Stranger to the Crown

by Melissa McShane

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” she said. “Please excuse me. I have work to do.”

  When they were gone, she put her face in her hands and let her breathing become slow and regular. It had to be false. There had to be an explanation. If Faraday—she realized her breathing had sped up and calmed herself again. Why would Faraday have pointed her, have pointed all of them, in a direction that would reveal his crimes? It was impossible. And yet she had an abundance of evidence that said it wasn’t.

  She moved things around idly on her desk until it was time for dinner, but her stomach still felt sick enough not to be tempted by the delicious-smelling meal the cook had prepared. She ate alone, grateful that Veronica wasn’t there, then went to her bedroom and lay on the bed fully-clothed, clutching the toan jade but unable to meditate. Her thoughts whirled around, swirling like cream in chocolate, until with an oath she sat up and set the medallion on her bedside table. It struck something hard that moved a fraction of an inch. The bracelet’s box.

  She stared at the box for a moment. Then she removed the bracelet and put it on. Once more she traced the ritual, the path of harmony. It soothed her as the toan jade had not. She settled the bracelet more firmly on her wrist, brushed her hair, and left her room. She could not believe Faraday guilty, and it was her duty to see that he received justice.

  By the end of the day, she was thoroughly discouraged. Faraday had refused the law-speaker she’d sent him, who returned to Elspeth with the report that Faraday had viciously sworn at him and told him not to come back. A messenger from Master Withers’ office had appeared around three o’clock with the evidence about the bank deposits. Even Elspeth with her limited knowledge of finances could understand the little handwritten notes. All the figures matched. Only Faraday could have done it.

  She ate supper with as little enthusiasm as she’d tackled dinner, to the point that Veronica said, “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes. But I don’t know what, or how to prove it.” Faraday had to be innocent. Everything said he was guilty. Elspeth’s chest ached again, and her stomach felt as if everything she put into it turned to acid.

  “Sometimes proving something is the wrong approach,” Veronica said. “We can find evidence for anything we like, because we’re rational creatures and we like believing that the world is rational. But it isn’t. And neither are people.”

  “Unfortunately, the world doesn’t know it’s irrational,” Elspeth said. She took a final bite of the cook’s special mashed potatoes, rich with cream, butter, and cheese. They tasted like sand. “I’m going to bed early, and I hope everything makes sense when I wake up.”

  “I hope so too,” Veronica said. “Good luck.”

  Elspeth lay in her bed and willed sleep to come. She tried every trick she knew to fall asleep. She called for a pot of chocolate, which only made her feel sick. She read the most boring book she could find. Her body stayed resolutely awake.

  Finally, she threw off the bedcovers and dressed in comfortable old trousers and a shirt soft from much washing. She pulled on socks and ankle boots that didn’t match her clothes but were also comfortable. After a moment’s thought, she put on the jade bracelet and ran her fingers over the carvings. She’d never needed harmony more than now, even if it was only harmony with herself.

  The guards at the east wing were surprised to see her—well, it was nearly ten o’clock at night. “We should accompany you, your Majesty,” the male guard said, but tentatively.

  “It’s all right. I’m going to the Justiciary, and there are plenty of guards there.” She trotted away before the guards could stop her.

  It occurred to her, as she made her way to the north wing, that she hadn’t gotten lost in the palace in days. She hadn’t even realized that fact to reflect on how strange it was. Maybe that was just because she only ever went to the same four places, and if she tried to go elsewhere she’d be as lost as before, but she didn’t think so. Even the thought of getting lost again didn’t fill her with dread anymore.

  The long, sloping hall that led deep underground to the Justiciary branched off before entering those familiar corridors. Elspeth knew the branching led to the holding cells, but she’d never been there. Now she turned left and walked the few short feet to where a pair of armed guards in Tremontane colors stood, watching her suspiciously. “I would like to see one of the prisoners,” she said.

  The guards glanced at each other. One chuckled. “Sweetheart, aren’t you up past your bedtime?” he asked.

  Elspeth regarded him steadily. “I can see how you might think that,” she said, reaching beneath the neck of her shirt. “Does this clarify matters any?”

  The guards leaned forward to peer at the North signet ring. Elspeth’s aching chest felt a little better the moment they realized who they were talking to. Both men jerked to attention. “Your Majesty,” the first one said. “I beg your pardon for my ignorance.”

  “That’s all right, you weren’t to know,” Elspeth said. “What do I need to do to see a prisoner?”

  “Show the next guard your ring and tell them the name of who you want to see,” the second guard said. “But you ought to have an escort, your Majesty.”

  “Why is that?”

  The guards exchanged glances again. “Well…some of these prisoners, they aren’t the nicest people. That’s why they’re locked up,” the first guard said.

  “I’m not afraid of the man I’m here to see,” Elspeth said. “Please open the door now.”

  The guard nodded and pulled out a ring of keys. He unlocked the door and pulled it open with some effort. It looked like it might weigh as much as he did. “Good luck, your Majesty,” he said.

  Elspeth passed through into a narrow corridor. The outer hall was wide and well-lit and looked fairly new. This one might well have been as old as the palace. Ancient lamps burned dimly on the side walls, making the tiny space smell of burned oil and smoke. Smoky marks on the walls behind them showed how long lanterns had been used there, probably long enough that they’d been torches originally. The walls were concrete blocks that had once been painted white, but age and wear had chipped the paint away until the walls looked leprous and scabby. The floor was one solid stone slab, and unlike the rest of the room, it seemed untouched by time, with no grooves worn into it by generations of prisoners’ feet. Elspeth calmed her breathing. She’d never been anywhere that felt so much like a trap.

  There was no one inside. She knocked on the second door, which had a small rectangular window near its top, filled with iron bars as thick as her thumb. Light coming from the other side of the door grew brighter. “What?” an irritated voice growled.

  Elspeth said nothing, just held the signet where it could be seen. A key grated in the lock, and soon the door swung open. “Sorry about that, your Majesty, it’s late and I ain’t slept well in weeks,” the guard said. He was tall and pot-bellied and wore his greasy hair long around his face. Elspeth clenched her nose against the whiff of body odor, like old cheese, that rose off him.

  “I would like to see Duncan Faraday,” she said.

  “It’s after ten. The prisoners is asleep,” the guard said.

  Elspeth looked straight at him, wishing she knew Faraday’s trick of arching one eyebrow. The guard fidgeted. Elspeth stared. Finally, the guard said, “All right, but that one’s got a wicked temper, ain’t sure I’d be happy ‘bout being roused near the ass-crack of midnight—begging your pardon, your Majesty, I ain’t good at watching my language.”

  “Just open the door,” Elspeth said.

  The wide hall beyond the door was plain, its walls made of the same flaking white concrete as the trap and its floor the same stone slab. Four doors lined the walls on each side, with plenty of space between them. Each door had a small barred window near its top and what looked like a sliding door only three inches high set in its base. There was a small cot set up near the exit, over which hung a lantern that burned low at the moment. The dim light put the farthest reaches of the room i
n shadow.

  The guard took a second, unlit lantern from a peg on the other side of the door and lit it, swearing when the match burned his fingers. He turned the flame to full and handed the lantern to Elspeth. “He’s down here,” he said, limping to the last door on the left. He unlocked the door and banged on it. An incoherent shout that made Elspeth jump emerged from within. The guard grinned and swung the door open. “Told you he’s got a terrible temper.”

  “I know,” Elspeth said, and stepped inside.

  The little cell was surprisingly clean and orderly, despite its size. There was a sink with a tap for running water, and a cot, and a small chest at the foot of the cot. A whiff of ammonia rose from the bucket in the corner, but it was stale and not fresh. It wasn’t at all what Elspeth had imagined.

  Faraday was sitting up from where he’d been lying on the cot. His frock coat and waistcoat were gone, and he’d unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt and removed his boots. His hair was a mess and stubble covered his chin and cheeks. It was the most unkempt Elspeth had ever seen him, and that startled her even more than the cell had. “You look terrible,” she impulsively said. Terrible, and yet the look suited him somehow, as if it revealed the man beneath his carefully controlled demeanor. Elspeth’s heart ached again to see him so exposed.

  Faraday gave her a look that could have stripped more paint from the scabrous walls. “I apologize for offending your Majesty’s tender sensibilities,” he drawled.

  Elspeth blushed. “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t what? Be sarcastic? I’m in jail, your Majesty. It’s the only weapon left to me.”

  Elspeth came more fully into the cell and shut the door, making Faraday sit up and give her a sharp, non-sarcastic look. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said.

  “Why not? You’re not going to attack me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Elspeth rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t attacked me on all the many occasions I gave you opportunity, you’re not going to do it now. Is it all right if I sit?”

  Faraday’s eyes widened with surprise. Then he shrugged. “If you don’t mind the sag in the cot. It’s not comfortable.”

  Elspeth sat beside him. The cot did sag, and it was uncomfortable. “It’s all right,” she lied. “I didn’t expect much.”

  Faraday clasped his hands together and stared at the floor. “Why did you disturb my sleep, your Majesty?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “That’s not an excuse for you to spread your sleeplessness around. I was sleeping like a baby before you showed up.”

  Elspeth eyed him. “That’s not true.”

  He shrugged again. “You’re right. I was awake. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

  Elspeth let out a deep breath. “I don’t know. Because none of this feels right. Because it doesn’t make sense.”

  “What is there to make sense? I’m a criminal. Didn’t you hear Lord Harrington?”

  “Yes. And I don’t believe it.”

  “You shouldn’t. I’m not guilty. I was framed as surely as that so-called Ruskalder assassin.”

  “Then prove it. Please. You must have some evidence that it wasn’t you.”

  He looked away. “I don’t. There’s nothing to say those bills of sale and those bank transactions are false.”

  “Then how am I to know it wasn’t you?” Elspeth exclaimed.

  Faraday turned to look at her. His dark blue eyes were lighter in the lamplight. “Because,” he said, “I swear on my life I will never betray you. Hold to that, whatever you learn, whatever evidence mounts against me. I would never do anything to put you in jeopardy, not for any reward. Believe that, or not, but I swear it’s true.”

  Elspeth realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. “I see,” she said. “So what you’re saying is that you have no evidence you didn’t forge my signature, sell my valuable property, and steal the proceeds, possibly so you could fund an organization that wants to steal my Crown, and you expect me to believe you didn’t solely based on your word?”

  Faraday bent his head and stared at his hands again. “Yes,” he said.

  Elspeth stood. “All right. Let’s go.”

  His head came up fast. “Go where? I’m a prisoner.”

  “Not anymore,” Elspeth said.

  Faraday shot to his feet. “No, your Majesty,” he said, taking hold of her shoulder and stopping her when she would have gone for the door. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can. My word is law. If I say so, they have to let you out.”

  Faraday released her. “I mean,” he said, “if I’m free, whoever framed me will know you don’t believe the story, and will have me killed to prevent the truth coming out.”

  “Oh,” Elspeth said. She sank back onto the cot. “But what do we do? The evidence against you is so strong.”

  “We have to discover who’s behind the plot to discredit me, and why.” Faraday sat down beside her. “‘Why’ may be easier than ‘who.’”

  Elspeth suddenly felt sick again. “You were convinced the Ruskalder involvement was a ruse, and you told everyone we were looking for a Tremontanan person, or group, interested in taking the Crown. And then this comes up, and we have our traitor. But more than that, we’ll stop looking for traitors not only because you’re guilty, but because you’re the one doing the investigating. If anyone else had been framed, you wouldn’t have stopped trying to find their accomplices, or where they’d strike next…or anything.”

  Faraday looked grim. “I think you’ve already seen the implications.”

  “Someone in my government is the traitor,” Elspeth said.

  21

  “I can’t believe it,” Elspeth said. She buried her face in her hands. “Someone who…but everyone’s been so supportive and helpful! And one of them has been lying to me the whole time.”

  “At least one,” Faraday said. “They might be working together.”

  “Thank you, Mister Faraday, that is not the kind of reminder I need right now.”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Faraday snapped. “The Queen can’t afford such indulgences.”

  “You’re right.” Elspeth rubbed her eyes until she saw spots, then rested her hands on her knees. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Use your head,” Faraday said. “Our unknown enemy discredited me to prevent me unmasking him or her—”

  “Or them.”

  “Or them,” Faraday agreed. “That means I was close, or he believed I was. The only way to reinstate me is to discover the true traitor. If you follow the path I was headed down, you should be able to do that.”

  “Me? You’re the one who knows about plots and the like. How am I supposed to do that?”

  Faraday shot to his feet and paced angrily across the room. “At the risk of sounding weak, I have to point out that you are now my only hope,” he said. “As well as the only possibility for saving Tremontane from war and chaos. Whining about what you don’t know will get both of us killed.”

  “I was not whining!”

  Faraday shot her an ironic glare. Elspeth sighed. “All right, I was, and I’m stopping now,” she said. “But it’s still true I don’t know how to proceed. I need your help.”

  Faraday paced across the cell once more, three long steps in each direction. “The most likely possibility is that the traitor is one of the three involved in framing me,” he said. “The other two would be innocents brought in by the traitor to give plausibility to his or her accusations. It’s much less likely that someone else came up with the plot, and those three just happened to discover it, but there’s still a chance. So your first act must be to investigate those three.”

  “Which starts with working out if any of them has an obvious reason to plot against Tremontane,” Elspeth said. “Serena d’Arden is at the top of my list. You said her family was one of those who would fight to take the Crown.”

  “Only if the Norths had been
destroyed by someone else,” Faraday pointed out.

  “Maybe. Families aren’t always unified. Maybe Lady d’Arden thinks I’m unfit to wear the Crown and would be doing Tremontane a service by eliminating me. It might not have anything to do with the rest of the d’Ardens.”

  “All right, that’s a valid point. I’m less sure about Master Withers. She’s on the Council because I brought her to your attention, which means if she had a long-term plan to take the Crown, or to help some group take the Crown, that plan was based on improbabilities. She couldn’t have known you would make her head of Finance. But if she was approached later by some outside group…how sure are you that the Scholia’s reputation is impeccable?”

  Elspeth thought about it. “I don’t think any group is uniformly honorable. It’s like with families—there might be individuals who want to see Tremontane destabilized so they can put someone who will elevate them into power. But it seems the Scholia already has power and respect. So if it is Master Withers, and she is working on behalf of another group, that group is probably not the Scholia. Which means it might be impossible to discover who they are.”

  “I agree. And in truth, Master Withers doesn’t strike me as vulnerable to recruitment by a group of traitors.”

  “Which leaves us with Lord Harrington. He spearheaded the accusations against you.”

  “But Lord Harrington’s power comes primarily from his association with you,” Faraday said. “Throwing that over for the chance of power in some other regime would be hazardous.”

  “I know he thought I was too Veriboldan when I arrived,” Elspeth said. “I dressed Veriboldan, I’m friends with Mihn, I bowed to the Proxy in public…he might believe he needs to save Tremontane from my foreign influence.”

  “You haven’t done anything overtly Veriboldan in weeks, though.” Faraday stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. “But there are other reasons Lord Harrington might want you out of the way. He might not like your policies with regard to other countries. Particularly Ruskald. He’s never trusted the Ruskalder and I don’t think it sits well with him for us to approach them in supplication.”