But the attendants departed at last, and the door was closed, and she could not ignore the world forever. The night had longer to run yet. When she turned around to face the men again, she discovered a newcomer—the odious, square-headed Proconsul Yggingi.
The king was dead; the ravens were landing. As always he was in uniform, clutching his crested helmet under one arm and resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword of office, an elaborate and gaudy thing of gilt. She feared him, she thought, but only him. Anything or anyone else she could manage.
“Factor?” she said, knowing that Foronod was the most competent of the council. “What now? The city must be informed.” Foronod bowed and said nothing.
Which was not very helpful.
“Well?” she demanded. “When shall I be proclaimed queen?” The craggy face remained without expression, but she could sense the fury burning below its jotunnish pallor. “That decision is apparently not presently within the jurisdiction of your late father’s council, miss.” He was biting the words. “Imperial troops have taken control of the palace and the town. Sergeant Thosolin and his men have been disarmed and confined. I suggest you address your inquiries to Proconsul Yggingi.”
He bowed again and stepped back against the wall.
Inos restrained a mad impulse to burst into tears or throw herself into Andor’s arms. She had led the predator back to her lair and now she must turn and give battle to it, to the monster whose thugs controlled her homeland. She looked expectantly and coldly-she hoped coldly-at the proconsul.
He lowered his head in a hint of a bow. “Perhaps we could have a word in private, Highness?”
Andor and Aunt Kade both started to protest. “Highness?” Inos said.
She saw a glint of amusement in the piggy eyes. “Beg pardon—your Majesty. ”
Well! That might be her first victory. “Certainly, Excellency,” Inos said. “Come with me.”
Holding her chin up, she marched over to the doorway that led upstairs, wishing she had a long gown to swish impressively, realizing that she was still in her soiled riding clothes. Probably her hair was a mess, but at least she had not been weeping. She stamped up the stairs into the dressing room, with its wardrobes and chests and one large couch. It was really only a junk storage. She would have it cleaned out in the summer. The candles were inadequate, leaving the big room dim and crowded with shadows—which might be a good thing if it would help conceal her expression, for surely Yggingi was a much more experienced negotiator than she was. But she had nothing to negotiate. He was going to dictate his orders.
She stopped beside the couch, spun around, and said, “Well?” He was still clasping his stupid helmet and his armor flickered with dozens of little candle flames. He was a square, broad man, a hard man, a killer. He moved too close, deliberately threatening.
“Did you get it?”
The question seemed so meaningless that she felt her mouth move and nothing came out.
“The word!” he snapped. “What word?”
He flushed angrily. “Did your father tell you the word of power? Inisso’s word?”
She was about to say “No!” and then she recalled that among all the other gibberish her father had spoken about Inisso . . . Yggingi saw her hesitation and bared his teeth in a smile. “Do you know what it means?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
He took another half step closer and had to bend his head to look down at her. His breath was sour, and told her that the palace wine cellar had now been liberated.
“You have three things of value, little girl. One is a very pretty body. We may negotiate on that later, but I can find those anywhere, almost as good. You also have a kingdom—sort-of-have a kingdom. I never thought I wanted that, and now I’ve seen it, I’m sure. It certainly isn’t worth fighting over, but I’m told that the jotnar are on their way, so I may have to fight. But the third thing you have is that word. And that I want. That is what I came for.”
Gibberish! She doubted that she could recall much of the nonsense her father had spoken, but if this horror thought that she had something he wanted . . .
“What’s it worth?”
He laughed. “Your looks. Your virtue. Your life. It’s worth more than all of those.”
She pushed down terror. She had expected him to order her to sign away her inheritance, or possibly to announce her engagement to Angilki. She had never expected this nonsense about words. “Why? My life for a word?”
“Do you know who’s paying my troops? Your precious aunt, or whatever she is to you, the duchess of Kinvale.”
Ekka! So it had been that damned hag after all! Inos tried to replace fear with anger, but failed. She did not speak.
“Two thousand imperials she gave me to bring you here, plus whatever I can squeeze out of Krasnegar. All she wants is you, with that word—sent back to marry her idiot son.” .
“Never!”
He grinned. “I agree. I never liked that deal. Besides, it’s not possible. I closed the road, didn’t I?”
She just looked at him in silence, bewildered, fighting to keep herself under control. She was crushed back against the couch and could not retreat.
“No way out until the ships come,” he said. “I closed the road, I roused the goblins. I wanted to keep certain friends of mine from coming after me, but it also means that no one can get out! We’re trapped!”
“How much?” she said with sudden wild hope. “How much to ransom Krasnegar?”
He chuckled. “Just the word—the word to ransom it from the jotnar. I must have that word!”
“Why?” He must be totally mad, and certainly there was a very strange look in his eyes.
“Because I’m a soldier! I have a talent for stamping out vermin. With a word—” Then he seemed to realize how little she understood of this raving. He wheeled around, marched back to the door, and shot the bolt. Then he tossed his helmet down on a chair and stalked her, as she retreated, until finally he had her against the wall. He grabbed her shoulder and grinned at the sight of her terror. He licked his lips.
“You begin to believe I’m serious? Well, I’ll make you an offer, little miss. Give me the word, and I’ll see you’re proclaimed queen. I’ll defend your throne from Kalkor, and from your rebellious subjects, too, and I promise I won’t hurt you. Marry that Andor man if you want-I don’t care about that. But otherwise I shall start now by breaking your pretty little nose, and go on from there until no man will ever want to marry what’s left of you. I think my offer is worth considering, don’t you?”
It was an extraordinary offer. It was better than she could have ever dared hope. No one could question her rule if she had Yggingi’s armed might at her back. But could she believe him? Could she trust him? And could she recall the gibberish her father had spoken, and could Yggingi tell the difference if she simply made up some more gibberish of her own?
“Well?” he shouted. His fingers dug deeper into her shoulder. She tried to break loose and was appalled at his strength.
“I—”
A sudden noise—from above?
Yggingi raised his head and regarded the shadowed ceiling. “What was that?”
She did not know either. It had sounded like furniture moving above them, in the bedchamber, and she had thought all the medics and undertakers had gone. Dark with suspicion, Yggingi wheeled and marched over to the doorway to the staircase up, drawing his sword as he went.
Inos fled to the other door and began to wrestle with the bolt, and for a terrifying minute it seemed to be too stiff for her, then it moved. She hauled the door open and fell into Andor’s arms. .
Well, one of his arms. He was holding his sword in his other hand. “All right, my darling?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
He pulled the door shut and used both arms, holding his sword behind her. Much better! He tried to kiss her, but she was frightened that a kiss might snap the thin thread holding her together, so she declined the kiss. But it was wonderful to be held.
“He’s a horror!” she mumbled into Andor’s shoulder.
“The worst sort of dreg,” he agreed. “You go on down to the others and leave the proconsul to me.”
She pulled away, startled. “No! Andor! He’s a soldier—” Andor flashed his teeth in a confident grin. “I shall be in no danger. It will be a pleasure.”
“Fight him?”
“I’m quite capable, my princess. I just prefer not to do it before witnesses, so you go down.”