by Callie Bates
“Your Majesty!”
I turn. The guards are pouring in now, hauling a wooden contraption among them—a fire engine. It’s almost too wide to fit through the doors. Grenou is nowhere to be seen; Alain is the one who barks orders, and points Philippe and me toward the sitting room.
We squeeze past the fire engine. The guards are operating the pumps on either side, and a sudden spray of water bursts from the contraption’s long nozzle. The fire hisses wildly.
Philippe takes my arm. “Sophy, your hair—”
I don’t even hear him. Grenou is coming into the sitting room, frowning terribly. He stops when he sees us.
Suspicion runs cold fingers down my chest. “Philippe,” I say quietly, “did you send for the guards?”
“Yes,” he says, but there’s a flicker in his gaze. “I smelled smoke.”
Grenou is staring at us.
I pick the poker up from where I dropped it earlier, ignoring the tightness of my breath. The weight feels good in my hand.
“Sophy,” Philippe begins.
“Stay back,” I bark at him. I’m advancing on Grenou.
The chief of my guards begins to babble. “Your Majesty, it must have been that sorcerer. Ciril. How else could it have happened so quickly? We didn’t even hear you struggling…”
“You’re a terrible actor, Grenou,” I say flatly.
“My lady?”
His tone is startled. Innocent. But just for a moment, his hand went to the pistol at his hip.
“You weren’t in my rooms. No guard was stationed at the servants’ door.”
He blinks. “You did not tell me to put one there, Your Majesty.”
“Indeed,” I say sardonically. “I thought that’s what you might say.”
His gaze flickers to Philippe, who is staring him down. “It was the sorcerer, madam,” Grenou says, but he’s still watching Philippe. “That Ciril. He must have played with our minds—”
“A man who can summon lightning entered my chamber and set fire to the place with a torch and oil?”
He swallows.
The poker is weighing down my arm, but I keep it trained on him. “You could run,” I say. “Join Rambaud. Of course he probably wanted you stationed here, and you failed him, didn’t you?”
He wets his lips. “I told you those refugees would lead to nothing but trouble.”
Softly, I say, “You’re being a fool, Grenou. Admit to what you did, and I might see you pardoned. Keep lying, and I’ll be forced to treat you as an enemy, and a traitor.”
There’s a shout behind us. Two guards come running. “It’s out!”
I lower the poker. Grenou doesn’t move; Philippe goes to stand beside him, putting his hand firmly on the guardsman’s shoulder. In the next moment, there’s a creak of wheels, and the fire engine trundles back into the sitting room, pushed by the flushed, triumphant guards. Grenou seems to take no notice of his men; his gaze has fixed on the wall behind me.
“Well done!” I congratulate the guards.
Some servants have followed them, Fiona at their head. “Sophy!” she exclaims. “Are you—” She takes in my nightgown and my hair, which must be a singed wreck, and the red licks of burns up my legs. She swings to the other servants. “Send for a doctor!”
“I’m fine,” I insist, putting my hand to my stomach. My lungs feel wrung out. “Thank you all for what you did.”
But no one listens to me. Fiona is ordering the other servants about, and the guards are wheeling the fire engine from the chambers. Alain marches up to me. “How did they get in, my lady?”
At least he doesn’t assume poor, stupid Ciril tried to kill me with a lightning strike. I send Grenou a sour glance. “Through the door to the secret passage, I expect.” I look at him. “Alain, did Captain Grenou appoint anyone to guard my bedchamber last night?”
“Captain Grenou?” He frowns, utterly confused. “But Isley is the deputy of your queen’s guard, while Captain Rhia is…”
He trails off, staring around the room as he realizes there are no mountain women here.
“That’s what I thought,” I say grimly. I gesture with my chin at Grenou. “Take your men and arrest this man. Make sure you disarm him, as well.”
Alain stares from his captain to me. Fiona and the servants, realizing a new drama is unfolding, have withdrawn to the corners of the room. The remaining guards are watching, wide-eyed.
“You heard the queen,” Philippe says gruffly.
Alain snaps to attention. “Your Majesty!” He marches forward and takes up position beside Grenou, wrestling the pistol from the captain’s side. Three more men step over to flank them.
“Lock him up in a spare room.” I add drily, “And make sure you guard all of the exits.”
Alain salutes, his expression now perfectly neutral. Grenou doesn’t look at me; the sound of him burns, heavy and flat with rage. The guards close formation and march him away.
Fiona takes my arm. “The doctor’s here, Your Majesty.”
I pull away. “I don’t need a doctor…” But now that Grenou is gone, I’m aware of the burns stinging my legs, and the smoke still caught in my lungs. I glance down, trying to see my legs, and glance again. I’m wearing only a white nightgown, trimmed with fine lace. The gathered fabric hides my stomach.
A man bustles forward through the servants. It’s a doctor, a mild, middle-aged man carrying a leather bag. He gestures to a plushly upholstered chaise. “Please, Your Majesty. Sit.”
I turn to Fiona, gripping her arm. “Not him. I need Demetra.”
“You’ve been in a fire! You need more than the foreign midwife.”
“It’s only a slight burn.” My heartbeat thunders in my ears. “Send for Demetra.”
“Sophy,” Fiona says firmly, “you—”
“No!” I shout at her. The doctor will take one look at me and know. He’ll know that I—I—I stumble. Everything stings and aches. Heat’s building in my head, tingling out along my limbs. I can’t breathe. I—I—
“Sophy.” It’s Fiona, gripping me tight.
I blink. Slowly, the room stops spinning. I gather my breath. “I’m fine. Just bring me a robe.”
Fiona gives me a skeptical look, but sends the order.
I’m still light-headed, so I let the doctor guide me over to a chaise. Philippe comes to join us, frowning. The doctor is a kind man, with spectacles and a fatherly look. “My lady, you must lie back. You’ve been injured, and you’ve had a terrible scare. Please, let me examine you.”
Tears threaten my eyes. I want Demetra. I want to have chosen differently. Has the fire harmed the baby? Surely it can wait.
“Sophy!”
There’s a scuffle at the door, and then Teofila runs through the crowd of guards and servants, Hugh on her heels. She throws herself on her knees beside the chaise. The doctor, with a dubious look, shifts over to examine my legs.
“What happened?” Teofila clutches my hand. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know. Grenou tried to blame Ciril, but it was obviously a setup.” I look at Hugh, then back at Teofila. “Rambaud is behind it, I’m sure.”
Teofila’s eyes darken. “I’ll kill him.”
“Not if I do first.” I touch my stomach, and her gaze follows mine. She looks from me to the doctor.
“Hugh,” she says, “go fetch Demetra Megades from the east wing.”
The doctor sits back on his heels. “Ladies, I assure you that I am perfectly competent if you’ll just let me do my job.”
More voices echo out in my sitting room. I push myself up. The ministers have arrived, a collision of sound and color, and I won’t be found sitting here like an invalid. “Thank you,” I tell the doctor firmly, “but we will examine any wounds I have later.”
Fiona hands me a robe; most of my clothes
were in the dressing room, and left safe. It’s a fine, slippery silk. Without thinking, I stand and pull it on, tying the belt at my waist.
But the fabric is as rebellious as water. The sash slides up underneath my breasts, silhouetting my stomach. I snatch for the sash again, but it’s too late. The doctor’s staring at me. Surprise and shock pulse from him, bright and tangible as a fist. His mouth opens. “Your Ma—”
“No questions,” I snap, and he stares at me again. All the gods, this is the last thing I need. I don’t have time to silence this man. I don’t know whether he will be silent, even if I demand it.
I untie the sash, for all the good it does. Philippe is looking at me, too; I suppose he saw. The hang of the robe disguises my outline, but it’s no use; the secret’s out now. Teofila has drawn in a breath.
Panic grabs at my throat, but there’s no time to think of what I should say, or to bargain with anyone for their silence. No time for anything. The ministers have surrounded me, a cacophony of questions and buzzing, bright white fear. Even the Butcher looks concerned. Victoire has arrived as well, her hair and eyes wild.
“Who did this?” Juleane Brazeur is demanding.
“It must have been that refugee,” Lord Devalle says with a gasp. “Fire! Like the lightning strike that killed poor—poor Thierry…”
I look at him. Just look. But he sees me, and the words die in his mouth. The other ministers fall silent, too, watching me. Juleane Brazeur’s eyes have drifted down to the sash dangling from my waist.
“I woke this morning to someone in my chamber,” I say, loud enough for the servants and guards to hear as well. “They had doused my bed with oil and set fire to it with a torch. I glimpsed them for only a moment before they disappeared into the hidden passage behind my rooms. I assume,” I add drily, “you all know what passage I’m referring to?”
None of them speak.
“Curiously,” I go on, “Captain Grenou did not appoint anyone to guard my chamber last night—except, presumably, himself. He did not answer my shouts for help. He did not appear at all, in fact, until Dorothée discovered me and sent for more servants to aid us. Even more curiously”—I look at Lord Devalle—“Grenou also blamed Ciril.”
Devalle can’t hide a wince.
“I’ve had him arrested,” I say conversationally, and the minister swallows.
“Your Majesty,” Juleane Brazeur interrupts. She’s pointing at my stomach. “Are you—”
“I have not finished speaking,” I rap out, and she falls silent, out of surprise as much as anything else. I draw in a breath and look at all of them, watching me with varying degrees of concern. My hands have begun to tremble, but I know in my bones it is time to tell them. It’s time to speak the truth. Ruadan would want me to.
“As you can see, I’ve survived,” I say. “Not only I, but the hope for what lies ahead. The life I’m carrying, the symbol of our kingdom’s future. The child I am bearing has survived, too.”
* * *
—
THERE IS A moment of absolute silence. The echo of my words seems to hum in the air. The ministers don’t seem stunned, exactly. The sound of them is too calm for that. They are staring from one another to me, as if they can’t believe I actually told the truth. I wonder sourly how long they’ve known. Even Teofila looks surprised.
So does Philippe. I can’t look at him. He will hate me for this, I suppose, even if by his own admission the gossips have already guessed.
Lord Devalle starts to back toward the door.
“Guards!” I bark. “Arrest the minister of finance.”
The guards hesitate. Devalle laughs, but a little too high-pitched, a little too uneasy. “Your Majesty surely doesn’t mean to suggest I had anything to do with this unfortunate incident this morning…”
I look at him. Mere hours ago, I would have felt obligated to placate this man—to play his game. But if he is willing to participate in an attempt on my life, then I am done being nice.
The bastard should have known better than to threaten my child.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me before,” I say. I’m still trembling, but this time my anger feels good. It warms me down to my bare, aching toes. “When I was screaming for help, Captain Grenou did nothing. Like him, you have suggested the perpetrator was Ciril Thorley. It’s hard to fathom why Ciril would fake his own sorcery with a torch.”
Devalle opens his mouth.
“We are done with this discussion,” I say. “And I’m done with you. Guards!”
This time, they obey, surrounding the minister of finance. For once he has the sense not to protest.
I look around at the other ministers. Most of them have shrunk back from me. The Butcher looks neutral, and I bite down the urge to curse. He probably knew even before he heard me speaking oh-so-subtly to Demetra. Hugh is watching me steadily, and Teofila stands firmly by my side. Victoire has folded her arms, but she gives me a minute nod.
“Your Majesty…” It’s Juleane Brazeur. “Forgive me, but are you truly with child?”
“I am carrying a symbol of hope for our kingdom.” I lay a hand on my stomach so they can all see its roundness. “Let this be a message to Tinan and Paladis and Baedon, and whoever else thinks they can destroy us. We are not going anywhere!”
None of them react quite as I’d hoped. Hugh starts to say something, then glances at the others and falls silent. Philippe is frowning at me. I stare back.
Juleane Brazeur sighs. “The father, I suppose, is well known to us.”
My shoulders tense. Quietly, I say, “The identity of the father is immaterial.”
Teofila looks at me, and I keep my gaze focused on the ministers. The words echo in my ears, blunt as a betrayal. As if Alistar doesn’t matter. I feel as if I don’t recognize myself. Yet I plow on, determined to appear strong.
“I won’t marry to hide the fact that I am bearing a child,” I say with conviction I don’t quite feel, even though the words are true. “I am proud to soon be a mother.”
There’s a silence.
“My lady,” Juleane Brazeur begins, “with respect, we are in a difficult position, with the black ships due to arrive, and the Caveadear dead—”
“Elanna is not dead.” I nod at their universal shock. “I saw her with my own eyes yesterday afternoon, along with Jahan Korakides. They spoke to me all the way from Ida. The Caveadear has not yet found a way home, but she is alive and well. And,” I add, “the emperor’s fleet no longer poses a threat. Jahan destroyed it.”
There is an astonished silence. Then Teofila turns to me. She whispers, “Is this true?”
I turn to her, grasping her hands, feeling a smile burst over my face. Finally, it seems I’ve done something right. “Yes. She’s alive, and well, and once we tell the people, things will improve.”
“But this won’t change anything,” Philippe says quietly, “and you know it.”
He’s watching me with a heavy gaze—a sharp reminder of our conversation last night.
He glances at the other ministers. “The people believe Elanna is dead. They won’t change their minds because you shared some sorcerous form of communication, Sophy. No one will believe you—particularly not with magic involved. And the same goes for the fleet. Telling them that Jahan Korakides single-handedly took it down? It sounds impossible.”
“But he did,” I say tightly, “and Elanna is alive. I told you so—and I would never lie.” He might have mentioned some of these doubts last night.
“Perhaps not, but there are people who will accuse you of doing so.” His jaw is tight, as is the sound of him, and I stiffen. Something has changed. He seems to be angry with me—or perhaps angry at the world. Maybe I shouldn’t have proposed to him; maybe it insulted him.
My mouth has gone dry, and he’s still speaking. “Your Majesty, I’m only saying what Aristide Ramb
aud and his followers will say. This is perfect fodder for them. They will use this to destroy your reputation. They will portray you as fickle, weak, uncertain, a liar, and…” He hesitates. “A loose woman.”
To my horror, tears prick my eyes. But I can’t cry, not in front of all the others. I can’t let Philippe see how much he’s hurt me. So I say, though the words taste bitter in my mouth, “You mean they will call me a whore.”
He looks away.
I swallow back my tears, and feel them turning to rage. Rage that Philippe thinks he has the right to shame me. Rage that the ministers believe they and the kingdom at large have the right to both know and determine what happens to my body. I look around at them all—the ministers, Victoire, Hugh, the Butcher. Teofila.
“This is my body,” I say. “If I choose to have a child, it is my choice. Whether this baby will become the future ruler of Eren and Caeris is a choice that belongs to the people—but bearing the child is my decision. If Aristide Rambaud and his friends’ outmoded morality makes them accuse me of being dissolute, then let them accuse me.”
Philippe bites his lip but says nothing more. Juleane Brazeur seems about to speak, yet hesitates.
“You’re worried about what people will say.” The truth is, I am, too. But the trembling inside me has as much to do with fury as fear. “Tell them this: that I am alive—and not only that, I am bearing a child who could be our future monarch. Tell them Rambaud attempted to murder a pregnant woman. Tell them Elanna lives, and the Paladisan fleet has been destroyed.” I raise my eyebrows. “Tell them we should be celebrating.”
They hesitate, but I say, “Go!”
They begin to file out, talking among themselves. I catch the Butcher’s eye. He nods, lingering beside the fireplace.
I call after Juleane, “Did you send someone back to those villages to look after the women?”
She glances back at me, surprised. “Yes, of course.”
“Good.” I nod, though I don’t know that this latest news will do much to persuade the women to take my offer of help. “You can go.”