single person in all of the realm—and most especially in Parthania—who was not utterly mad with joy at her triumphant return.

Most unfortunately for her, Azriel and the baby, she was wrong.

SIXTY-FIVE

M
ORDECAI WATCHED
from the shadows of the narrow, squalid alley as the litter carrying the queen and the little cockroach approached.

After he and Murdock fled the battlefield, Mordecai had thought incessantly about the sound of her scream being cut short so abruptly. He'd imagined her dying a thousand different deaths—each more gruesome than the last, each resulting in the end of the unborn Gypsy infant. Over and over, Mordecai had told himself that the twisting pain in his chest whenever he thought of the queen's violet eyes glazed over in death was nothing but the ill effects of common food and hard travel.

Then, a fortnight ago, he and Murdock had learned from a man they'd met on the road that the scream Mordecai had heard had
not
heralded the death of the queen. According to the man—who'd fought in the battle and was hurrying home to his wife and six children—the queen was alive and safely delivered of a healthy son. Mordecai had first been stunned then electrified by the
news. The crushing despair that had plagued him since the Valley of Gorg vanished upon the instant. After absently ordering Murdock to dispatch the lowborn wretch for making the mistake of suddenly recognizing them, Mordecai had decided that perhaps the business between him and the queen wasn't finished, after all. If he couldn't snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, perhaps he could snatch a little well-deserved satisfaction. His position, his wealth, his army and his dreams had been taken from him, but he yet had the ever-resourceful Murdock, and he had something no one would
ever
be able to take from him: the stomach to do whatever it took to bend those with soft hearts to his absolute will.

Indeed, he had the stomach to do whatever it took to not only
bend
those with soft hearts but to break them into a thousand pieces.

Mordecai kept his eyes on the queen as her litter drew closer and closer. Then, just as she was passing by the spot where he stood ankle-deep in muck, a grubby lowborn brat on his side of the cobblestone street darted toward the approaching litter. If it had been Mordecai, he'd have ordered the horsemen to trample the brat
and
her pathetic posy of wilted wildflowers, but of course the queen did no such thing. On the contrary, she ordered the litter to halt, then she accepted the posy as reverently as it if were some priceless treasure. As she was doing so, the little cockroach in her arms suddenly began to scream like a terror. The queen laughed aloud as the brat in the street clapped her hands over her ears, then she discreetly offered the screaming cockroach her very own breast instead of passing him to a wet nurse for feeding as a proper royal woman would have done.

Deep within the filthy, stinking, homespun hood that hid his all-too-familiar face, Mordecai smiled broadly at this touching display of motherly love.

For it made it
very
easy to believe that if the little cockroach's life were at stake, the beautiful queen would get down on her knees and do
anything
to save him.

SIXTY-SIX

P
ERSEPHONE SHIVERED
as she listened to the wind tearing at the shutters as though it would rip them right off the hinges.

“It sounds like the storm is growing worse,” she said as she drew her chair closer to the fire.