poor baby.’ She put her arms around his neck, drew him close and kissed him softly. ‘After twelve years of drinking, gambling and fucking anything with a hole in it, does no one take you seriously?’
‘Plainly you don’t.’ And he stood up and started to button his shirt.
In fact, she thought she might be the only one who did. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ She pulled him back down, and pushed her hand through his hair, and held his head against her chest. ‘What did the great men tell Your Highness?’
‘My father gave me a battalion and said I can have command if I raise five thousand more men, but … for that I need money.’ He let a fingertip trail down her collarbone to the hollow at the bottom of her throat. ‘You know people. Rich people. People who might consider me … an investment.’
Savine frowned. If she judged an opportunity to be poor, she would not damage her reputation by passing it on. If she judged an opportunity to be good, she wanted it for herself. But five thousand soldiers meant a vast expense. Uniforms, weapons, armour, bedding, provisions. Then there was the army of men and women needed to get those men to the field and keep them there. The host of carts, wagons and beasts of burden. The food and supplies for them.
And, however much she wanted to be generous, Orso was beyond unreliable. He kept a brothel’s laundry girl instead of a servant, for pity’s sake. He scarcely understood the rules of business, let alone could be expected to observe them. If she was to lend him money, she would need guarantees. A crystal-clear understanding of what she expected in return. A contract. One so tightly binding, not even a king could wriggle free of it.
Perhaps encouraged by her thoughtful silence, he gave the slightest, uncertain smile. ‘What do you think?’
Her mouth smiled in return. Then, entirely independently of her mind, it said, ‘I’ll give you the money.’
There was a silence. As the expression gradually formed on his face, he looked more suspicious than grateful. And who could blame him? What the hell was she doing? ‘Just … like that? All of it?’
‘Why have money at all if you can’t help … a friend.’ Somehow she almost choked on the word.
‘No repayment plan? No favours in kind? No speak-to-this-fellow about that-piece-of-business?’
‘It’s all in a good cause, isn’t it? Patriotic.’ Good causes? Patriotism? It was as if some other person was speaking with her voice.
He reached up and gently stroked her cheek. He could be so delicate when he wanted. ‘Just when I think my opinion of you can’t get any higher … you surprise me. I have to go! There’s so much to organise.’
It wasn’t until he whisked his hand away that she realised she’d been pressing her face against it. She still felt the heat in her cheek. She was blushing like a child and turned away, embarrassed. Furious with herself, in fact.
‘Of course.’ She smoothed her dress, fiddled with her necklace, adjusted her wig. ‘I’ve a dinner to attend myself. With Marshal Rucksted and his wife—’
‘Sounds an absolute riot. Now, you’re sure about this?’ He slipped an arm around her waist from behind, held her tight against him. ‘You’re absolutely sure?’
‘I always say what I mean.’ And she did. Except now, for some reason.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ he whispered in her ear, making her neck tingle. ‘Or Sworbreck will, at least.’ And the door clattered shut behind him.
Savine stood there, in silence, in Sworbreck’s cramped office, trying to understand what she had done. She loved to gamble, but she always knew the game. This was reckless. This broke all her rules.
All those awfully intimate friends who she knew really envied and hated her would have a ready answer, of course. There is no more ambitious snake in Adua than Savine dan Glokta. That bitch hopes to ride the worthless crown prince’s cock all the way into the palace. She wants to steal the throne. Then she really can be above us all instead of merely acting like it.
Perhaps they would have been right. Perhaps she was harbouring some childish dream of becoming High Queen of the Union. Zuri had a point, after all: everyone looks better on their knees. Had Orso not been crown prince, she would have had no interest in him. What was there to be interested in?
Apart from his looks, of course. And his easy confidence. And the way he made