unForgiven (The Birthright Series Book 2)

by Bridget E. Baker

  “I’m sorry.”

  Roman tilts his head. “Words I didn’t expect to hear.”

  I roll my eyes. “Let’s go.”

  He doesn’t chastise me further on the way back to my room, but when we reach the door, he takes up a position outside with Dante.

  “What happened to Riose and Lorn?” I ask.

  Roman’s shoulders straighten infinitesimally. “They’re mine to deal with as I see fit.”

  “I tried to elude them and failed. I had to give them a direct order,” I say. “Don’t discipline them for obeying me when I yelled them into doing it.”

  He stares straight ahead, not meeting my eye.

  “Roman.”

  His eyes gleam when he turns to face me. “They must obey you, but they obey me, too. Don’t cut my legs out from under me, Your Majesty.”

  In obeying my orders, they violated his. I sigh. “Fine. Do as you see fit.” I trust him to figure this out. Something they’ll respect him for, but that won’t be so bad they resent it. I lower my voice to the barest of whispers. “And I promise not to do this to you again.”

  He nods almost imperceptibly, but I know he’s forgiven me. It’s enough.

  I collapse into my desk chair and pull out the schedule I recently approved. I need to talk to this Cina to verify Nihils’ story. She’s on kitchen duty today, which could mean she’ll bring me a food tray, or it could mean she’s chopping carrots. I wish I could simply tell Angel to send her to me, but Angel’s in a cell, and requesting that anyone else do something like that is too big a risk.

  I miss the days where everything made sense and I trusted the people Mother trusted.

  But an integral component of success in finding something like my mother’s killer involves not broadcasting to everyone where I’m looking. My overbearing accusations with Nihils were clumsy. Mother taught me better. I can be patient. I can be stealthy. I need to, if I want justice, and I do. I burn for it. My eyes blur over the schedules, all the names, and I notice a pattern on the edges of my vision before it slips away.

  I’m over-simplifying this. Usually you’d keep things as simple as you could, because the more angles, the more likely something goes sideways. But if you were poisoning a monarch, a brilliant, well-loved monarch, you might need a little added complication. What if it wasn’t one person in charge with just one other, like Nihils? What if it was a group of people?

  I close my eyes and tap at my head. I need to start looking for patterns of people who might have, together, had consistent access to her. And if they had to trade to gain access to her too, then they’ll be easier to spot. This is going to take some time, especially since I need to check on them one at a time, without anyone suspecting me. And I’ll need to plan some more obvious interrogations to do more publicly so the real culprits will believe they’re being overlooked.

  Angel’s a good cover for that, because I’m growing increasingly sure that she’s not at the heart of this. It’s too obvious.

  The names swim in front of my eyes, almost a distraction. I’ve seen all the lists. They’re in my brain. I close my eyes and try to focus on assimilating the data I’ve already stored inside. I think about the lists of people scheduled, and then the lists of people who actually worked each shift. It’s complicated further when I cross reference it with the various areas where each of the assigned people worked, based on Roman’s list of who came in contact with Mother. For instance, lots of people traded shifts, but didn’t end up crossing Mother’s path. Others traded then, and noted their reasons, but haven’t traded since. Now that Mother’s dead, their fake reasons would evaporate. Unless they were real and ongoing issues.

  I compile a chart in my brain of people who changed their assignments and how many times, and then I start writing that list down so that I can compare it to the others. Dozens and dozens of sets of people could have, working together in pairs, poisoned my mother. Thirty-two sets of people who came in contact with her each day between the two of them, in fact. If I include sets of three people working together, the number rises dramatically. And I’m not even sure whether she needed to be poisoned every day, or whether every other day was enough. If I include pairings where they saw her every other day, the number goes far higher.

  Clearly I need more information from Job.

  I groan.

  If I’m looking to narrow the field, there are only three sets of individuals where one of them traded shifts to have access to my mother on a daily basis. One of those sets includes Cina, which seems like a pretty big coincidence. Another includes Nihils.

  “Breakfast tray.” Roman’s voice is muffled.

  My stomach rumbles right on cue. “Come in,” I say.

  The woman carrying the tray is Cina. Steady breathing, steady heart rate, steady expression. Do not act bizarre, Judica, do not give anything away. Handle this better than you did with Nihils.

  “You can set that there,” I say.

  Cina sets the tray of food on the end table and bobs her head. What do I ask? How do I keep her here? I need her to talk to me. My mind is entirely blank. Chancery would put her at ease. Everyone loves her. They probably already spent time braiding each other’s hair. What would Chancery say if she were here? Something stupid, about how she looks, or what she’s wearing.

  “That’s a cute—er—pair of pants.” Her pants are plain and black. I can’t channel my inner Chancery. I don’t have a speck of that inside of me.

  Cina looks at the door and then back to me. “They’re standard issue for kitchen work.”

  I’ve never noticed that all the kitchen staff wear black pants. “Oh. Is that new?”

  Cina shakes her head and eyes the door.

  Think, Judica, think. “I really like black,” I say. “So I’m always looking for new things in that color.” She’s going to think I’ve lost my bloody mind.

  “Well, Angel ordered nice ones this time. They’re actually really comfortable and they breathe well. They’re made by a company called Rag & Bone.”

  “Uh, I’ll have to look that up.” Well, good job Judica. Now she thinks I’ve taken an interest in clothing chains. And I’ve learned absolutely nothing helpful.

  “As you know, Angel is in custody,” I say. “I thought you might be able to help me figure out how some things in the kitchen went, and whether her story was accurate.”

  “Of course,” she says.

  I ask her a half a dozen questions about food preparation and plating, and then about the protocols and how well they’re followed.

  She answers every question. “But if you want my opinion, and maybe you don’t,” she says, “I don’t think it was Angel. That woman has always been completely obsessed with following every rule, which involves everything she does being in plain sight, on camera, and witnessed by more than one person. And on top of that, she adored your mother. Truly.”

  Angel’s obsession with following the rules could be covering her own duplicity. It sounds almost like overkill. “Did my mother ever talk to you when you brought her food? Maybe she asked you things, or mentioned anything? Small details, even.” I close my eyes and inhale through my nose. Why am I so bad at this? I torture secrets out of spies without blinking. I never give away a hint of information at public events. Why is it so hard to get information without letting on the reason I want to know? Why is it so impossible to be casual and friendly?

  Cina’s chin tilts. “You’re hurting and I’m sorry.”

  I scowl. “I’m not hurting. I was just wondering whether she ever said anything to you.”

  “My mother died a year ago. I recognize pain when I see it.”

  She’s nicer than I expected her to be, especially to me.

  “I’m sorry though. The Empress never really spoke to me. I’m not sure she noticed I was even there, other than waving her hand to show me where she wanted it when I brought her a tray.”

  Alright, I’ve tried being sneaky and so far all it’s gotten me is condescension. Maybe stealth
isn’t my style. “If she never spoke to you, why did you trade five different shifts in order to carry that tray into her room?”

  Cina’s heart doesn’t speed up. Her breathing doesn’t, either. I can’t smell her perspiring and she doesn’t clench her fists or shift from foot-to-foot. But her eyes dart sideways and she licks her lips before she says, “I needed more time to study. I was on yard duty and it’s non-stop work from clock-in until clock-out. When I’m on kitchen duty, there’s a lull between jobs and I can actually catch up on my reading.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “What are you studying for, Cina?”

  “I’d like to be a diplomat, Your Highness. I need to learn three more languages.”

  “You didn’t place there.”

  She shakes her head. “I didn’t even apply, because my mother hated the idea. She wanted me to stay here, close to her.”

  “But now your mother’s gone, and you can re-apply.”

  She nods.

  “You only have to work ten-hour days. That gives you plenty of time to study.”

  Cina opens her mouth, then closes it.

  “You’re lying about something and I want you to tell me what and why.” I stand up.

  She swallows again.

  “What will Beverly tell me when I call her in?” My palm itches for the hilt of my blade. She’s lying, and if she had anything to do with Mother’s death. . .

  The blood drains from her face. “Why would you call her?”

  “You traded shifts with her. Repeatedly. I’m assuming she’ll tell me the reason you gave for all those shift swaps.”

  Cina bites her lip.

  “Roman is right outside that door.”

  “Don’t call him,” she says. “I’ll tell you.”

  I fold my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

  “I wanted to see someone,” she says.

  My forehead furrows. She must mean Nihils. But he traded to avoid her. And her swaps didn’t put her in contact with him. I close my eyes and review my lists of work assignments to see whether there could be any truth to what she’s saying. Only one person was working in the same location as her for each of her five requested changes. She traded with Beverly, but she moved onto a shift where she was working with Gwendolyn.

  It makes no sense.

  Cina breathes in and out deeply. “There’s only one good thing about your mother being dead.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “When your secrets come out, you don’t need to worry about her disappointment anymore.”

  Her mother would be disappointed in her, if she were still alive, and she figured out what I just did. “You didn’t harm my mother,” I say. “You traded for another reason entirely. You traded shifts to see Gwendolyn. You like her, don’t you?”

  She nods slowly.

  “You’re what the humans call ‘gay’.”

  She closes her eyes.

  “It’s not a crime anymore,” I say. “You don’t have to hide.”

  “I don’t even know whether Gwendolyn likes me,” she says.

  “You could ask her.”

  Her half smile unnerves me. “I won’t be executed for liking women anymore, that’s true. Your mother eliminated that law when in vitro fertilization was discovered. But it’s not accepted, and it’s certainly not celebrated.”

  “There’s still a stigma,” I admit.

  “Everyone assumes I am the way I am because of a deletion,” she says. “And I’ll be obligated to have a child every ten years that I’m alive whether I want one or not. Women who choose not to marry are obligated to do that. There are consequences, injustices.”

  “You can stop once you’ve had fifty children,” I say. “It’s to make sure that your kind doesn’t lead to under population of the evian species.”

  “My kind?” She purses her lips. “Okay.”

  “It’s a reasonable request. Fifty children is on the low side for most evians, after all.” And for all we know, it is a deletion. “Did you even try kissing guys? I mean, maybe you don’t like all of them, but neither do I. You’re a cute girl. You can be picky.”

  Her utter calm reaches me far more effectively than theatrics would have. “I am not deficient, and I didn’t choose this, any more than you chose your eye color. I can pretend it’s not true, like some evians can change the color of their eyes, but it doesn’t alter the truth of who I am.”

  “So you did try to like guys?” I don’t much care whether she likes men or women, but I do need to know whether she kissed Nihils.

  “Of course I tried,” she practically wails. “Several times.” Her nostrils flare. “Is that all you need?”

  Maybe she kissed Nihils after all, but it seems quite unlikely, even if she did, that she’d want more than he wanted out of that kind of fling. “Who, exactly, did you kiss?”

  Her eyes flash. “I know you’re in pain, but this is none of your business.” She stomps her foot, and then as if she realizes who she’s talking to, she gulps. “Your Majesty.”

  “Answer one last question and I’ll leave you alone. I’ve heard that on occasion gays will feign a relationship to keep people from suspecting. Or they’ll try and make things work with someone of the opposite gender even though they aren’t attracted to them.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Did you do that with Nihils? Did you ever kiss him?”

  Her lip curls. “What is your deal with him? You can’t possibly like him yourself. But, no. Gross. If you’re wondering why I traded with him, it’s because everyone knew he was always willing to trade. The guy wanted people to owe him. It’s strange, but it’s who he is. He always trades things for other things.”

  “So he doesn’t know you’re gay.”

  She shakes her head vehemently. “No one knows, not even Gwendolyn.”

  If she’s telling the truth, and I believe she is, then Nihils lied to me. He didn’t make out with Cina, and she never wanted more out of their interaction than he did. He should have done better homework before making up his cover.

  I need to talk to him, but he can’t know that it’s an interrogation, not this time. If he’s distracted enough, he won’t be able to fabricate clever lies on the spot. I’d never have uncovered this one if Cina hadn’t been closeted. I got lucky, and I can’t rely on luck.

  “You can go,” I say. “But you may not discuss the details of this conversation with anyone. Do you understand?”

  She bobs her head.

  “Not your best friend, your brother, your sister, your father, your lover, and certainly not Nihils. I don’t care who they are, you can’t talk to them about this. It would be treason. Are we clear on that?”

  “Crystal clear, Your Majesty.” She walks to the door. Just before she opens it, she turns around. “Your mother was doing her best. I really believe that.” Cina blurts out the rest quickly. “But you could do better. You can fix some of the things she got wrong.” She pivots on the ball of her foot and practically runs from the room. “Your sister cares about her people. It would be nice if you did, too.”

  Part of me wants to slap her, but part of me thinks about what she said. Mother was known for her sweeping changes, her radical reforms in the way we manage the world. She freed the humans, essentially, from servitude and gave them latitude and opportunities no other empress had ever risked. She eliminated a whole host of laws, such as those proscribing homosexuality, as long as the evians who chose that lifestyle still did their duty by perpetuating our species.

  But what if Mother’s whole world view was still too narrow? What if she cared less than she should have for the individual people? I can guess what Chancery thinks. She doesn’t fault Lark for being half-human, because it’s who she is. She probably thinks Cina didn’t choose to like women instead of men. Actually, Chancery, in her heart-of-hearts, may not even consider evians to be superior to humans. She spouts the same sort of nonsense Mother claims destroyed our father and their marriage.

  Equality.

&n
bsp; It would destroy our entire way of life if that kind of morality spreads. I shake my head. Mother was radical to a point. She believed in freedoms as long as they didn’t upend the world order, throwing us into unregulated chaos. Mother was right, and I’ll follow her example. Which is exactly why Alamecha needs me ruling instead of Chancery.

  But for now, I need to focus. I’ve got to question Nihils again, but subtly, which is not my forté. He’s not one of my guards, but he occasionally rotates through the multi-opponent training days, which means no one would question my fighting him in the ring. But to get any time for questions at all, I’d need to defeat every opponent but him, and then take a little time to defeat him.

  And he has to believe it’s a coincidence, and not a plan I have crafted. I flip through the schedule until I reach this week. Cina waltzed into my room right as I needed her, and now, as I look down at the schedule, I realize Nihils is listed tomorrow for my multi-opponent combat training team.

  I don’t believe in a God who interacts with his or her children. If he or she existed, surely there wouldn’t be so much death, so much destruction, so much misery. And the God described in the human Bible is at once too distant, and too caring to be believable. But for the first time, I feel like perhaps God checks in periodically to tip the scales toward the pursuit of justice.

  Either way, when I see Nihils again, I plan to walk away with some answers, or he won’t be walking away at all.

  11

  The Present

  “It’s okay,” Billy says. “I’ll text him.”

  Laughter pours out of me. I can’t seem to stop it. “You’ll text him?” My eyes water.

  Ambrosia stops walking. “This isn’t very funny.”

  “You’re going to text your dad about severed hands?” I burst into laughter again. “Will you say they’re fake? Some kind of prank?”

  “He’s a surgeon,” Ambrosia says. “He’ll know they’re real.”