Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The sound of the conversation going on now suggested it was winding down. She brought her attention back to the present. “I think we understand the new tax rates on Devisery,” she said. “Thank you, Lady Wilde, for your explanation. Mistress Withers, how does this affect tax collection?”

  The Scholia Master stood. “It means we’ll assess taxes on finished Devices when they’re sold instead of when they’re created. Essentially, we’ll be collecting taxes as if they’re any other merchandise. This will ease the burden on Devisers and Devisery workshops.”

  “Very well. Is anyone opposed to this change? No? Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” Elspeth didn’t like the informality of voting openly. Suppose the vote were on something sensitive, where someone might be persecuted for voting “wrongly”? Or suppose someone might be influenced to change their vote by not wanting to be in the minority? There had to be a better alternative.

  “Finally—Mister Faraday. You have a report to make?”

  Faraday stood. “Your Majesty asked me to present my findings on the assassination attempt to the Council,” he said. “Though my department was unable to track down the assassin, we found evidence that the attempted poisoning was not meant to be fatal. Someone wanted her Majesty incapacitated or at the very least frightened, but not dead. We also found evidence suggesting that the poisoning and the attempted shooting had a single person or group behind them, and that those responsible might not be Tremontanan. We’re continuing to follow up on this clue, investigating foreigners with some reason to want Tremontane’s government destabilized.”

  “Thank you, Mister Faraday,” Elspeth said as he resumed his seat. “I wanted all of you to know the state Internal Affairs’ investigation is in. I have faith in Mister Faraday’s efforts, but if any of you can think of anything that might help, any insights you might have, I welcome them.”

  Nobody spoke. A couple of people shifted uncomfortably. “Well, your Majesty,” Lord Heath said, scratching his nearly bald head, “the fact that they didn’t want you dead is curious. It means they wanted the government in turmoil. But with your heirs being underage, killing you—I beg your pardon, but I believe you wanted frankness—killing you would introduce exactly that kind of turmoil.”

  “That’s true,” Master Keswick said. The new head of Transportation had proved exactly as insightful and helpful as Elspeth had hoped. “On the other hand, an underage King would have a regent, and I believe you’ve designated one already, is that right?”

  “Yes. Lord Harrington would become regent on my brother James’s behalf.” Elspeth had been leery of choosing Lord Harrington, but she couldn’t name her father, the one person she did trust, and she had to admit her reluctance came more from how Lord Harrington still spoke to her like she was a child and not because she was afraid of him abusing that power. “And that would happen right away, so Lord Harrington would have the power to act immediately if an enemy tried to take advantage of the disruption.”

  “Whereas if you were incapacitated, there are things that couldn’t be done because the Council doesn’t have the power to act on them,” Keswick continued. “Ratifying laws, awarding titles, deciding certain legal matters. Going to war.”

  “That last is what occurred to me, your Majesty,” Lord Harrington said. “A foreign country who wanted to attack Tremontane could take advantage of your not being in a position to declare war to make a preemptive attack. And Ruskald is poised to do just that.”

  Elspeth glanced at Faraday. “There’s no conclusive evidence that Ruskald was behind the assassination attempts,” he said. “That doesn’t rule them out, either.”

  “Lord Harrington, didn’t you tell me Ruskald is unwilling to attack us because they aren’t sure they’d win?” Elspeth asked. “I understand we’ve made enough of a show of force to keep them off our borders.”

  “Unwilling, yes, but if they could tip that balance of power in their favor, I have no doubt they’d push to conquer the rest of the Riverlands,” Lord Harrington said. “They don’t like that we control both banks of the Snow River.”

  “I see,” Elspeth said. “Mister Faraday, I would like your department to concentrate on proving whether or not the Ruskalder are behind the attempts on my life. Lord Harrington, what should be our next step, assuming the Ruskalder are preparing for war?”

  “We can’t send more troops into the Riverlands without prompting them to escalate,” Lord Harrington said. “But we can continue to watch their troop movements and be prepared to act if anything changes.”

  “General Beckett,” Elspeth said, turning to the gruff, silent figure seated next to Faraday, “what is the Army’s status?”

  Beckett shifted his weight. “We’ve moved more troops to strategic locations in Baronies Daxtry and Avory,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice. “We’ve made it look like they’re on maneuvers—training exercises. Nothing the Ruskalder can object to. But each of those ‘training grounds’ are within a day’s march of the border. We’re prepared for whatever comes next.”

  “Thank you, General. I hope it doesn’t come to war, but I’m reassured that we’d be ready for it if it did.” Elspeth stood, prompting the others to rise. “That’s all for today, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you again.”

  Faraday hovered by the door as the others left. Elspeth hung back. “Was there something else, Mister Faraday?” she asked when the room was empty except for the two of them.

  “You intend to go to the opera in two days,” he said.

  “I do?” She hadn’t realized Simkins had already made the arrangements. “That is—yes. Miss Simkins hasn’t told me the actual date yet.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider. Security will be difficult to manage in such a public place. We will have to disrupt the performance to an extent, you will need guards inside and out of the building…and that doesn’t take into account examining the performers and the staff to rule out anyone who might be bribed or threatened into helping an assassin reach you.”

  “Do you really think that’s possible? That someone in the opera house might want me dead? Because I’m sure Miss Simkins has kept this trip confidential. She didn’t even tell me, after all. So it’s unlikely an assassin would have time to suborn anyone.”

  Faraday let out a frustrated breath. “I’m not taking chances. Will you at least cooperate with your guard?”

  “Of course. I’m not taking chances either. I just don’t want you to drive yourself mad trying to cover even the remotest possibilities.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Faraday’s smile was humorless.

  “I can’t stay locked in the palace forever, Mister Faraday. I’m looking forward to an evening with an interesting man, and I appreciate your efforts to keep me safe.” A terrible thought occurred to her. “You didn’t investigate Mister Argent, did you?”

  Faraday’s expression went perfectly bland. “You’re as suspicious as I am.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course I did. He’s completely unobjectionable. I hope that comforts you.”

  “Not if ‘unobjectionable’ is the same as ‘boring.’”

  “I prefer ‘boring’ in your companions. They’re unlikely to want to see you dead.” Faraday’s bland expression gave way to a scowl. “All right. If you’re not going to give up this mad plan, I’ll have your escort ready at the appropriate time.”

  “Thank you, Mister Faraday. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “I’m not,” Faraday said with a rueful smile, “but I’ve given up trying to control what you do.”

  Appropriate garb for the opera, according to Honey, fell somewhere between the garden party dress and Elspeth’s coronation gown. It was designed along the same lines as the muslin gown, with a low neckline and a high waist, but was of heavy cream-colored satin with a thin, gauzy blue overdress whose long sleeves made Elspeth want to scratch. Honey piled her curls high on her head, where they would eventually become painfully heavy just before sliding down the back of h
er head, but Elspeth would be home long before that happened.

  Home. She thought about that as she clasped a choker of white gold leaves studded with sapphires around her neck. Did she actually think of the palace as home, or was that just a casual turn of phrase? Home, to her, was still the embassy in Veribold, where her family was. During the day, she was too busy to dwell on what she’d lost, but at night she struggled to keep the tears at bay. Weeping would do nothing but leave her miserable and headachy the next day. It certainly wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t magically transport her back to Veribold or bring Francis back to life.

  And she had to admit to herself, if no one else, that she was growing accustomed to this new role. She felt more confident about giving orders, was less embarrassed by the deference everyone showed her—everyone but Faraday—and had begun to understand how her government worked. Maybe Veronica was right, and this was something she could be good at.

  Her guards came to attention when she stepped out of the east wing, and Lieutenant Anselm gave her a smile that said she knew this evening was different. “Your Majesty,” she said as their procession headed off down the long hall, “Corporal Higgins and I will accompany you into the royal box, and we will remain there throughout the evening. Mister Faraday’s orders.”

  “I understand. Thank you, lieutenant.”

  Anselm’s smile broadened. “We’re sorry for the intrusion.”

  “I…yes, I suppose that couldn’t be helped.” Anselm’s expression confused her. It looked as if the lieutenant thought her presence and that of Corporal Higgins might affect Elspeth’s enjoyment of the performance. “I’m sure you’ll be discreet.”

  “Naturally,” Anselm said. Now she sounded like they’d had a conversation with multiple meanings. Elspeth gave up. Whatever Anselm was hinting at couldn’t be vital, or she’d be forthright.

  This time, the guards took her down familiar paths to the Rotunda and then through the antechamber to the front door. The North carriage was pulled up at the foot of the steps, and Michael Argent waited by its door. He looked very good in a burgundy satin coat and matching knee breeches, though his calves in their silk stockings looked odd. Elspeth didn’t have time to examine them closely before the guards spread out before her and she descended the stairs to join him.

  “Your Majesty,” Argent said. “You look lovely.” His smile, genuine as Lord Chadwick’s had not been, charmed her.

  “Thank you,” she said, accepting his hand to help her into the carriage. He held her hand a moment longer than necessary, and the warm feeling his regard had filled her with went flustered. Panic set in. This was courtship, wasn’t it? Or the next thing to courtship. She didn’t know the rules, didn’t know what she was supposed to do or what he expected—

  “I hope you will enjoy the performance,” Argent said. He seated himself opposite her on the rear-facing seat and made no move to touch her again. “I’m afraid this isn’t like Veribold, where they have several opera houses giving performances at once. There’s just the one opera house, and they put on one opera at a time. But Estella in Eskandel is one of Lady Yvenna Verden’s most popular compositions.”

  The panic subsided. “I’m mostly interested in how Tremontanan opera compares to Veriboldan,” Elspeth said. There was no need to worry. Argent was polite, and interesting, and unlikely to press intimacies upon her in the royal box, particularly if her guards were—oh. Suddenly Elspeth understood what Anselm had been hinting at. Was that something courting couples did, use the private boxes for intimate relations? She willed herself not to blush.

  They chatted all the way to the opera house, and by the time they arrived, Elspeth had relaxed enough to enjoy herself. Argent was just as funny and interesting as she remembered, gave her greetings from his sister, and drew Elspeth out to the point that she could share stories of her own. When he helped her down from the carriage, she dared give his hand a little squeeze and felt a frisson of excitement when that made him smile.

  The opera house was as much a monstrosity as the palace, though in a completely different way. It was clearly the work of a single hand, and that hand had belonged to a madman who believed no amount of gilt was too much, that blood red was a charming color to paint a three-story-tall building occupying most of a city block, and that if one Device lamp was a good idea, a roof covered with Device lamps enough to blind the eye was even better. Elspeth shielded her eyes and surveyed the lower levels. “It’s…dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “I take it opera houses in Veribold don’t look like this,” Argent said. He waited for the guards to form up around them while a pair of guards assessed the opera house entry before gesturing to Elspeth to walk with him. Elspeth had expected him to offer her his arm and was disappointed when he didn’t. Surely even the Queen could be allowed to accept a traditional escort?

  “They’re built under the supervision of the Taixen—it’s a sort of board of approval for certain classes of business,” she said. “They determine what kinds of businesses can be constructed where, and what they will look like, and how tall they can be, all the way down to number of windows and color of paint. It keeps Haizea from looking as patchwork as Aurilien does.”

  The guards held both doors open for Elspeth and Argent. “You must think Aurilien ugly by comparison,” Argent said.

  Elspeth remembered what she’d thought on that ride to the Park. “Not anymore,” she said. “It has a different kind of beauty.”

  The foyer of the opera house was more beautiful than its exterior, though the smell of hundreds of warm bodies mixed with a thick rose attar made Elspeth want to sneeze. Walls covered in red and gold brocade muted the sounds of patrons walking across the plush gold carpet, though at the moment, there were very few people in the foyer with them. Everyone had stopped to bow or curtsey to their Queen. That no longer embarrassed Elspeth as it once had, though she did feel awkward at having interrupted whatever they were doing. She raised a hand to acknowledge their bows, a nice noncommittal gesture she felt didn’t make her look like a total fool, and followed the guards across the foyer to a set of shallow stairs. Double doors at the top of the stairs were flung open, revealing rows of chairs in a downward-sloping room.

  “This way, your Majesty,” Lieutenant Anselm said. Elspeth dragged her gaze away from the vast open space and saw Anselm waiting for her at the foot of more stairs, well to the left of the doors. These were much steeper than the others and ascended out of Elspeth’s sight. Elspeth glanced at Argent, who looked as if he were waiting for her to take the lead. Once again, he didn’t offer her his arm. Elspeth suppressed a sigh and climbed the stairs, letting her gloved hand rest gently on the rail. Her soft shoes made no noise on the carpet, which felt a little slippery underfoot as if it had been worn down by thousands of opera-goers.

  At the top of the stairs, the lieutenant turned right, and Elspeth followed her down a curving hallway to an ordinary wooden door stained dark in contrast with the golden brocade covering the walls. Anselm opened the door and held up a hand. “Corporal Higgins first, your Majesty.”

  Elspeth waited for Corporal Higgins, who was a stocky man in his early thirties, to enter the room before following. The room was small and dark, but Higgins pulled aside heavy red velvet drapes to illuminate two rows of three chairs, each with an overstuffed cushion in the same red velvet. Elspeth’s attention, though, was all on the auditorium below, filled with chairs arranged to leave aisles down which dozens, maybe hundreds of people made their way. The stage was shrouded in a red velvet curtain similar to the one surrounding the royal box, and light Devices, the largest Elspeth had ever seen, lined the proscenium.

  “How does it compare?” Argent asked. He stood close beside her, close enough that the warmth of his body was like a little fire next to her.

  “They use lamps in Veribold,” Elspeth said, gesturing to the Devices. “I know those are Devices because the smell is different—in Veribold the opera houses all smell of hot paraffin and fire. And most Veribolda
n opera houses are smaller than this one, not by much, but smaller.” She turned to face Argent. “We have an excellent view.”

  “I can’t imagine the Queen sitting anywhere but the best seat in the house,” Argent said, bowing. He said it with a smile, but his words made Elspeth uncomfortable, as if he were drawing attention to the privileges she always had. It wasn’t as if she’d asked for this box.

  She took her seat and leaned out over the edge of the box until she saw how tense it made the lieutenant. Then she sat back and watched the crowd, what she could see of it. Everyone seemed to be dressed as nicely as she and Argent were. She’d wondered if opera in Tremontane was as exclusive as opera in Veribold. Or maybe these were poorer people who cared enough about the arts to spend their hard-earned money on the right clothing. Again she felt oddly guilty. It wasn’t as if it were her fault opera was expensive. Had she paid for these tickets, or had Simkins exercised royal prerogative on her behalf?

  The lights dimmed. Unseen violins played a note that thrilled through Elspeth and were joined by cellos, viols, woodwinds, and a deep-voiced drum that made the box vibrate. Then the curtains opened, and performers streamed onto the stage, adding their voices to the orchestra. Elspeth lost herself in the performance, forgetting the guards and the box and even her companion. In Veribold, opera was intentionally elevated to distance the story from the viewers; here, she felt as if the singers were addressing her directly. It was an extraordinary experience.

  When the lights came up, her chest ached as if she’d been holding her breath. “That was marvelous,” she breathed, turning to Argent. He had a peculiar look on his face, and instinctively she felt he’d been watching her instead of the performance.