Simah waited, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. In a few more hours it would be dawn, and so far neither of them had slept at all. Remarkably, Simah did not seem afraid. Though everyone else seemed to tremble at the impending invasion, Simah’s dispassion was constant. Ravel supposed she would relish his destruction. In the month since he had bought her, she had not warmed to him as he had hoped. Yet he adored her, and did not want her to go. She was perhaps the most beautiful thing he owned, and he wanted to look at her before he lost everything. He could see her image in the glass, wavy and confused, unsure why he had brought her here if not to dance or share his bed. She wore a dress that sparkled with gold thread. Her eyes watched him as he gazed out the window, and there was no contempt in her expression.
‘Would you leave us?’ she said suddenly. Surprised, Ravel turned to look at her. She sat perfectly still in a chair near his vast bed, an undisturbed glass of wine on the table beside her. Not once had she joined him at the window, as if she already knew what had gathered out there to crush them.
‘What?’
‘If you could, would you go to your mountains and leave us?’
It was her impertinence that made her special, Ravel supposed. He had wanted her to love him, but now she never would.
‘The city is surrounded,’ he told her.
She nodded. ‘But if it weren’t, I mean. If you could, would you flee?’
‘If I could I would flee and take you with me,’ he said. ‘But there’s nothing to be done for it. You’re as doomed as I am, and for the same reason.’
‘My lord?’
‘Pride, girl,’ Ravel sighed.
His admission surprised Simah. It was very quiet in the room. It was as though he could hear the thoughts in her head.
‘I’ll give you what you want, Simah,’ he said, ‘and tell you what you so badly want to hear, what all you bitches live for. Your master was wrong, and there’s the proof of it.’ He pointed a fat finger toward the window, the long hem of his sleeve snapping. ‘Look, damn you!’
Simah rose from the chair and glided toward the glass. He put his hand on her back so that she could not pull away, not until she had seen all the horror and had her fill of his failure. Ravel laughed hysterically.
‘See them? See them now? It’s what you wanted, I know it. And now you have your wish. Now all of you can see that I am imperfect. It must be grand for you.’
The campfires of the Norvans stretched into the hills surrounding Andola. Simah’s blue eyes watched them impassively. Her indifference infuriated Ravel. He wanted to strike her. Instead he started weeping.
‘There’s not a god worth praying to that can get me out of this now,’ he said. He still could not comprehend Jazana Carr’s power. Simah turned to him, her face without pity, and Ravel knew finally that he had never understood women at all, or how fierce they could be. He sneered, ‘Is it so much better to die than to be in my company? Is that what makes you so contented?’
Simah did not quickly answer him. Since the coming of the Norvans, she had stopped her sycophantic replies.
‘My lord, your argument is with the Diamond Queen, not me.’
‘She wants me to surrender, girl! Don’t you understand? Well, I will not! I have men, and they will fight. And if need be, they will die.’
‘Will they, my lord?’
The question haunted Ravel. Colonel Bern had posted men throughout the city, in the streets and at the bastions. They were soldiers bought and paid for, but what kind of pledge was that? Baron Ravel sat himself down at the edge of his bed. In all his life, he could never recall a time when he’d felt so alone.
‘I have been kind to you,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe you don’t think so, but I have. Can you not be kind to me tonight? This will be the last chance you’ll have to show that you do not hate me.’ He looked up at her. ‘Are you so cruel, child?’
Simah — his slave — glanced at the door, then back at him. Clearly, she contemplated leaving. But then pity — another unfathomable trait of womanhood — warmed her blue eyes. She did not leave him. With the gathering storm outside the window, she sat back down in her chair.
Jazana Carr had made camp at the foot of a tall hill near the southern tip of Andola, across a wide plain that afforded a good view of the city and her men surrounding it. Here she had set up her pavilion days before, when she herself had arrived from Hanging Man to see the progress Rodrik Varl had made. It had been overcast the day she arrived, but she could still see her men massed in the plains surrounding Andola, preparing themselves for the coming battle. There were thousands of them, each company summoned from a different part of Norvor. The banners of their varied cities snapped ominously in the wind. Mercenaries by the hundreds had answered her call, as had lifelong soldiers from the conquered Norvan cities of Rolga and Ard and Poolv and Vicvar. The Diamond Queen was pleased. She was sure that Baron Ravel quaked this night, hiding somewhere in his fabulous castle, dreading the dawn.
Now, dawn was coming fast and true. Inside her pavilion, Jazana Carr presided over the last meeting she would have with her commanders until the city was taken. Rodrik Varl stood beside her, at the head of a table circled with eager men. There was no food or drink served; there was time only for talk. Jazana Carr spoke very little, letting Varl speak instead. From her chair she studied the faces of her commanders, looking for any sign of hesitancy. Except for Varl, there was none at all. The mercenary Kaj listened as Varl went over the battle plan, nodding his dark head. He and his Crusaders would have the hardest task of all — taking the eastern wall. The duty did not seem to bother Kaj, who remained cool. Jazana Carr’s gaze flicked toward Count Onikil. Of all the gathered leaders, the count was the most willing to invade Liiria. Jazana supposed he had his reasons, though he did not volunteer them. His fellow Rolgans had already secured the western front, cutting off Andola from the rest of Liiria. If Ravel had hoped for aid from Koth, it would not come.
To the north Lord Dugald’s army was positioned, prepared to advance down from the hills on the city’s softest flank. Along with Count Onikil, they would squeeze the breath out of Ravel like a python. Because he had the easiest task of any commander, Dugald leaned back in his chair with an air of disinterest. His overconfidence irked Rodrik Varl.
‘This will not be easy,’ Varl scolded. He looked from one to the next, stopping at Dugald. ‘Ravel’s men have the higher ground and the weapons to hold it. And they’re fighting for their city.’
‘They’re mercenaries, like you,’ Dugald reminded him.
Varl’s offence came quickly. ‘And that means what exactly?’
‘Ravel’s hirelings won’t fight for him. They haven’t got a chance and they know it.’
‘They haven’t run yet,’ Varl argued. ‘And they haven’t surrendered, either.’ He reminded the man from Poolv that it was he who had predicted their surrender a week ago. ‘If any of you underestimate them, it will be to your own great pity. These are seasoned soldiers. It’ll be bloody hand to hand. And your men Kaj will have it the hardest.’
‘Rodrik, we’re ready,’ said Kaj with easy familiarity. ‘We’ll do our best. That’s all I can promise.’
Jazana Carr remained quiet as the meeting continued. When it was over, the gathering rose dutifully from their seats, promised their queen victory, then left the pavilion, riding off with their entourages toward the distant corners of Andola where their armies waited. Jazana Carr drifted out of the pavilion and watched the ebbing night swallow them. Her own camp was quiet and the riders did little to disturb her sleeping soldiers, who had spread out like a vast carpet across the southern plain. The breeze was light, promising a good day. Around Andola a thousand little campfires blinked, going out one by one as the dawn edged nearer and the men prepared themselves for battle. Jazana Carr stepped away from her pavilion, stretching her lithe frame. She was tired and hadn’t slept much since coming to Andola, but she was invigorated by what she was about to accomplish. In the month since meeting Ravel in Hanging Man she had anticipated this day hungrily. But she knew too that this day was years in the making, and she wished that Thorin Glass was here to see it. If he were in Andola somewhere he would see the army she’d assembled to take his homeland, and how she had made good on her promise to take it. He would be like Ravel, trembling at the sight of what she had brought. But Thorin was not here, and that irritated Jazana. He was not even in Liiria, or at least she did not think so. Instead he was off across the Desert of Tears, somewhere in another world.