“My arm—”
Mihn looked at the bloodstain spreading across the sleeve of her coat and swore in Veriboldan. “It is not much,” he said. “Let me help.” He carefully eased her out of the coat, but moving her arm hurt nevertheless.
“Why are you speaking Tremontanese?” she whispered. It felt like all she was capable of.
“These guards do not speak Veriboldan,” Mihn said, “and they seem very nervous. I think it is good not to give them more to be nervous about.”
Elspeth nodded. “That’s wise.”
Mihn pulled out his belt knife and cut a length of fabric from the hem of his shirt. He used it to bind her wound, and the bandaging made Elspeth feel better. She leaned against him until the sound of many horses made her sit up and look cautiously out the carriage window. More guards, these in Tremontane colors, surrounded the carriage. One of them dismounted and had a low-voiced conversation with the leader of the North guards. It ended with the man climbing up to the carriage seat and cracking the reins over the horses’ ears. The carriage jerked into motion.
Mihn’s arm tightened around Elspeth, holding her steady. “That is dramatic,” he said.
Elspeth choked on a hysterical laugh. “Almost the stuff of melodrama,” she said, and burst into tears.
She cried until her throat hurt and her sobs dwindled to sniffs, then sat up and away from Mihn. “I’m sorry, that was…I was overwhelmed.”
“With good reason,” Mihn said. “You do not need to apologize.”
Elspeth wiped her eyes and looked out of the carriage window. They were approaching the stables, where quite a few people had gathered, including someone all too familiar. Her heart sank. “You should go home. None of this was your fault.”
“I will not leave you until you are safe, El.” Mihn took her hand and squeezed it. “You are not dead. That is reason to be happy.”
The carriage came to a halt, and a guard in North blue opened the door and extended her hand to Elspeth. Wincing, Elspeth descended the steps and went forward to where Faraday stood at the head of far too many people. He looked ready to explode.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” he shouted. “Driving around in the open, risking your life—”
“Nobody told me that was dangerous!” Elspeth shouted back.
“Nobody should have to, your Majesty!” He invested your Majesty with razor-sharp sarcasm. “You have no concern for your safety, no concern for the fates of the guards—what do you think will happen to them if you’re killed on their watch?”
“There must have been fifteen people who knew I was going for a drive and not one of them stopped me. If you knew this was a possibility, why didn’t you tell someone?”
Faraday looked away, his jaw set in a familiar expression. His eye fell on her bandaged arm, and he closed his eyes as if controlling another outburst. “It wasn’t,” he ground out. “But the last thing Internal Affairs wants is to find out someone wants the Queen dead only after the killer has already succeeded.”
Elspeth took a mental step back and examined Faraday again. Underneath his anger was a current of fear that made her heart ache. “Mister Faraday, I can’t apologize when I did nothing wrong,” she said, “but I understand your position. Am I right that no one in your department suspected an assassination attempt?”
“That’s true. I apologize for failing you, your Majesty.” He once again looked at her bandaged arm, and a rush of sympathy for her one-time enemy surprised her.
“I accept your apology, Mister Faraday, and I’d like us to move on.” Elspeth stood straighter, even though the cold once more threatened to overwhelm her. “I have faith that you will find out who was behind this.”
His lips quirked in a sardonic smile. “That is kinder than I deserve, your Majesty.”
“Don’t.” Elspeth reached out to him, but let her hand fall before it could touch his wrist. “If all you intend to do is berate yourself for failing, you might as well resign right now. I need someone who will protect me more than I need a morose, self-indulgent child.”
His eyes, once more fierce, fixed on hers. “You,” he began angrily, then to her surprise he laughed. “Very well, your Majesty. I will begin the investigation immediately.”
“Thank you. And I expect to see you at supper tonight, along with Lady Quinn. Don’t be late.”
Faraday bowed, amusement lighting his dark blue eyes. “You have my word, your Majesty.” His gaze fell on Mihn, standing at Elspeth’s left elbow, and the amusement faltered slightly. Elspeth took Mihn’s arm and let him support her into the palace.
Elspeth leaned on him more heavily the farther they went, until when they reached the east wing, she almost couldn’t stand unsupported. “He’s with me,” she told the guards, and they let them pass with no comment. In the drawing room, Mihn helped Elspeth sit, then said, “I should find a doctor. Or a healer. I think there’s a palace healer.”
“No, sit with me, I’ll send someone,” Elspeth replied, but she didn’t move. Moving now that she was seated in a soft, comfortable chair seemed impossible. Mihn scowled and stood, walking away down one of the halls. Elspeth let him go. Her arm hurt, she was exhausted, and she wished she hadn’t reminded Faraday of their supper appointment, because all she wanted was supper in bed and an early bedtime.
Mihn came back and sat beside her. “One of the servants is going to fetch Dr. Ambrose.”
“I don’t know who that is, but all right.” Elspeth closed her eyes and basked in the warmth of the fire.
She woke, startled, when she heard Mihn say, “Doctor. It is not much of a wound, but she is…I do not know the word in your language.”
“In shock,” a woman said. Elspeth opened her eyes and saw a young woman, maybe Honey’s age, setting a worn leather satchel on the floor near the hearth. “I’m Dr. Ambrose. Your Majesty, how do you feel?”
“Very tired. And cold,” Elspeth said, though in truth the warmth of the fire had soaked into her bones and made her feel so relaxed she couldn’t be afraid. What a wonderful fire.
“Nice bandaging. Very well done,” the doctor said. She leaned over Elspeth and said, “I’m going to remove it now—it shouldn’t hurt much.”
It didn’t hurt much, even when Dr. Ambrose cut away Elspeth’s sleeve and touched the wound. Elspeth craned her neck to see it; it was a long, shallow crease along her upper arm that had bled profusely. “It’s not deep,” the doctor said. “I think I can heal it without hurting you.”
“You have inherent magic,” Elspeth said.
“I do. Is that a problem, your Majesty? I’ll be happy to call a regular doctor if you’d prefer.” Dr. Ambrose didn’t sound offended.
“I was raised in Veribold, doctor. Inherent magic doesn’t scare me.”
Dr. Ambrose smiled. “Hold your friend’s hand, and we’ll take this slowly.”
Mihn took her hand. He’d been silent the whole time, for which Elspeth was grateful. She didn’t feel up to conversation, even with her oldest friend.
A gentle lassitude swept over her, more relaxing even than the fire’s warmth. A tingle began in her upper arm, a tingle that soon became a burning sensation. The burning spread, not quite painful, not entirely pleasant, until her arm ached with it. Then it dissipated as gradually as it had spread until she felt nothing except that relaxed state.
Dr. Ambrose rose and picked up one of the vases on a nearby table. She removed the winter lilies from it and poured some of the water onto a cloth, which she used to wash Elspeth’s arm. It was now unmarked as if nothing had ever happened to it. “You’re good as new, your Majesty,” the doctor said, replacing the lilies. “I’m glad I could help.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Elspeth said. She twisted her arm; no pain. “Your gift is remarkable.”
“There are people in Tremontane who don’t think so.” Dr. Ambrose smiled, a reflective expression. “I’m glad you’re not one of them.”
She rose, and Elspeth stood as well. “How can I pay you?
”
“The government pays me a retainer to work for the Crown,” Dr. Ambrose said. “Call on me anytime.”
“I hope it won’t be necessary. Thank you again.”
Mihn turned to go when the doctor did. Elspeth protested, “Stay for supper at least.”
“Some other time, El. You don’t need a Veriboldan eating supper with you and your councilors. That’s official business.”
She wanted to protest further, but Mihn had a better grasp of social niceties than she did. “All right. I’ll see you later, though?”
“Count on it, El.”
Elspeth walked to her rooms and stripped off her ruined shirt. She hugged it close to her chest, feeling too weary to put on a new one. Finally, she tossed it in a corner of the dressing room and pulled one of her old Veriboldan shirts on, the kind that wrapped around and fastened on the side with tapes. She needed comfort, even if this felt like the forbidden kind. She could be Tremontanan again at supper, but for now she was just Elspeth whom no stranger wanted dead. She wished she could be her all the time.
She let Honey choose her gown for supper, a pale blue satin that to Elspeth’s surprise looked good against her red hair. Again deferring to her maid, she left her hair down, having brushed it until the thick curls shone. It was the most comfortable she’d ever felt in Tremontanan formal wear.
Veronica and her two councilors rose when she entered the drawing room. Lady Quinn looked much as she always did, but Faraday looked very strange in formal knee breeches and a satin coat, like an actor dressed for a part. He didn’t behave as if he wanted to abase himself and beg her forgiveness again, and she relaxed. She could deal with an angry, frustrated, or scowling Faraday far more easily than a remorseful one.
By now, she was accustomed to taking the seat at the head of the table. Faraday held her chair for her and then seated himself to her left. “I understand Dr. Ambrose tended to you,” he said.
“Yes, I’m entirely healed.”
“I wish I could make this problem go away as easily. We have no idea who might want you dead. Your guards rightly put keeping you safe above searching for the one who shot you.”
Lady Quinn flinched at his choice of words. Elspeth, watching her sympathetically, said, “It’s only been a couple of hours, Mister Faraday. I didn’t expect you to round up the assassin immediately.”
“No, but we should be able to analyze what we do know and make some initial conclusions.” Faraday attacked his soup like a general going to war, though without spilling a drop.
“Well, who would benefit?”
Faraday glanced at her. “That was the first question we asked. The answer is, nobody and everybody. Your heirs are all underage, so killing you—” Lady Quinn winced again “—would put the country in serious turmoil, as the provincial lords and a handful of noble families went to war over who would control the new King or Queen. Destroying the country benefits no one. But of those willing to go to war to claim the Crown, some might think they would have advantage enough to make it worth the risk. Knowing in advance that the Queen would die—”
“Mister Faraday,” Lady Quinn said in her quiet voice, “could we discuss something else? My soup is near curdled with all this horrid talk.”
Elspeth laughed. “I apologize, Lady Quinn. I’m afraid it doesn’t disturb me, so I hadn’t considered anyone else might be upset. Mister Faraday, the Countess is right, this is a discussion for my office tomorrow.”
Faraday nodded. “My apologies, Lady Quinn.”
“Thank you, Mister Faraday. Your Majesty, who was that young man I saw you with earlier, that Veriboldan man?”
“That’s Bakarne of the Arhainen, son of the Proxy of Veribold.” She hoped Mihn wasn’t upset about what had happened. He was too pragmatic to blame himself for her being shot, but he hated when his friends were injured physically or emotionally.
“I heard you call him something else. Mean?”
“Mihn. It’s…well, the Arhainen house totem is the swordfish, and ‘mihn’ means ‘little fish’ in Veriboldan. Because he’s the oldest scion of the Arhainen, you see. I’ve known Mihn since we were children.” She ought to ask him to take her somewhere else, to the opera or something. Someplace an assassin would have trouble reaching.
“You must be close friends,” Faraday said. “Your relationship seems rather informal.”
“Well, we did grow up together. He’s my best friend, and my oldest friend.”
“So you’re not betrothed?” Lady Quinn asked.
Elspeth laughed. “To Mihn? Excuse me, Lady Quinn, I didn’t mean to be rude. But…no. For one thing, we don’t feel that way about each other, and for another, he’s betrothed to a lady back in Veribold. Also a very good friend of mine, as it happens. But even if neither of those things were true, there’s no way a Veriboldan noble of a landed house would marry a foreigner. They take their honor far too seriously, and foreigners are considered…” How to explain something she’d grown up taking for granted?
“Veriboldans don’t believe foreigners are capable of carrying on the traditions of their people. I grew up in Veribold, I understand the culture as well as any Veriboldan, but I’m still considered an outsider. Mihn takes his heritage far too seriously to marry anyone not a noble Veriboldan, even if he were in love with her. It would be like a Tremontanan marrying someone without being sworn and sealed.”
“I almost feel I should be insulted on Tremontane’s behalf,” Lady Quinn said with a smile. “Given that Tremontanans care more about the family bond than the nationality of those who are part of it.”
“Veriboldans really don’t understand about family bonds.” Elspeth sipped the last of her soup and pushed her bowl away. “Which I find odd, considering that they’re sort of obsessive about tracking genealogy. But Veribold isn’t rich in source the way Tremontane is, so to them, the family bond is…the landholders almost think of it as a mythical thing, though they’re generally polite enough to behave as though our delusion is real.”
Faraday chuckled. “I didn’t think Veriboldan landholders knew what ‘polite’ meant. The ones I interact with behave as if they’re doing everyone a favor just by breathing the same air.”
“That’s true. Politeness means something different to them. For one thing, it’s polite behavior among nobles in Veribold—I mean nobles of all nationalities when they’re interacting with Veriboldan landholders—it’s considered polite to speak one’s mind, to the point of what we’d call rudeness.”
“That reminds me of my Great-Aunt Roberta,” Faraday said. “She’s one of those people who likes to be cruel under the guise of speaking truth.”
“Veriboldans wouldn’t do that either. It’s like—imagine you’re at a party and one of the guests asks for your honest opinion of her new gown, which you think is hideous. A Tremontanan might speak a little white lie to avoid giving offense. I assume your great-aunt would delight in telling the person how ugly her gown is and then praise herself for speaking plainly.”
“You assume correctly.”
“A Veriboldan either wouldn’t say anything, or would say something like ‘that’s not what I would have chosen’ or ‘I find your appearance unpleasing.’ And the person wouldn’t take offense. The idea is that you honor the person you’re speaking to by assuming they deserve honesty. And they won’t challenge a lie to your face, they’ll just shun you until you make amends for lying.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Veronica said. “More honest, maybe.”
“Except they use it as a weapon. If two houses fight, and one of them shuns the other, the rest of the houses might assume the one being shunned deserves it on no more evidence than that. I’ve seen minor houses destroyed that way. On purpose.” Elspeth smiled. “It keeps me from being complacent about the country of my childhood being perfect. There are many ways in which Tremontane is superior.”
“And those are?” Faraday prompted.
She’d spoken without thinking, and his words gave he
r pause. “I prefer the openness of Tremontanans,” she said slowly, working out truths she’d never articulated before. “And how much less rigid our class system is. There’s a hard divide between Veriboldan landholders and the common folk that makes it almost as if there are two Veribolds.”
“And yet it’s not as if a commoner can become a noble in Tremontane,” Lady Quinn said.
“That’s not entirely true,” Faraday pointed out. “A ruling lord might marry anyone she chooses and elevate that person. And the awarding of noble titles by the Queen or King isn’t all that rare.”
“All right,” Lady Quinn said, “it can happen. But it’s not common.”
“You’re both right. My own mother was an ordinary tradeswoman when she married my father,” Elspeth said, “and it’s also true that such elevations are rare. But it would be unheard of in Veribold. If it ever did happen, which it won’t, the person who was elevated would be utterly shunned by both classes. So Tremontane has an edge in that respect.”
“I’m not sure why you call it an edge,” Faraday said. He leaned back for the servants to set a plate of roasted quail in front of him. “I would hardly call this a contest.”
“I’m not really sure,” Elspeth said, “except I can’t help but feel a country is stronger when all its people are working toward its prosperity in the same way. Veribold always felt torn in two directions, to me. As if the landholders want one thing and the commoners want something else. And that, to me, is a weakness.”
“But the nobles of Tremontane often have concerns that have nothing to do with what commoners need, or want,” Faraday said. “Isn’t it the same?”
“The existence of the family bond means there’s one way in which all Tremontanans are the same,” Elspeth countered. “The bond isn’t any stronger if you’re noble. That’s a unifying thing Veriboldans find completely alien.”
Faraday nodded. “You have a point.”
They were having a normal conversation. It was surreal. “Though you’re right about Tremontanan nobles sometimes,” she began, then shot a glance at Veronica, placidly eating her quail. She didn’t want to bring up her suspicions about her uncle in front of his widow.
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