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her. For those who do not accept her as their Caesar, you can drive past the ruins of Chicago to see what Her Majesty does when pragmatism fails.” 
    I shuddered a little as I passed the High Queen’s portrait, but fortunately no one noticed. James and Lucy and millions of others had no trouble accepting such an arrangement. Me, I didn’t care. I was no Rebel. I just wanted Russell to be safe and happy. 
    And enough power to make sure no one like Morvilind could ever dominate me again. 
    James said grace, which in the Marney household was an affair of five minutes, asking God to bless everyone he knew, and asking Him to grant wisdom to Lord Morvilind, Duke Tamirlas, and the High Queen. I squirmed at that part, but thankfully everyone else had their eyes closed. 
    The meal was delicious. James knew how to grill a good steak, and he had passed that skill to Russell. For a while we sat in silence, too preoccupied with the food. Later the conversation turned to its previous easy rhythm, with James and Lucy telling me about their work at the hospital. After dinner I helped clear the table, while Russell loaded the dishwasher. I wandered back into the living room, opened the closet, and checked in the pocket of my coat. I had my main phone in my jeans pocket, of course, but in my line of work I went through a lot of burner phones, and one of them was in my coat. I had a new text message, an answer to the one I had sent from that phone earlier.
    It said that I had an appointment at 10:00 AM in exactly eight days. 
    Eight days. I thought through the implications. Would eight days be enough? It ought to be. I would have to start tonight, and…
    “Nadia?”
    I blinked, tucked the burner phone back into my jacket, and turned as James hobbled into the living room. 
    “Leaving yet?” he said, holding a small white package the size of a deck of cards. “I wouldn’t what you to miss out.” 
    I glanced over my shoulder, saw Lucy and Russell busy in the kitchen. “You’re a saint.” 
    “No, I’m not. Come on,” said James, leaning on his cane. “We should probably talk.” 
    I sighed. “Right.” I followed him onto the front step. June days in Wisconsin last a long time, but the sun was fading away to the west. James sat down with a grunt on the concrete step, the cane propped against one of Lucy’s potted flower bushes. I sat down next to him, and James opened the little pack of cigarettes. Some restricted items are available only to veterans who have honorably completed their term of service in the Shadowlands under an Elven lord, and cigarettes were one of them. Naturally, there was a black market, but I never bought them. Cigarettes were expensive, and I didn’t have the money to waste. And I didn’t want to use anything that might make me weaker. 
    Nonetheless, I really enjoyed cigarettes. 
    “Those things will kill you,” I said as he passed me one.
    James grunted. “I’m fifty-five. Something’s going to kill me eventually. The Lord will take me in his own good time.” He lit his cigarette with a lighter, and I lit mine off the end of his. We sat in silence for a moment, puffing. The smoke burned a little going in, but left a warm, pleasant feeling in my chest. Of course, too much of it would leave my lungs a scarred ruin. 
    “You tell Lucy about these?” I said. 
    James smiled. “I love my wife, but I don’t tell her everything. You love Russell. But you don’t tell him everything, do you?”
    I stared into the gathering twilight, watching the smoke rise from the end of the cigarette. “No. So why smoke with me?”
    “You’re not a veteran,” said James.
    “Of course not,” I said. “The High Queen only wants men for her armies. Women can stay home and make the next generation of soldiers.”
    “You’re not a veteran,” said James, “but you know some things that only men who have served as men-at-arms should know. It sometimes turns up in the things you say. You know how guns