“Deeds and contracts and legal whatever-the-fuck.” She started to drop them into the flames, paper covered in swirling calligraphy blackening and curling as it caught light. “Won’t be worth shit when the Great Change comes, eh?” And she grinned up at Broad, letting the rest slide from her fingers into the fire. “Once our very good friends the Brocks throw down the king, we can decide afresh who owns what, who owes what.”
Broad stood staring at the banker’s corpse, his eyes a little crossed like he didn’t much approve of the gaping wound in the top of his skull. Felt like something he’d seen happen. Not something he’d done himself. He put a hand to his head again. It was hurting worse than ever. Damn, he needed a drink. But he knew it never helped. Quite the opposite.
“Look at you, you poor thing.” He felt Judge catch his face, drag it towards her so he had no choice but to stare into her gleaming eyes. “Is it right, is it wrong, what have I done, and blah, blah, fucking blah. You done worse to better men, I’ve no doubt, but the truth is, there’s no answers to those questions that mean a thing. Sooner you stop pretending and let go of all that shit for good, the better for you, the better for me, the better for everyone.”
“I have to go,” whispered Broad. He’d sworn no more trouble. “I have to tell Lady Savine… to send more weapons.” Like that could ever change things for the better. “I owe her.” Not even sure who he was talking to. “She saved my family.”
“Nice story. She could put it in her next fucking pamphlet.” Judge picked up the fallen officer’s hat and knocked out the dent Broad’s axe had made. “But don’t try to trick a trickster. I don’t think you care a shit about your debts. Or even about your family. I think you know there’s a fight coming, and you can’t stand the thought o’ being left out. I think you’re like me.” She perched the hat on her riot of red hair, back to front, and opened her eyes very wide. “Only happy when you’re bloody.”
Broad stood staring. The best judge of character, she’d said. Knew men better than they knew themselves.
“What about this lot?” Sarlby was asking, hands on hips as he frowned at all the dead men.
“We’re Burners, ain’t we? If in doubt, burn it.” Judge waved Broad away with a queenly waft of one red-stained hand. “Have it your way. Tell your precious Lady Savine she’s got a deal. I’ll speak to the Weaver. Messengers’ll wriggle out to every crew of Breakers in the Union. On the last day of summer, the king’ll have an uprising to make Valbeck look like a birthday party.” She stuck her lips out in a pout. “I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. He’ll have no friends left to fight the Young Lion. Now off you pop.”
“Just like that?” whispered Broad.
“If I’m about one thing, it’s freedom. Why have a fucking bull if you keep it chained? We both know you’ll be back.” She turned away, giving a sly grin over her shoulder, and tipped that dead man’s hat at him. “Some men just can’t help ’emselves.”
A Meeting with Destiny
Savine had attended several parades with her parents and never much enjoyed them. They had always struck her as a lot of pompous guff, and her father’s grumbling about the waste of time and money had hardly helped.
But she had to admit she was enjoying this one.
As dawn broke, the army of Angland filed through Ostenhorm towards the quay, where just about every vessel in the province had been pressed into service as a transport, the harbour made a shifting thicket by their masts. Drums thumped, pipes tooted, sergeants bellowed, boots tramp, tramp, tramped. The salt breeze caught flags stitched with old victories, the rising sun gleamed on gear newly forged in Savine’s own armouries.
And then there was Leo, the magnificent centrepiece to all this pageantry. He was utterly in his element, magnificent in dark grey uniform and gilded breastplate, roaring lions stitched into his cloak. Like a candle flame in a dark room, every eye was drawn towards him, every cheer and salute sent in his direction. He rode constantly up and down on his snorting, pawing warhorse as though a moment still was a moment wasted, trading jokes with the men, urging them on, standing in his stirrups to wave each company aboard.
“They look good, don’t they?” he asked, reining in beside her, gazing at the passing columns like a girl at her intended. “They look damn good.”
“Almost as good as their general,” she said, glancing at him sidelong.
He reached out and put a gentle hand on her belly. “I love you.”
Savine blinked at him. The truth was she had only loved one man, and he was the one they were going to war with. Love was unlucky. An encumbrance. She smiled, and pressed her hand against his, and felt their baby shift underneath it. “I love you, too,” she said, and shut him up with a kiss. There was plenty to like about Leo, after all. Especially at the head of an army. But there were some tasks he was not suited for.
“Wherever is Jurand?” she asked as they broke apart. “He organised most of this.” Antaup was laughing with a crowd of officers, and Whitewater Jin had stripped off his armour to help heft barrels aboard one of the transports. But she saw none of Leo’s other friends. Normally it took a heroic effort to prise them from his side. “And Glaward? He was meant to—”
“They won’t be coming,” said Leo, jaw muscles working.
Savine sighed. “Did you have some falling out in Sipani?” They could be like a gaggle of schoolgirls with their bickering. “Honestly, Leo, we can use every man, and Jurand more than anyone, you need someone beside you who—”
“Has a brain?” he forced through gritted teeth.
Won’t shit the bed in a crisis was what she wanted to say, but with Leo in this mood she settled for, “Has a cool head and a gift for organisation. You can’t let some petty—”
Leo growled each word with furious precision. “They will not be coming.”
“Leo!” It was almost a shriek, and Savine’s heart sank. Lady Finree was forcing her way through the baffled onlookers who had gathered beside the road.
The young lieutenant who’d been given the job of watching her hurried after, pink with embarrassment. “I tried to keep her out of the way, Your Grace, but—”
“What’s happening, Leo?” She looked pale, and scared, and much older than she had when Savine first met her, especially with her son sitting so far above her on his tall, tall horse. “This must be half of Angland’s army—”
“All of it.”
“But… going where?”
“To war, Mother. Where else would an army go?”
“Leo, I’ve heard a rumour…” She said the words in a horrified whisper. “That you mean to move against the Closed Council.” She gave a desperate, quivery smile. “Tell me it’s not true!”
There was a pause. “They’ve gone too bloody far!” snapped Leo. “Someone needs to stand up to the bastards.”
Lady Finree glanced over at Savine, and Savine studiously did not meet her eye, feeling just the slightest bit guilty for the elaborate deception she had worked on the woman. “Leo, you can’t mean…” She plucked weakly at his knee, at his saddle. “This is armed revolt. This is treason!”