Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  She straightened in her seat as the Ruskalder ambassador, Larssin, stumped toward her and flung himself into his chair. “Good evening, Larssin,” she said. “Welcome to my court.”

  Larssin glared at her. “Good evening, your Majesty.” His gruff, heavily accented Tremontanese made his words sound like a challenge to duel.

  “Do your people celebrate Springtide?” she asked, determined on politeness unless he forced the issue.

  “We do not have heathen holiday,” Larssin growled. “The gods speak at all times, not bound by time of year.”

  “That’s what they teach in Veribold, too. Though of course they believe in ungoverned heaven as the Tremontanans do.”

  “Heathen,” Larssin said. “I see the sanctuary—you say bethel. With the statues. You mock the gods.”

  He was really pushing the boundaries of good manners. “We respect the lost gods, Larssin,” Elspeth said in a level voice. “And it’s rude to comment on other people’s religious faith. Even the Ruskalder know that.”

  Larssin grunted, but said nothing more. Elspeth stood. “Please excuse me, but I should speak to my guests,” she said. Getting away from him trumped her desire to avoid looking like she was trolling for a Consort.

  She moved through the crowd, nodding politely to people who bowed or curtseyed but not stopping to talk. It occurred to her that she didn’t know anyone who was a potential Consort, and tradition if not outright law dictated that she not introduce herself to anyone. She felt mingled guilt and sorrow at the thought.

  Maybe she did want a Consort. Granted that marrying had never been part of her plan, but it wasn’t like she was opposed to marriage. And having someone she could talk to, someone who wouldn’t call her Majesty all the time—that was something worth having. Even better if it was someone she could love, someone who loved her…yes, having a Consort was a good idea. So what if people stared and speculated? It would be worth it in the end.

  Having firmed her resolve, she set out looking for someone who might make introductions. Almost immediately, she saw Lord Harrington conversing with Lady d’Arden. Perfect. She hurried toward the pair, waited for them to bow and curtsey, and said, “Lord Harrington, I’ve thought about what you said, and I would like to get to know some of these men. Can you make introductions for me?”

  Lord Harrington’s eyebrows went up. “Certainly, your Majesty. Though Lady d’Arden is far more socially adept than I.”

  “I know someone you really must meet,” Lady d’Arden said with a smile. “Come with me, your Majesty.”

  Lady d’Arden wandered through the crowd like a toy boat bouncing off the sides of a bath, finally coming to a stop before a trio of young men. Their conversation ended as each became aware of who stood before them. “Your Majesty, may I introduce to you Mister Gould, Lord Erickson, and Lord Folsom?”

  The three men bowed, more deeply than Elspeth thought was warranted. “It’s an honor, your Majesty,” Lord Erickson said. His blond hair shone in the lights of all the chandeliers. Gould and Lord Folsom, both darker-complected, nodded in agreement.

  “Mister Gould owns the company that is contracted with the palace for all its buildings,” Lady d’Arden said, “and Lord Erickson is a well-known poet. Lord Folsom, of course, is of the Sandringham Folsoms.”

  Elspeth didn’t know who the Sandringham Folsoms were, but she smiled at Lord Folsom, who was extremely handsome with his dark hair and bright blue eyes that were such an attractive contrast. They were all three of them handsome, and Elspeth’s heart lightened. “It’s very nice to meet you all,” she said. “Mister Gould, what does it mean that your company manages all the palace’s buildings?”

  Gould smiled as if he’d won a prize by being singled out. “We’re the builders for the palace. Any new construction is designed and completed by us.”

  “Then you’re responsible for the pavilion King Francis ordered for the royal gardens.” Elspeth wasn’t sure she wanted to be friendly with him, given that she’d almost decided to cancel the project, but he likely wasn’t directly responsible for the pavilion.

  “We are, yes. I hope you like it. I designed the structure myself.”

  “Did you? That’s…very nice.” Elspeth swiftly transferred her attention to Lord Erickson. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a poet before. Have you written anything I might have heard of?”

  It was Lord Erickson’s turn to be smugly proud. “My most famous epic is The Stolen Heart.”

  She hadn’t heard of it. Damn. “You must be so proud that so many people want to read your writing.”

  “It’s gratifying, yes. Might I have the pleasure of sending you a copy, your Majesty?”

  “I would like that, Lord Erickson.” Disaster averted. But now they were all watching her avidly, as if they…yes, as if they were waiting for her to ask one of them to dance. And here was a new tune starting up.

  She made a rapid decision. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen, I would ask one of you to dance, but I’m afraid I don’t know many Tremontanan dances.”

  “I would be happy to teach you, your Majesty,” Lord Folsom said, cutting off the other two, who’d been too slow off the mark. “It isn’t difficult.”

  She made another rapid decision. “Thank you, Lord Folsom, I would appreciate that. Mister Gould, Lord Erickson, perhaps we might speak again later?”

  The two bowed politely, though the glares they directed at Lord Folsom might have cut steel. Lord Folsom offered Elspeth his arm and guided her well away from the other dancers. Elspeth’s estimation of his character rose a few notches.

  “We join hands, like this,” Lord Folsom said, taking Elspeth’s hands, “and then it’s two short hops, forward and back—you do it the opposite of me, your Majesty, or we’d run into each other!—then step side to side, and then promenade.” He released her left hand and guided her into a long, gliding walk that ended with them on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Elspeth repeated the movements and once more glided along on his arm. He was right, it was easy, and it was even fun.

  She watched the dancers around her and, daring, tried a variation on the steps that Lord Folsom easily matched. Nobody seemed to be watching her, no one had made her feel foolish, and she began to wonder if her fears had been unjustified.

  When the music came to an end, she was laughing and too-warm. She fanned herself with her hand and said, “Lord Folsom, thank you. That was enjoyable.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, your Majesty. Shall we find you a cool drink?”

  Elspeth nodded and took his arm again. It seemed all the uniformed servants bearing drinks had disappeared. Lord Folsom didn’t seem bothered by this. He kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked, conversation that bored Elspeth as she didn’t know any of the people he talked about. She began to regret the impulse that had led her to single out the most handsome of the trio. The other two probably had more interesting conversation. How foolish of her to forget good looks were no guarantee of a handsome spirit.

  A small door opened nearly in front of them, a door that had been invisible before now, and a servant emerged, bearing a tray with a few empty glasses and one full one. “Ah, there we are,” Lord Folsom said, gesturing to the man. He took the glass of wine and handed it to Elspeth. The servant bowed and walked away.

  “But shouldn’t you have something?” Elspeth said.

  “It’s the gentleman’s duty to ensure the lady’s comfort, particularly if the lady in question is his Queen,” Lord Folsom said.

  Elspeth took a small sip. It was a rich red wine that made her lips tingle unpleasantly. “I actually don’t care much for wine,” she said. “Please, take this. I’ll find someone to fetch me something else.”

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “I don’t want it to go to waste.” Elspeth pressed the glass into his hand.

  “Very well—if you’ll walk with me while I drink it,” Lord Folsom said with a smile. It was a pity he was so boring, because he really was very handsom
e.

  They strolled off around the circumference of the ballroom. Lord Folsom gestured at the chandeliers with his wine glass. “King Francis ordered them replaced with Device lights, just a year ago,” he said.

  “Are they brighter now, then? There aren’t many Devices in Veribold.”

  “Much brighter, and the light is steadier.” Lord Folsom drank half the glass in one gulp. “It makes the murals that much—”

  He stopped mid-sentence and swayed where he stood. “Lord Folsom?” Elspeth said, gripping his arm to steady him.

  Lord Folsom’s face looked gray in the brilliant light of the Devices, and his lips were tinged blue. He dropped his wine glass to shatter on the floor and groped at his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Can’t…breathe…” he gasped.

  “Lord Folsom!” Elspeth screamed as his knees bent and he collapsed. She crouched beside him and loosened his cravat, hoping to stop the wheezing sound he was making. His face grew grayer and he convulsed, knocking Elspeth over.

  “Excuse me, your Majesty.” It was, to Elspeth’s surprise, Dr. Ambrose, dressed in a buttercup-yellow gown with her auburn hair piled high on her head. She snatched off her glove and laid a hand gently along Lord Folsom’s cheek, almost a lover’s caress. Elspeth scooted farther away, her breathing coming rapidly as if she might through some sympathetic magic help Lord Folsom to breathe. She became aware of the crowd surrounding her, pressing in on all sides, and she welcomed their presence even as she wished she could shoo them all away and give Dr. Ambrose room to work.

  Dr. Ambrose’s eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell with her deep, rapid breathing. Suddenly Lord Folsom sucked in a deep breath and coughed, a great, hacking, wet sound. The color returned to his face. Dr. Ambrose sat back and wiped sweat from her forehead. “He’ll live,” she said. “No thanks to whoever poisoned him.”

  14

  “Poison?” Elspeth stared at Lord Folsom’s mottled, gasping face. “The wine,” she said, pointing at the dark red puddle, the dripping shards of glass. “The wine—I drank some of it.”

  Dr. Ambrose swiftly grabbed Elspeth’s hand and closed her eyes. A dull ache began in Elspeth’s stomach and spread rapidly up her chest and into her throat. Then it vanished as rapidly as it had begun. Dr. Ambrose released her. “There’s no poison in your system. How much did you drink?”

  Elspeth shook her head. “Just a sip. Barely enough to wet my lips.”

  “You’re in no danger. How did you know not to drink?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t like wine. I—” Her hands began to shake. “I made him take it. It’s my fault he nearly died.”

  A murmur rose from the watching crowd that rose as someone shoved his way to the front. “What—” Faraday began. He fell silent when he saw Lord Folsom lying on the ground, limp and unmoving. “What happened?” he demanded.

  Elspeth stared at him. She’d nearly killed a man—this was all her fault—

  “Poison,” Dr. Ambrose said, standing. “Meant for the Queen.”

  Faraday’s gaze came to rest on Elspeth. His eyes blazed with fury, and his lips were pressed tightly against what was sure to be a spectacular explosion. “Get her Majesty to safety. Now,” he said to the guard who’d followed at his elbow. The guard helped Elspeth to her feet, but gingerly, as if he was nervous of laying hands on his Queen. He led her past dozens of people, all of whom backed away to avoid touching her, to join the same squad that had escorted her to the ballroom.

  This time, they hurried through the corridors, up ramps and stairs until they reached the east wing doors. The guard lieutenant saluted the guards at the doors and said, “Has anyone approached you tonight?”

  “No one’s been here since you left,” the female door guard said, “and the Dowager Consort hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s been quiet.”

  The lieutenant nodded and gestured for them to open the doors. Elspeth hurried through and was surprised when the squad followed her. “Into the drawing room, your Majesty, while we search the east wing,” the lieutenant said.

  “For what?” Elspeth said, then felt stupid. For more assassins. It hadn’t even occurred to her. But the east wing was secure, there was only the one set of doors…and all those windows, big and wide and leading to empty suites no one ever looked in. The tremor in her hands spread to all of her. She crouched in front of the fireplace and shook and shook and felt she might never be warm again.

  Lord Folsom’s distorted face rose up in memory. She’d pressed that wine on him and he had nearly died, would have died if not for Dr. Ambrose. As she would have died if she were a typical Tremontanan noble. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the servant’s face, but it was a blank. He had worn servant’s clothes just like every other man and woman serving drinks in the ballroom, and she hadn’t looked further than that. He’d be long gone by now, so it didn’t matter, but she felt even more stupid and guilty than she had before.

  Distantly, the door opened, then closed with a bang, and rapid footsteps hurried along the hall. She turned to see Faraday enter the drawing room. He stopped when she looked up, and she cringed at how angry he looked. “I don’t know how I could have predicted this, so think about that before you shout at me,” she said, as firmly as she could manage while she was still shaking.

  “It’s not your fault, your Majesty, it’s mine. I was complacent, and a man was nearly killed. I came to tender my resignation.”

  “What?” Elspeth sat up. “We both decided there was no way to know if it would happen again. Am I supposed to resign as Queen?”

  Faraday’s grim expression softened slightly. “Internal Affairs is meant to protect you. This is twice, now, that I’ve failed to do that.”

  “Or our clever plan succeeded. Remember how we were going to wait for them to try again?” Elspeth shook her head. “I reject your resignation, Mister Faraday. I’ve had to replace two Council members in the last month and I’m not going to replace a third. It’s tedious. So stop wallowing in your supposed failure and start thinking like a…I don’t know what kind of thinking it takes to catch an assassin, but I have no doubt you’re capable of it.”

  Faraday didn’t smile. “Your Majesty,” he said, “your faith is touching, but it’s misapplied. I can’t in good conscience continue as head of this department when your safety is at stake.”

  “You can, and you will.” It was the height of absurdity that she was trying to convince this man not to leave. Two weeks ago she would have rejoiced at an opportunity to be rid of him, but now… “You’ve already eliminated several possibilities in your initial investigation. Do you believe the same person or people are behind this attack?”

  “Your Majesty—” Faraday lowered his head. “Are you really determined not to allow me to resign?”

  “Look at this face, Mister Faraday. This is the face of someone who could have died tonight. No, look at me.” Elspeth waited until he looked her in the eye. “The fact that you want to resign tells me more than anything that you’re the man for this job. Please, Mister Faraday. I’m counting on you.”

  The grim look fell away. Faraday sighed. “I think it’s a mistake,” he said, “but I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

  “At least now we know someone is serious.” Elspeth gestured to a nearby chair, and Faraday sat. “It’s not two people behind it, right? Because then I would lock myself in my bedroom and push orders under my door.”

  Faraday managed a smile. “It could be two people, but I believe we’re dealing with only one. The attacks are similar in approach—careless, opportunistic, with just enough planning that the assassins could escape. Do you remember the person who gave you the wine?”

  “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t look closely at him because he was a servant. He was average in height, with dark hair about the same color as yours, clean-shaven—male, obviously—and his uniform looked just like everyone else’s. He didn’t have any distinctive features or scars. I think he was waiting for me, b
ecause he came out of the closest door, and there was only one full wine glass on his tray.”

  “So they weren’t taking any chances on you getting the wrong glass,” Faraday said, “and they weren’t willing to poison two glasses and kill the wrong target. And it was someone who didn’t know you don’t drink wine.”

  “I don’t suppose that narrows it down at all?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I’m going to look more closely at my suspects, and damn the expense.” The grim look was back.

  “My father said there were three families willing to go to war to take the Crown if I abdicated. I don’t suppose you know who they are?”

  Faraday shook his head. “I can guess who he was thinking of. But of those families, the Montgomerys wouldn’t take the direct route of eliminating you, and the d’Ardens have been supporters of the Norths for a century. If they tried to claim the Crown, it would be in honor of the North family.”

  “D’Arden. Is that Serena d’Arden’s family?”

  “She’s the heir to Patrick d’Arden, head of the family. She’s also your second cousin.”

  “She is? I had no idea!”

  “Genevieve North’s Consort, your grandfather, was James d’Arden. That should give you both something to talk about when Council meetings lag.”

  Elspeth realized she’d stopped shaking. “The guards are searching the east wing,” she said. “I didn’t think…but anyone could hide in an empty room, and sneak out—”

  Faraday swore under his breath. “Lieutenant Anselm is bright,” he said. “I didn’t think of that either. I’ll post guards on the roof and outside. It helps that the east wing is three stories off the ground, and there’s no way up its sides that can’t be seen, but I’m not inclined to take chances anymore.”