At least Diana felt confident enough to inform me that she wished to resume stealing grain. But I didn’t appreciate the implication that I would automatically give my consent.
I understood her reasoning for last year: Edar had needed grain, and Uncle had done nothing. The problem wasn’t even piracy, familiar to every country with a coastline. But having foreign royalty in Edar, with the expectation that I’d marry one of them, made stealing their grain a delicate matter.
And I’d done what Uncle wouldn’t: reached out to Eshvon and wrangled grain without depending on Farezi.
‘We appreciate your foresight and will consider your suggestion,’ I finally said. ‘We negotiated with Farezi’ – painfully – ‘and Eshvon is sending a portion of their harvests.’ In return for their youngest princess running around my palace. ‘For now, this is enough.’ In other words: I wouldn’t currently condone Diana’s piracy, and there would be consequences if she ignored me.
Something flickered in her blue eyes, quickly hidden. Her hair, so dark it reflected a blue sheen, bore the marks of sun and salt. Her hands were well-cared for, if not entirely smooth from her chosen life. She needed little to support her commanding presence, and I’d likely not met her expectations.
‘Very well, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘The Navy will do whatever necessary to help Edar. We simply await your orders.’
I rose, forcing her up with me. ‘We thank you for your continued service, Admiral.’ We eyed each other, before she bowed and left. I sat, picking at the conversation, then decided I needed fresh air.
A walk should have helped, but I felt no relief. I rounded a corner in the gardens and found Vigrante walking with Isra. As if my morning needed more complications.
She smiled, as bright as her long turquoise tunic and trousers, but Vigrante looked resigned.
‘Good morning, Your Majesty,’ Isra said.
‘Good morning, Princess. Lord Vigrante.’
He mustered a smile. ‘Good morning, Your Majesty.’
Vigrante had been quiet since Rassa and the other royals had arrived, almost six weeks ago. We still lobbied legislation back and forth, comments scrawled in the margins, but without any real energy. He’d actively involved himself in Isra’s conversation and much of her entertainment. Either he knew about my grain deal with Eshvon, or he suspected something and hoped it would be useful.
‘Lord Vigrante was telling me about your new merchant laws,’ Isra said. ‘You should have seen Mother’s reaction to them!’
I’d never forgive him for killing the merchant boy. At least Vigrante looked uncomfortable, even if Isra didn’t know why. For the first time in his career, he probably wanted Matthias to appear and summon me away.
Our conversation was cut short when a woman appeared on the terrace: Vigrante’s second-in-command. He was summoned away instead.
‘He’s a snake,’ Isra said after he was gone. ‘I presume you’ve no way of easily removing him?’
I hid my surprise. ‘His Government must hold a vote of no confidence. I can remove him if he’s a threat to Edar or myself, but I practically need to catch him committing treason.’
‘Your grandfather was a fool to let the nobles form a Parliament.’
‘There would have been civil war if he hadn’t. I may not have been born, and we wouldn’t be here talking.’ I smiled.
Isra went silent, working her mouth in thought. My skin itched.
I enjoyed our conversations, and hoped she found me tolerable company. But the longer she was here, watching her navigate Court, I was more and more convinced she was here for her own interests, and not her mother’s.
We were embroiled in a political game, of sorts, one that I didn’t know the rules for.
Footsteps approached: Matthias. Keeping my gaze on him, I said, ‘I’m sure your brother and cousin are anxious for your company., Your Highness.’
She bowed and nodded at Matthias. ‘With Your Majesty’s leave.’
He folded his arms and didn’t speak until she was out of earshot. ‘Dare I ask?’
‘It would appear Vigrante’s efforts to befriend Princess Isra are in vain,’ I said. ‘Or she simply enjoys stringing him along.’
‘As she also enjoys stringing you along?’
I sighed. ‘For someone who prides himself on observation, you seem oblivious that she flirts with everyone except me.’ And Xania, I realised, as cold sank into my bones.
‘I require your opinion,’ he said.
I’d never refused Matthias, no matter my exhaustion or never ending list of duties. But I could sense the unfair lecture brewing.
‘I’ll come to you this afternoon.’ I went back inside before he could respond.
I stalked through the halls. Anyone who tried to catch my attention backed away at my expression. I finally ended up in the gallery, before Father’s portrait.
I had his grey eyes and slightly-too-big nose. Mother said my exasperated smile was the same: tight, with the left corner of my mouth jutting up.
Father would never have allowed so many to control him.
I wish I could ask you what to do. Even though he’d probably say no one else could make decisions for me.
He’d been a romantic, somehow, Mother said. Their marriage had been arranged, but he’d known her at Court. When my grandparents sent him off as a diplomat with his new wife, their affection had deepened from living in an unfamiliar country. He’d loved Mother, despite signs she wouldn’t be an ideal Queen. Maybe she’d been exactly the kind of Queen he wanted. While my uncle and aunt’s marriage had cracked as the years passed without an heir, my parents had remained devoted. Mother held tight to his memory.
I needed a husband I wouldn’t despise, someone I could be comfortable around even in the absence of passion, and eventually I’d need to have a child.
But I couldn’t convince myself to want what I needed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Xania
As Vigrante tried to impress Isra, Hazell, his closest ally after Brenna’s death, spent little time around the foreign parties. Instead, he spent more time with Alexandris and lower Step nobles not invited to Lia’s gatherings. I suspected a pre-arranged divide and conquer approach.
Most of the Steps didn’t notice the staff. The royal family were exceptions: many of their servants had been with them for years. Hazell, thankfully, didn’t care once his assigned servants did their work with little fuss. Within a few days of his first discussion with Alexandris, I’d bribed one of Hazell’s servants with a better position elsewhere and installed an agent in their place.
Yet whenever I felt capable as Whispers, my Treasury work was happy to prove me wrong.
I was frowning at a set of figures that weren’t balancing – and trying to ignore Coin’s cat thumping her tail as she sprawled on my desk, dozing – when Terize stopped before me with a folder. ‘Please look at this,’ she said softly.
I stared at rows of new figures and almost missed the discrepancy. Almost.
I frowned. Tugged a piece of paper from under Coin’s cat and re-calculated. Got a different number. Frowned some more.
Terize leaned down. ‘Lord Frijian’ – her supervisor, who was above mine – ‘said it was a calculated error and to ignore it. It didn’t make sense, but he was… firm.’ Which meant he’d yelled at her. Coin didn’t like Frijian (and nor did his cat), but he produced results, and one of the required qualities for Treasury work wasn’t a pleasant demeanour. Terize’s face turned anxious. ‘I’m sorry for bothering you – but, well, this isn’t the first I’ve found, yet Frijian says…’
I wanted to shake her. She’d been brave enough to quietly defy Frijian – he’d yelled at me once, right in my face, and my heart had been in my throat even as I’d yelled back because it was the only way to make him stop – but was still dumping the problem on me. I didn’t need more work. But it was my own fault. I’d fixed so much for her, now she assumed I’d automatically do it.
Instead, I sai
d, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
As if sensing my frustration, she reached for the paper, then jerked back as the cat hissed at her. ‘No, no, you already do enough for me – oh, why doesn’t that cat like me? It was just – it’s such a large discrepancy.’
Large was an understatement. If Mama had received this loan, the discrepancy would be the difference between Zola and I getting new dresses this year and adding enough to our dowries to easily marry into the Sixth Step.
‘Ignore the cat. No, I’ll do it. Frijian is horrible to you.’ I ignored her protests until she returned to her desk. I scowled at Coin’s cat, reluctantly scratched her chin, then glared at the papers. I could do this. I’d done it before.
It was a ridiculous mistake. Heads would roll when Coin found out – including Frijian’s, for refusing to take it seriously.
I was so focused, I didn’t notice something was wrong until silence fell. I looked up. A servant in Farezi livery was talking to Coin, who whirled and glared into the Treasury pit. His gaze landed on me.
‘Miss Bayonn.’ His words dropped into the hush like pebbles into a pond. ‘Up here, now.’
I locked my work away and stood, aware of everyone’s stares. What did Farezi – what did Rassa – want with me? Nothing good, surely, considering our last conversation, but I could hardly refuse to see him.
The servant bowed. ‘Miss Bayonn. His Royal Highness, Prince Rassa, requests your presence.’
‘The honour is mine.’
As the servant turned, Coin leaned in close and murmured, ‘Keep your head, girl.’
As I followed the servant, I kept coming back to my most experienced Farezi spy. I hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She’d infiltrated Rassa’s circle, so I’d assumed she’d need time to gather new Court sources after he left for Edar. Now her silence worried me.
All too soon we were at his suite. As the doors closed behind me, I broke out in a sweat everywhere possible.
‘Miss Bayonn.’ Rassa strolled in, his hands held out in welcome. ‘I hope you weren’t too shocked by my impulsiveness!’
I curtseyed. ‘Your Highness. How may I be of service?’ The words felt wrong.
‘I feel we started off badly the other night,’ he said. ‘I wish to make amends.’
From anyone else, it would seem genuine. From Rassa, it felt like a trap. I wanted to laugh, turn on my heel, and stalk away, but he was the Farezi Crown Prince. It wouldn’t be worth it.
‘Of course, Your Highness. Amend away.’
The corner of his mouth quirked. ‘I see how you amuse Lia.’
I followed him into an intimate room for a small gathering. A table strained under gleaming china and bright desserts.
I’d never, ever tell Lia, but now I realised why Rassa had brought his own Pastry Chef. Each cake had a flourish boasting of the long, intense training required of a Farezi pâtissier or pâtissière. Our kitchens simply couldn’t replicate it.
The cakes ranged from creamy to sharp: dark chocolate and cinnamon; vanilla; a particularly lovely coffee cake that Lia would enjoy. There were rows of macarons and flavoured spun sugar. We ate pomegranate sorbet, an Eshvon specialty, as palate cleansers between courses. For the Farezi heir, only the best would do.
My stomach agreed.
As we sucked on spun sugar (I resisted stirring my tea with it to see his reaction), Rassa snapped his fingers. A servant nodded at his rapid-fire Farezinne, too quick for me to decipher, and returned with a silver platter.
‘La Religieuse,’ Rassa announced. The pastries, shaped like the old Farezi female clergy, were eaten for ceremonial purposes – birthdays, engagements, occasionally weddings – and nostalgia. They symbolised Farezi’s old Empire and religious power. They were understandably less popular in countries conquered under the Second Empire.
They were also traditionally eaten when parents first met their new daughter- or son-in-law.
Was he hinting about my feelings for Lia? Or was it a subtle jab that I’d never marry as high as the company I kept?
‘My mother always said important matters must be decided over La Religieuse.’
‘Your mother is wise, Your Highness.’
He impaled his pastry nun with a fork and dragged cream across the plate.
I stared sadly at my own nun. Perhaps they looked so delicious because no one ate them, only destroyed them while flinging steel-sharp words at each other.
‘No matter how much you amuse her,’ Rassa said, ‘why does Lia care so much for you? She shouldn’t allow you to mix above your rank.’
Maybe he wasn’t suspicious, merely socially oblivious. He seemed to consider Lia a lesser royal cousin to be indulged. He wouldn’t spend more time than necessary with someone like me, so why should she? And he didn’t want to understand, so he never would.
I carefully beheaded my nun. The vanilla filling had a hint of strawberry. ‘The Queen doesn’t need to explain her actions to anyone, Your Highness.’
He waved his fork dismissively, an action that would have disgusted Lia’s mother. ‘She must, because of your Parliament. Farezi does not need to justify itself. Our people know better.’
As one of those who should know better, I stayed silent. If he was trying for a better impression, he’d failed. He was treating me like an Upper Step lady, while reminding me of my actual rank.
I fantasised about throwing my Religieuse in his face and walking out. But it would be a waste of excellent pastry.
‘I’ve offended you,’ he said.
I was rubbing my fork between my thumb and forefinger. I dropped it on my plate and forced a smile. ‘You want to make amends, Your Highness, yet insult my Queen and country. I am… discombobulated.’
Nobles from the Upper Steps would have navigated this with more finesse. Lia wouldn’t have hesitated in putting him in his place. I didn’t care.
Rassa smiled. ‘Have you ever considered your prospects abroad, Miss Bayonn?’
Was he offering me a job?
It could have been worse. He could have proposed marriage.
‘Not especially, Your Highness. My family is in Edar. I have no desire to leave.’
The irrational part of me insisted Lia Lia Lia.
‘You should. Lia finds you amusing now, but her favour won’t last. You’ll annoy her, eventually, and one’s star in Court always falls faster than it rises.’
As a good courtier and Whispers, I should keep my mouth shut and note anything Lia could use against Rassa.
‘I do not respond well to insults.’
Or I could succumb to pettiness.
Rassa dropped his fork onto his pastry and cream battlefield.
After a long moment, grudging respect sparked on his face. Or perhaps admiration for my potential death wish.
He stood, which allowed me to get up. At least my dress hid my trembling legs. ‘We’ll talk again, Miss Bayonn.’ His smile was more warning than reassurance. ‘You’re extremely interesting.’
I wanted to be the dullest person alive.
I curtseyed. ‘I look forward to it, Your Highness.’ We held eye contact for a long moment. He looked away first, and I escaped before anything else could go wrong.
I couldn’t figure out what he’d meant to achieve by this. It was more than disliking me, or disapproving of my friendship with Lia. And Rassa didn’t seem suspicious about whether she had an ulterior motive for favouring me, so perhaps he simply thought I was trying to rise above my rank.
My mind flashed back to Lia’s book, hidden in my room. It was time to return it to her.
And the next time something like this happened, I’d finish my Religieuse before sparring with steel-sharp words.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lia
The Little Church was one of the palace’s religious relics. No one could bear gutting the small room, with its stained glass and serene calm, so it stayed forgotten through indulgent neglect. I’d spent hours there when I was younger, reading and thinking and hiding from
the Court. Someone would find me, eventually, in the portrait gallery. But no one would think of looking here, and I wanted more time alone.
I pushed open the dark doors. The plain outside was deceptive: the room was large and bright. Pale walls reflected sunlight through stained glass windows. Figures stood in the panes, intricate and tall, the Edaran gods who had slowly turned into myths, twisted into symbols of nature and seasons, their lives perhaps as invented as their legends.
Lady Winter stood in the tallest window, surrounded by snow and dark branches, flanked by her companions, Twilight and Night. We celebrated her during Midwinter, when the Queen danced in a pale, fragile dress, joined by the King and a favourite as Twilight and Night.
I sat in a pew and stared up at Lady Winter. I would be her this year, as my aunt, grandmother, and great-grandmother had before me. And I’d most likely dance with Aubrey to show my favour.
The church door opened; I sighed as familiar footsteps came up the aisle.
Correction: no one would think of looking for me here – except Matthias.
He sat beside me on the pew. The silence grew long and taut between us.
‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said.
‘When I walk away,’ I replied, still focused on Lady Winter, ‘it isn’t a challenge for you to find me.’ I could count on one hand the number of times I’d heard Matthias apologise. It didn’t come easy to him. That didn’t mean I had to hear it.
‘I don’t trust Isra,’ he said.
‘None of us trust her,’ I said. ‘You don’t get to be cranky about it. If she’s stringing me along, it’s nothing to do with a lack of flirting.’
‘Possibly because she’s realised you want to flirt with Xania more than anyone else,’ Matthias said, soft and tense.
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Matthias had known me the longest of all. Of course he would notice this.
‘Nothing has happened,’ I said. Nothing probably will, even if I want it to. ‘I don’t even know if she feels the same.’
‘Xania can’t keep her eyes off you.’
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