Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  He fell silent. Mother took his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Elspeth,” she said. To Elspeth’s horror, tears slid down her mother’s cheeks.

  “I don’t understand,” Elspeth said, though a horrible suspicion had crept over her. “What are you saying?”

  Father swallowed, the least controlled motion she’d ever seen him make. “Elspeth, sweetheart,” he said, “you’re the Queen of Tremontane.”

  2

  Elspeth stared at them both. Then a laugh bubbled out of her, unstoppable and painful. “That’s so funny I don’t even mind that you interrupted the Festival for your joke. Who is it really? Aunt Emily?”

  Her parents exchanged glances. Mother rose and came toward her with her arms outstretched. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  Elspeth jerked away from her. “Stop it,” she demanded, her voice so harsh she sounded like a stranger to herself. “Stop. This isn’t funny anymore. I can’t be Queen. It’s a lie.”

  “I wish it was,” Father said. He looked like he wanted to be sick. “Damn that idiot Francis for not marrying immediately. But no, he didn’t want to choose, didn’t want to be tied down—”

  “Sebastian, don’t,” Mother said. “There’s no sense blaming the dead. Or blaming Veronica for only having one child, or Landon for not divorcing Veronica when she couldn’t have more than one child…none of that does anything but make it worse.”

  Father turned his back on Elspeth. She knew he was trying to spare her his emotional reaction, but it felt like a slap to the face. “What am I supposed to do?” she exclaimed. “How do I get out of this?”

  “You can’t,” Mother said. “We’ve been over this with a handful of Tremontanan law-speakers and a couple of Veriboldan ones all night, ever since the word came. Of the four North children of Landon’s generation, your father is the only one alive who’s still a North after Emily adopted out fifteen years ago. The line of succession is clear. The only alternatives are for you to abdicate in favor of one of your siblings or for the succession to pass from the Norths entirely. If you did the first, well, none of your sibs are adults yet, and that would be a nightmare of a different sort.”

  “So let some other family take the Crown. The Norths have ruled for a century—that’s long enough.”

  “That would mean civil war,” Father said, not turning around. “There are at least three families who consider themselves to have a good claim to the Crown and would be willing to go to war over it.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t be Queen, Father! It’s not even about what I want. I have no experience, no training—I’m practically Veriboldan, not Tremontanan!”

  It was entirely about what she wanted. In eight months, she would become an Irantzen priestess and embark upon a life of holiness and worship. She’d wanted it for five years, had studied and meditated and prayed for it. And now some stupid accident of birth meant losing all that. Her chest ached as if it were bound with iron bands.

  “You’re not saying anything we haven’t thought of,” Mother said. “We thought—your grandmother Genevieve thought—we’d taken steps to prevent this ever happening.” She laughed, a sound as harsh as the one Elspeth had made. “Genevieve is probably raging through heaven right now, browbeating Francis and Landon both.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Father said, casting a quelling glance at Mother. “What matters is that there truly is nothing any of us can do to stop this. You’re to leave for Aurilien immediately.”

  And that felt like a punch to the stomach. Shaking, Elspeth said, “But the Festival—”

  Mother shook her head. “Immediately.”

  Tears welled up in Elspeth’s eyes, and this time she let her mother hold her. Sobbing, she choked out, “Go alone? I barely know anyone there, I don’t know what I’m doing…this is so unfair.”

  “Fairness doesn’t matter when it comes to the fate of nations.” Father put his arms around her and Mother both. “You’re intelligent, you’re quick to learn, and you don’t intimidate easily. You understand diplomacy and you’re familiar with Tremontane’s relations with Veribold, if nothing else. The rest will come with time.”

  “It will be all right,” Mother said, pressing her forehead against Elspeth’s. “They won’t expect you to be perfect. You’ll have the Queen’s Council, and your Aunt Veronica, and I think Merete Alderly is still palace housekeeper—you know her well.”

  The tears fell fast enough to choke any response Elspeth might make. She shook her head and managed, “It won’t be enough.”

  “Stop it,” Father said. “This is not how we raised you. I don’t expect you to be happy at losing your whole life. But you know facing a challenge is harder when you dwell on what you can’t have.” He sighed. “I would give anything to be able to reclaim my right to the Crown and spare you this.”

  Elspeth shuddered, wiped her eyes, and drew a deep breath. “Immediately doesn’t mean in my festival clothes, does it?”

  “It means tomorrow morning,” Mother said, “and if Tremontane doesn’t like it, there’s nothing they can do to chastise the Queen.” She smiled crookedly and wiped away her own tears. “Do you want to tell Hien, or should I?”

  “No, I will. I want—” How to tell her religious superior that Elspeth would now never be one of the sisterhood? The thought made her heart freeze and crack again. “Will you wait for me? I don’t want to go home alone.”

  Father squeezed her hand. “We’ll be here.”

  To Elspeth’s surprise, Hien waited in the passage outside the little room. “Let us walk,” she said. Elspeth fell into step beside her.

  “It is disaster, I think,” Hien said after a few paces. “The look on Fiona’s face was enough to tell me that, and to convince me to allow the ambassador into the Temple at this time.”

  “Disaster. That’s an excellent word for it.” Elspeth wiped away the last traces of tears. Hien was observant and insightful, but she was also polite and would never draw attention to Elspeth’s emotional state. “Hien, I am desperately in need of advice. Thanks to Tremontanan inheritance law, I am…I’m now Queen of Tremontane.”

  Hien came to a complete stop in the middle of the hall. “That is the last thing I expected you to say.”

  “It’s the last thing I expected my parents to tell me. Hien, what do I do? I’m not a politician, I’m a priestess in training! Everything in me cries out against this. But Mother and Father tell me there’s no way out of it, not without making the situation ten thousand times worse.”

  “That is indeed a disaster.” Hien regarded her with dark, inscrutable eyes. “It is not the life you planned for. I imagine most who rule nations have some idea, early on, that such is their destiny. So it is also a life you come to unprepared.” She tilted her head, giving her the appearance of an inquisitive raven. “And yet I think you will find yourself better prepared than you think.”

  “How is that possible? Francis had all those lessons while he was growing up. I barely understand how the Veriboldan government works, and that’s only because Mihn dragged me through his own instruction.”

  Hien shrugged and walked on, forcing Elspeth to trot to keep up with her. “Two things the ruler of a nation needs—or perhaps I should say two types of thing. One is a knowledge of the specifics of her responsibility. Laws, customs, expectations. That, anyone can learn. But the other is more subtle. A ruler must have qualities underlying that knowledge. Wisdom. Understanding. Confidence. Compassion. You know in Veribold the King or Queen must master five such qualities. It is not so explicit in Tremontane, but I think the two are not so different.”

  “I don’t know that I have any of those things.”

  “And now you are fishing for compliments.” Hien smiled at her sideways, and Elspeth blushed. She had spoken without thinking how her words would sound, and she wasn’t fishing for compliments, though she felt shaky and off-balance enough they would be welcome.

  “You were prepared to accept
the priesthood,” Hien went on. “That requires discipline, dedication, and patience. But the Irantzen Temple is not the only place one might use such skills. You are good at listening and you demonstrate insight in understanding the visions heaven grants. Again, these are skills you might turn to any occupation.”

  Her mention of visions reminded Elspeth of the one she had had of the palace. The meaning seemed clear now, particularly when Elspeth remembered how she’d been drawn to the north wing. She was too experienced in her religion to be overcome by the thought that heaven might have a message for her, but it still shook her. “It means giving up my whole life,” she said. “I don’t think I should be expected to be happy about that.”

  “You would not be human if you were,” Hien said. She took Elspeth’s hand and patted it, a gesture of such sympathy tears came to Elspeth’s eyes again. “We all of us will mourn your loss. You would have made us stronger.”

  “If I can return for the Festival someday, I will,” Elspeth said. Her heart still ached, but the pain was growing numb and distant. She wasn’t totally unprepared. “At least I speak the language. And I know the Proxy and his son, so I won’t be completely alone.” The Veriboldan ambassador, Elizdo of the Arhainen, wasn’t someone she counted as friendly—she didn’t think he approved of her—but his son Mihn was one of her closest friends, and she hadn’t seen him in the two years since his father took the posting as Proxy of Veribold.

  “You will not lose your faith just because you are in a foreign country. We all believe in the same heaven.” Hien reached around her neck and pulled her toan jade from within her wraparound shirt. “Take this with you.”

  “That’s an heirloom—I can’t accept!” Elspeth managed not to put her hands behind her like a child trying not to snatch forbidden pastries.

  “The toan jade gathers memories as it is touched by many hands,” Hien said. “This one is not the first I was given, and it is not the oldest. But it has seen much use, and I think knowing its heritage will give you strength. And it amuses me to think it has ended up in the hands of a Queen. Very few toan jades can boast such a genealogy.” She took Elspeth’s hand and pressed the medallion into her palm. Elspeth’s fingers curled automatically around it.

  “All right, but I want you to take mine,” she said. “It will need a home.”

  “That satisfies me.” Hien stopped again, and Elspeth realized they had made the entire circuit of the hall, which ran the circumference of the Temple, and ended up outside the room where her parents waited. “Elspeth,” Hien said, “I leave you my blessing. Remember this place when you find yourself in despair, and let your memories anchor you to what is true.” She pressed her first two fingertips against the center of Elspeth’s forehead. Then she said, “Farewell—and I hope we meet again someday.”

  Elspeth bowed, the low bow the priestesses gave to their superiors, and watched Hien walk away. Then she opened the door and said, “I’m ready. Let’s go home.” That it wouldn’t be home much longer was something she chose not to dwell on.

  She should have changed into her everyday clothes before leaving the Temple, but the revelation of her new status had left her feeling weak and unable to face even the smallest things, like the reminder that she was leaving her true destiny behind forever. So she had to ignore the looks the passersby gave her as she and her parents walked the concrete paths of the Jaixante to the bridge linking the island to the western shore.

  A brisk wind, chilly and scented with rain, tangled her hair as it did her mother’s. Winter in Veribold was milder than in Tremontane, or so she’d heard; she’d never visited Aurilien except in summer. But the wind was still cold enough to make her wish for a cloak. She clenched her fists and refused to shiver. It wasn’t much of a walk, even if she was barefoot, and if she could endure being Queen, she could endure a little discomfort.

  She couldn’t bear to look at the familiar tall buildings like sheer white cliffs pierced high above by round windows. Was the Queen of Tremontane considered worthy to visit the Jaixante? Veriboldan landholders, the equivalent of Tremontanan nobles, saw themselves as superior to everyone else, and except for the Festival and the Election, nobody not Veriboldan could live there. Of course, Landon and Francis had never come to Veribold, even for a state visit, so it was a question with no answer.

  No wheeled vehicles or animals were allowed in the Jaixante, so the three of them crossed the bridge on foot. A carriage waited there to take them back to the embassy. Elspeth settled into one corner of the carriage and rubbed the sole of her bare foot on the smooth linen of her trouser leg. She was grateful her parents didn’t feel like talking. She’d get enough of that when they reached home—

  “Do my sibs know?” she asked.

  Father shook his head. “When we got the message, we immediately set about looking for an alternative. We came for you as soon as we knew it was hopeless. We’ll have to discuss it when we arrive. They’re your heirs now, and that changes everything for them as well.”

  So they would be innocently thrilled to see their sister home early. They were young enough not to immediately consider what that might mean, though James was fourteen and maybe it would occur to him how odd it was that Elspeth had never come home from the Festival early before. Maybe they’d think the prospect of being the heirs to the Crown of Tremontane was exciting and not soul-crushing the way she did.

  She glanced at her mother, who was looking out the window and had Father’s hand clasped in hers. She’d lost two babies between Elspeth and James, babies who would be adults now. If only—but that was cruel, wishing things had been otherwise just so Elspeth didn’t have to take up this burden. This was a terrible tragedy, but it was no one’s fault, and Elspeth decided to face it like a woman and not like a sniveling child whining about fairness.

  The embassy, with its typically Veriboldan tiered roof and small scattered round windows, was home even though Father always told them not to get used to it, that his ambassadorship might end at any time. But he’d always said that with a twinkle in his eye, and Elspeth had guessed from things she’d overheard her parents saying that the position was not one Father would be forced to retire from. It made her wonder what had passed between her grandmother Queen Genevieve and her parents. Genevieve had died when Elspeth was only two, and she had no memory of the formidable woman, but she knew Father and Mother had disliked her, part of why their family had settled so far from Tremontane.

  She descended from the carriage and followed her parents up the steps and into the cool dimness of the front hall. “Let’s go to the drawing room,” Father said. To the attaché in forest green and walnut brown who poked her head out of one of the side rooms, he said, “Find my children and bring them to join us. They should be in the schoolroom, this time of day.”

  In the schoolroom. Such an ordinary pastime for this extraordinary day. Elspeth doubted they’d go back to lessons after this. She couldn’t imagine focusing on education once they knew…sweet heaven, they were royalty for true now. They’d always been princes and princesses, but Father and Mother hadn’t traded on those titles in Veribold, hadn’t encouraged their children to think along those lines. A little of her pain disappeared as she let go the tiny resentment she’d felt of her father for not preparing her for this possibility. He genuinely had believed his children wouldn’t inherit.

  They never used the drawing room except for family meetings like this one, so Elspeth’s memories of it were all tense and strained. Even the good memories—like when her parents told her she would have a baby brother after all those years of being the only child—were heavy with portent. And now her sibs would have one more ponderous memory to add to their collections.

  She took her seat on the Tremontanan-style couch under the round window that looked out over the back garden. The entire room was a little piece of Tremontane in Veribold, decorated that way by the ambassador before Father and left untouched by her parents, as if they, too, knew it wouldn’t be used much. All the public s
paces of the embassy, the ones where the ambassador hosted events, were in a Veriboldan style, and Elspeth felt more comfortable there. The thought that she would spend the rest of her life in an alien world made tears rise, which she ruthlessly dashed away. That was the kind of soppy, self-indulgent thinking that would make it impossible for her to take on her new role fully.

  Mother and Father sat on the couch adjacent to hers. No one spoke. Elspeth took a deep breath and welcomed the scent of cinnamon that filled her. It was the one touch of Veribold permitted here, because her mother loved the typically Veriboldan smell. Everything else, from the vases filled with jasmine and roses whose scents fought with the cinnamon to the plain rugs with their thick naps, spoke of a country far to the east, dry and cold instead of humid and warm. And she was doing it again. She inhaled the mingled sweet and spicy scents and tried to think of nothing at all.

  Running footsteps, and the distant sounds of argument, made Elspeth clench her hands. Such commonplace sounds—Ian and Sariah never walked anywhere if they could run instead, and never ran unless they could make it a race. Soon the twelve-year-old twins appeared in the doorway, gasping for breath and shoving each other amiably.

  “I win,” Sariah said.

  “You wish,” Ian said. “You even had a head start and I still beat you.”

  “If ‘beat you’ means ‘touched the door last,’ then sure.”

  “Ian. Sariah,” Mother said sharply, “enough. Sit.”

  The twins’ identical blue eyes focused on their mother. Immediately their joking expressions faded. “Are we in trouble?” Sariah asked.

  “No,” Father said. “Sit down. Where’s James?”

  “I’m here,” James said, his lanky frame filling the doorway. At fourteen he was as tall as his father, who wasn’t short, and Elspeth was certain he wasn’t finished growing. He looked from Father to Elspeth, and his face grew grim. “Something’s wrong.”