Inos was more concerned with the fight beyond the arch. She could see blood, shockingly bright in the flickering torchlight, and men were going down. No one had armor. But sheer weight of numbers was starting to carry the day, and the citizens were roused now, even imps screaming jotunn war cries back at the retreating brigands. In a moment it would all be over.
She lifted her skirt and leaped from the chair. She ran for the throne, trusting her court sorcerer to follow. As she jumped up on the scarlet cushion, she wondered what her father would have thought of all this. She hoped that Kade was right, and he would have been just a little bit proud of her now.
The tide of battle died out as one last half-naked jotunn was hacked down almost at her feet by three imps simultaneously. The shouting in the hall was fading, although a huge multitude outside still bellowed its eagerness enter.
Rap was with her, standing alongside the throne. She reached out and tousled his hair. There was frost on it. “Bell?”
At once the great bell of the castle boomed.
“Gods save the queen!” a voice cried. Others began to pick it up in refrain: “Gods save the queen!” Boom! “Gods save the queen!”
Boom! went the bell in the distance.
Bloody swords were being waved overhead—dangerously. Pale faces and brown faces were grinning at her in a dazzling sea of faces. But her troubles were only beginning. Somehow she must gain control over this beast mob she had roused. They had swords. Most of them were reeling drunk—if not from beer, then from excitement. There had been few weapons in her father’s kingdom. If imp and jotunn fell out now, there would be a much greater bloodbath.
She held up both arms for silence, and the noise began to dwindle.
But not fast enough. “Quieten them, please,” she said softly, and a hush fell.
“If there’s a body near you, and it’s one of the Nordlanders, please drag it out and throw it over the north battlements!” That command brought a brief cheer and some turbulent movement within the throng. “Help the wounded over to the fireplace!” She wondered how many of her followers had died in the last few minutes, and decided not to mention those. “I am Queen Inosolan, and I claim this throne by right of inheritance!”
Another cheer, not quite so loud. “Money” she whispered.
“Money?” Rap echoed, looking up at her in astonishment.
He had told her himself that there was no money left in the town. She could not guess how the people were surviving without it—by some form of barter, presumably.
She peered over the nearby faces, and the only one she recognized was the old hostler. He was small and stooped, with both hands in his pockets, but his gnarled old face was grinning at her. Evidently he had given his sword to some younger man, but he was honest and respected.
“Master Hononin! Set up a table by the door. I have brought money. Buy back the swords—five crowns per blade.”
His jaw dropped. “Five?” Boom!
“Five crowns per blade! Here, Sergeant, give this man the coin.”
Rap snorted, but he held out two huge leather bags. The old man pushed forward grumpily, tried to take one in both hands, and dropped it. It fell with a metallic crash that silenced the returning tumult.
Boom!
“All surviving members of my father’s council pray attend me!” Inos shouted. “Help him, Rap!” she whispered.
But Hononin was already snarling orders to recruit assistants, and in a moment the money was heading for the door. Now the important thing was to clear the hall while she still had control.
She saw another familiar face. “Mistress Meolorne! The girls we rescued are upstairs in the Presence Chamber. Will you please take care of them—see they are clothed and returned to their families?”
Boom!
Quietly: “You can stop that accursed bell now, thank you.”
Louder: “Tonight the beer is free! Tell every tavernmaster in town that when you toast your queen tonight, the crown will pick up the tab!”
The resulting cheer shook the castle, and a whirlpool developed near the door as eager subjects began hurrying off to drink to her health before the supplies ran out—as they surely would, unless Rap chose to intervene.
Inos paused to consider her next move, rubbing her throat.
Then she saw a tall man being helped through the crowd toward her, and her heart jumped into her mouth.
It was the factor, Foronod. His silver helmet of hair was unmistakable, and yet she thought that it was now more white than ash blond. He was ten years older than he had been in the spring. He was stooped, leaning on a cane, and dragging one foot. A patch hid one eye; his nose was misshapen. Who had done this—imp or jotunn?
The faces closest around her were aging rapidly. The young bloods had been trusted. to handle the fighting, but now the elders of the town were arriving to oversee the political consequences. The burghers, the merchants, the senior craftmasters—these men she must win over, and they would be her opponents. All the cheering, blood-splattered, baby-faced smiths in the kingdom would count for nothing compared to the factor or a rich fishmonger. One thing had not changed since the last time. Foronod was still the key.
“Factor Foronod!” she cried out as he drew near. “You are a sight for sore eyes! No, do not kneel!” The single ice-blue eye blinked angrily. Kneeling had likely been the last thing on his mind. Inos held out her hand to be kissed.
He ignored it. “No Imperial army this time?” he barked. His sufferings had not broken his spirit, obviously, nor improved his manners.
“The imperor has recognized me as Queen of Krasnegar! I bring a signed treaty of nonaggression between his realm and mine.” She saw the imps among them react to that.
“And Thane Kalkor? What happens when he hears of this?”
She had been expecting the question and could barely restrain a smile of triumph. She was much better equipped this time than last, when Andor had been newly exposed and her father not yet in his grave.
“Thane Kalkor is dead. I saw him struck down by the Gods.”
The jotnar recoiled. The imps beamed.
Foronod recovered quickly. “And who is his successor?”
Senator Epoxague had put that very question to Ambassador Krushjor for her.
“That is very uncertain. There will be many claimants, and it may take years for them to kill one another off. Forget the Kalkor line, Factor. I am queen here by right of inheritance—or by right of conquest, if you prefer. I bring peace with our neighbors and peace among ourselves. I demand . . .” Demand. what? She could not recall any ceremony of homage or oath of fealty in rustic little Krasnegar. “I require your duty, Master Foronod.”
She watched him wrestle with his heritage. Yet what alternative did he have? He must have been praying every day for months that Kalkor would arrive and turn out to be better than his odious young brother. Vain hope that had been, had the factor only realized! But now she had taken away even that thin chance. Unless he wanted to raise up a local king, such as himself, then she was the only claimant. And the young men were with her.
Foronod thumped his cane forward one pace. Leaning heavily on it, he reached for her hand and raised it to his dry lips. “I am your Majesty’s loyal and obedient servant, and welcome your return with all my heart.” Then he straightened and stepped back. “Gods save your Majesty,” he added as an afterthought, pouting as if the words hurt.
It was a fair surrender. “As you were for my . . . our . . . father, so for me you will always be one of our . . . er . . . my most trusted and honored counselors, Factor.” A little muddled; she needed practice.
She recognized one of the senior imps nearby, a merchant whose name she had forgotten. He was something important in the import business, she knew, and had also been a member of the council. She scrambled down and settled herself on the scarlet cushion. Rap reached out and laid a small hassock at her feet.
Inos glanced expectantly at the merchant.
He shuffled forward and went down on his knees before her.
2
There was almost no daylight in Krasnegar in midwinter, but the full moon rolled all around the sky. Clocks were rare in that easygoing town, and Inos lost all track of time. There was so much to do that she forgot to eat or sleep or even sit down.
She hardly saw Rap at all, but occasionally he would appear and order her to the table. Then she would gulp down whatever repast was there without noticing it. Even at those moments, the turmoil left her no peace. So many had gone—she was appalled. The bishop, dead of a fit. Mother Unonini, slain by a jotunn while trying to prevent a rape, and Sergeant Thosolin under similar circumstances. Chancellor Yaultari had died in a dungeon, Seneschal Kondoral of a broken heart, they said. .