22. Irina

Chapter 22

Irina

I leaped from my stallion, strode a few steps, then stopped to look down, checking to make sure the shell of Isabel I now wore was in good order. The vessel’s body was athletic and shapely, attractive enough for a woman in her middle years. I would have preferred my own body, but a thousand years of separation made that impossible, even for one as magically gifted as I was.

Add that to the list of future projects.

I had driven my generals hard, insisting they move the lagging army to the border without delay. Several months had passed since my glorious return, and I was frustrated by their lack of progress. I had waited a millennium, and that was enough to make anyone impatient.

My military leaders were less enthused about rapid action and had begun to plan for a winter of strategic argument and rest. Their new Queen-Regent would have none of that.

Columns of men on horseback, men carrying swords, pikes, and bows, streamed into the mountainside tent city that now sprawled for many miles along the range. One general estimated eighty thousand soldiers now camped among them, more than four times the entire Melucian army—and there were another twenty thousand still headed east to bolster their numbers.

The clatter of armor filled the air as golden-plated men formed a protective ring around me. Their constant presence annoyed me at first. I was far more capable of protecting myself than any of them, but after a few days, I realized the ceremony of their escort had its advantages. Common folk who might have dogged my every step now shied from even making eye contact for fear of drawing the gaze of my Protectors. Even my own soldiers shied from the massively muscled guards and their equally massive swords. That alone was worth a little inconvenience. People annoyed me.

I marched purposefully forward. Despite snow that reached halfway to my knees, I never slowed. When I reached the steps of the manor, a round, balding man in ridiculously bright clothing that practically drowned his fat frame in lace greeted me with a flourish.

“Your Royal Highness.” Duke Parna bowed low with one hand over his chest, the other flying about in front of his bowed head. A cloud of sickly-sweet perfume plumed before him.

Ridiculous man. Has he actually grown more pompous since Isabel saw him at the Palace?

“It is an honor for one to receive Your Most Royal Highness,” Parna said, reminding me of his annoying habit of referring to himself in the third.

“Yes, it is.” I stormed past without letting him kiss my hand. Jess had been right. The man was vile. The thought of his lips touching my skin was . . . untenable. “Let’s take our discussion somewhere warmer, shall we?”

The Duke grimaced as he straightened and scurried to open the door. “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Please follow me.”

In contrast to the wooden homes in the surrounding town of Huntcliff, the Warden of the East’s manor was a stone monstrosity, covered in slabs of dingy gray rock that endeavored to pass as marble—but failed. The building’s stark exterior reminded me of a mausoleum.

As we entered the grand foyer, I took in the somber stone walls and tall, musty ceilings. Long-dead relatives of the pudgy Duke, noses turned upward in hereditary arrogance, glared from portraits on every wall. Only a few lamps were lit, giving the already somber hall an almost menacing aura. While Isabel’s elegant taste would have been offended, I liked what the Duke had done with the place.

Morose suited me.

We entered a long richly paneled room. Fat, unlit candles stood in worn brass stands every few paces along the paneling. A well-polished table stretched the full length of the room, and ten chairs stood vigil on either side, while a grandly carved high-backed armchair lorded over one end. Parna motioned to one of the side chairs and began speaking. I ignored him and walked to the head of the table, pausing briefly to notice the detailed carving on the back of the chair—of a pig. I resisted the urge to let out a laugh, pulled the chair back, and sat.

Parna’s eyes narrowed to slits and screamed murder in my direction.

“Lord Parna, thank you. My generals and I have business. Leave us.” I turned to one of my guards and nodded. The Duke tried to protest but was quickly ushered out of his own dining room.

I grinned at his flailing and most undignified exit.

Servants scurried to bring platters of fruits, cheeses, and pitchers of wine as generals streamed in and took their seats. The room was suddenly full of chatter. My men were glad to be off their horses and in a warm, dry mansion.

They have to know this won’t last long.

When the last of the generals arrived, I raised a palm, and a ball of flame flared to life. Without a word, fire streaked from the ball and lit every candle in the room. The generals, now wide-eyed at the display of power, quieted and took their seats. I waited until they were watching and slowly closed my palm, extinguishing the flame. It was an unnecessary gesture, but again, theatrics suited these trivial minds.

“Now, gentlemen, let us begin.” I eyed the senior officers sitting to my left and right. “General Marks, how long before the rest of our troops arrive?”

Marks met my gaze. “It’ll take another half day for the rest of the troops who were camped with us at Cradle to get here. I would estimate we have sixty-five thousand in position and ready to move right now, with another thirty to forty arriving within two weeks. We should give that last group a half day of rest before moving them again. That will add another five to seven thousand.”

One of the younger generals seated at the far end of the table stood. “Your Majesty, you cannot mean to move through the pass now— in winter . There must be several feet of snow, more in low places.”

“From what our scouts report, there is more than six feet piled up, but that is not your concern. I will deal with the snow.” I held Marks’s gaze. “If the pass were clear, how quickly could you get our army across the border?”

He scratched his chin. “It’s a tough trip in the best conditions. With the cold, I’d say a week. Cavalry can probably make it in half that. Artillery might take twice as long.”

“What about the scouts and Mages we sent earlier?”

“Most made it back to the Ranger stations and holed up there. We lost a few, but the rest should be fine, assuming they were able to find food in those stations. Game is scarce this time of year.”

“Fine. As we pass through, send scouts to recall those Mages. I want every magic user we have in the column when we enter Melucian territory.” I turned to Minister Bril, and the rest of the hour was consumed with supply lines, convoys, and how best to get artillery through the mountain pass. By the end of the meeting, my enthusiasm over finally reaching the border had morphed into utter boredom. I understood the old axiom, “An army marches on its stomach,” but that did not mean I cared to know every detail of how they were fed.

Danai caught my eye. None of the others knew him well enough to catch the slight quirk to his lips. He was enjoying this almost as much as I was. And yet, there was something . . . something in his gaze as he met mine. Hesitation? Fear? My Empathic sense reached out but was met with a wall of silence. Perhaps I saw shadows—or perhaps the snake hid behind a veil of magic.

He still fawned when he stared, the same look I remembered from a millennium past. It amazed me that all those years and a different body had yet to quell his passion. Still, there was something other than adoration in the set of his jaw and slight narrowing of his eyes.

He caught me staring and smiled broadly, whatever darkness I thought I had seen evaporating like morning dew.

It mattered little. He mattered little.

I stood suddenly and made eye contact with each general around the table. “Gentlemen, the Melucians stole our Gifted. They stole my daughter. They murdered your Prince and your King. The time for sitting around tables in comfortable chambers has passed. The time for action, for decisive retribution, is here. We march at dawn.”